#'ficlet' is a state of mind okay

[firstelevens]

Hey Zainab! taking this moment for a second to just say I see you around and I think you're cool. Anyways, for the SamBucky ask - either: 👔 Zipping or Buttoning His Jacket for/Putting a Tie on Him or 💥 A Surprise Encounter please

Hi, Mexi! That's so kind of you to say! I think you're super cool, too! Also both of these were such great options that it took FOREVER for me to choose--thanks for sending them in!

👔 Zipping or Buttoning His Jacket for/Putting a Tie on Him

Sam’s been an Avenger for six months, and he’s still not used to the glamor of it all. Yeah, there are days when an EMP fries his wings and he finds himself parachuting straight into a swamp, but then there are nights like this, where they get put up in an opulent hotel and invited to a gala as thanks for foiling a kidnapping plot against the Governor of Gibraltar.

The wind on the water reminds Sam of home, so he’s got the sliding door to the balcony open, the smell of sunshine blowing into his suite along with the breeze. He takes little peeks at the sunset while he gets ready, crisply ironing his shirt and adjusting his cufflinks—little silver crawdads, a present from Sarah on his birthday a few years ago—before contending with his tie.

Normally it would be a snap; a lifetime of doing his tie for church every Sunday meant that a half-Windsor knot had been muscle memory for years now. At some point during today’s rescue mission, though, Sam had managed to hurt his right hand enough that it’s a lot slower going than it should be, and trying to make his left hand do what his right hand should is just making his brain hurt.

He’s distracted, restarting the knot for the third time when he hears a noise on his balcony and whips around. His gun is on the other side of the bedroom, locked up with the rest of his gear, but Sam’s always got a knife within reach, and he’s throwing it at the figure in the doorway before they’ve even resolved into anything more than shadow.

When the person easily catches it, it’s with the sound of metal clinking against metal, and Sam feels the tension immediately leave his body.

“Turning your back on an unlocked door?” asks Bucky, sounding entirely too smug. “What are they even teaching you up at Stark’s fancy compound?”

“How to draw annoying cyborgs to your hotel suite, apparently,” says Sam, and very deliberately turns his back to Bucky as he starts in on his tie again.

“Sweetheart, if you wanted me in your bedroom, all you had to do was ask,” says Bucky. Sam doesn’t need to look in the mirror to know that he’s smirking.

“Apparently, I didn’t even have to do that,” he shoots back. He’s not sure if he imagines the way that Bucky’s neck flushes behind him. Sam means to say something else teasing, in part because it usually seems like Bucky could use the laugh, but then he realizes he’s looped the tie the wrong way around again and yanks it loose for a fourth time, mumbling an expletive as he does.

“The hell are you even doing, Wilson; how’d you get this far without learning to tie a tie?”

Sam holds up his bandaged right hand in response, and Bucky tuts disapprovingly. He’s by Sam’s side in three paces, huffing as he turns Sam by the shoulder.

“Some team leader Rogers is,” Bucky mutters, grabbing the ends of Sam’s tie and smoothing them out. “Doesn’t he know that—”

Bucky cuts himself off, finally seeming to realize that he’s got his hands on Sam, in closer proximity than the two of them have ever been. Sam watches as Bucky’s eyes come up to meet his, then drop back down to his grip on Sam’s tie.

A grimace flickers across his face, and he starts to pull his hands away, but Sam settles his own hands on top of Bucky’s.

“What?” he asks, with a grin that he hopes is encouraging. “You’re gonna let me go out there looking all scruffy? Leave me hanging so Steve can steal the spotlight?”

The tightness in Bucky’s jaw eases just a bit. He breathes in once, twice, thrice before looking up at Sam again. There’s a question in his eyes that Sam hopes is answered when he nods.

Half a beat later, Bucky is smoothing out the ends of the tie again and working on a knot, focused enough on his task that Sam can take the opportunity to study him: the dark fringe of his eyelashes, the slight curl of his hair in the sea air. There’s an almost-healed cut by his lip that Sam wants to ask about, and dark circles like bruises that he knows not to bring up.

He’s so distracted cataloguing the changes on Bucky’s face that he doesn’t realize that the tie has already been tied, not until Bucky smoothes it out one last time.

“There,” he says, bringing his hands back down and stepping away from Sam. “Now you’re not such a disgrace to whoever taught you to tie one of those.”

Sam snorts, shaking his head. “I’m sure my daddy would be thrilled to know you protected his legacy.”

He gets a small smile for that in return, just the barest lift at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, but much more real than the teasing smirk from before. It makes warmth thrum through Sam’s veins.

“Thanks for the help, Barnes.”

“Anytime,” says Bucky, and makes for the balcony again. 

Sam knows better than to try to keep him where he is, and this is more of a goodbye than he usually gets, so he’s surprised to hear Bucky say his name from the doorway as he turns to put on his dinner jacket.

“Hey, Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Tie or no tie, nobody else has got a shot at that spotlight with you around.”

Sam feels his jaw drop, but Bucky’s gone before he can even turn around, the balcony door clicking shut behind him.

[lupeloto]

“pretty, huh?” ficlet

basically, ian and mickey are babysitting franny when she lets it slip just how much ian talks about how pretty mickey is

“You’re gonna use this color,” Franny picks out a navy blue crayon, handing it to Mickey.

The two are sitting beside the coffee table in the den, Franny on her knees and Mickey leaned against the couch. There are about five different coloring books laid out on the dark-wood table, which now has its own little streak of purple thanks to Franny. Debbie had dropped Franny off with a few Princess and Fairy coloring books. Mickey immediately went to the little cabinet where they keep Franny’s items for the Monster Truck coloring book that he had bought for her. She beamed, insisting that they start coloring now. Ian had gone out to get lunch, so it was just them two coloring away in a comfortable silence. Franny always got so concentrated when coloring, her tongue sticking out between her lips, brows furrowed. Mickey found it absolutely endearing, it reminded him so much of Ian. A lot about Franny reminded him of Ian, including her bossy nature.

Mickey chuckles, “Can’t I choose my own color crayon, Fran?” He questions while taking the crayon she holds out to him.

“But I want you to use this one,” she says rather seriously, so Mickey complies, scribbling away with the dark blue crayon.

Ian walks through the door, take-out containers hanging off his fingers that peaked out of his gloves, big coat wrapped tightly around him, and a bright-red face.

“Jesus, it’s fucking freezing,” he says as soon as he steps inside. 

Franny seems to pay him no mind, completely concentrating on her artwork as Mickey looks ups, “Ay, I know, man. why don’t you go change into somethin’ warmer and then we’ll eat,” Mickey says softly before returning to his coloring, picking up the blue crayon that was basically a nub at this point.

“Yeah okay, I’ll be quick,” Ian sets the food on the counter before heading over to where the two sit in their own little world.

He places a quick kiss to both Mickey and Franny’s heads, “Hi Fran,” he raises his voice a little as if to say I’m right here, aren’t you excited to see me?

“Uncle Ian!” Franny squeals, finally pulling away from her coloring long enough to realize he was in the room. She jumps up, wrapping her arms around his leg tightly before returning to her picture.

That always made Mickey’s heart skip a beat; seeing him and Franny. The way Ian looked even taller next to her, how she soon figured out she couldn’t hug him while standing up, so instead she grew a habit of clinging to his leg as a warm welcome and goodbye. With that, Ian takes off to the bedroom.

A few more moments of silence pass before Franny breaks it, breaking her gaze away from her purple and green monster truck to stare at Mickey, “You’re pretty Uncle Mickey,” she says matter-of-factly before returning to her drawing. At the same time, Ian walks in, leaned against the doorway to the den, a small smile on his face at the sight of his husband and niece. 

Mickey can’t help but chuckle, looking over at Ian with his eyebrows raised because Where the hell did that come from?

“Well thanks, Little Red. You ain’t too bad yourself kid, way prettier than me,” his attempt to halt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth miserably fails as he watches Franny giggle and bat her eyelashes at the comment.

Franny’s hand moves slowly and surely around the page, “Uncle Ian says it all the time,” she continues scribbling, “Says that you’re soooo pretty,” she giggles slightly, looking towards Ian

“Oh, ‘s that right?” Mickey raises one eyebrow and turns his head towards Ian who wears a smug grin.

Ian shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve been exposed,” he states matter-of-factly, “What can I say?”

“I have to pee,” Franny says, already bored with their conversation, jumping up from her spot and headed down the hallway.

“Wash your hands, Fran!” Ian yells after her, pushing himself off the door frame, heading towards Mickey.

“Pretty, huh Gallagher?” Mickey flashes a one-sided grin up at where Ian stands behind him, hovering over his head, a certain softness in his eyes.

Ian shrugs, “I stand by it…” Ian leans down and presses their lips together spider-man style, “Fucking beautiful,” he whispers as their mouths part, but still remain close together.

Mickey beams, a warmth that only Ian can provide spreading all throughout his body, “Yeha, you too, Red.” They kiss one more time before Franny comes running in, demanding a popsicle. They all three sit on the patio and eat their popsicle, Mickey looking on in amusement as both Ian and Franny end up with red all over their mouths and shirts by the time they’re done.

— — — — — — — — — —

these two take up so much space in my brain it’s sick and twisted! told myself i wasn’t gonna post anymore today but here i am on your dash to annoy u more about these gays😞

[seniaasaysstuff]

𝐌𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥🥀 || 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

a/n- This is a grumpy! sukuna x !sunshine reincarnated reader ficlet. The reader was kind of lovers with sukuna before he became a curse. Idk haha read to find out! Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you want to read more of it. The lovers meet at last.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩

Previous chapter || Next chapter

You were at the hospital looking after Yuji’s grandfather while Yuji was at school.

His grandfather was a grumpy old man. He was such a tsundere. He loved Yuji, he had raised him but he just didn’t really like showing affection.

You were chatting with Grandpa Saitou

“Nee-san!” Yuji cheered as he walked inside the hospital room. You got up from where you were sitting and hugged him.

“Yuji you remind me so much of Ryo today.” You wiped a tear.

“Stop crying nee-san we’ll find Ryo-nii one day I promise.” He assured you.

“Yuji you’re a strong kid, take care of others especially her. She’s been through a lot. Both of you protect each other no matter what.” Grandpa saitou spoke and turned over.

“Grandpa? Grandpa?” Yuji called out.

That was when you both knew that he was dead.

“It’s okay sweetheart.” You rubbed his back as he cried holding onto you. You slowly led him outside the room and sat him down.

You were approached by an emo-looking boy with spiky hair.

"Yuji Itadori, correct?" The person asked. You frowned. Couldn’t the dude see that he was grieving?

"I’m from Jujutsu high school. Sorry, but there's no time." He said.

You perked up at that. He was a sorcerer? He could help you find Ryo.

"The cursed object you have is extremely dangerous. Hand it over right away." The spiky-haired boy stated.

"Cursed object?" Itadori asked, confused.

The three of us moved to a more secluded area.

"This, you have it right?" He asked as he pulled out his phone with a picture of the cursed object. "hm?" Itadori looked closer.

"Oh yeah! I found it. I don't really mind giving it back, but my fellow club members have taken a liking to it." He spoke.

"I’d at least like an explanation."

"The majority are the result of negative energy that flows out of people..." Megumi started.

~I’m not going to write the entire process of Yuji eating the finger so timeskip~

"I just need some cursed energy, right?" He rustled through his pocket and pulled out the finger and ate it.

"You Dumbass!" You exclaimed.

What if he dies? You wouldn’t be able to recover from it.

Itadori started to laugh like crazy.

"Ah! I knew it!" His laughter ceased.

"Light is best appreciated in the flesh!" The person spoke. He sounded like Ryo but you weren’t sure.

“Yuji? Kiddo?” You yelled. The person inhabiting Yuji’s body turned to look at you.

You gasped.

The markings on the face looked exactly like the ones that Ryo had.

“R-yo?” You stuttered. He dropped down to his knees.

“You’re alive. Oh my sweetheart you’re alive.” He mumbled.

You swore you saw him tear up.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

❝so dream, dream your dream❞

➵ “‘because when you’re awake a nightmare awaits.” —❤︎

pairing: vessel x gn!reader

theme: angst ❦ (with comfort), fluff ✿

a/n: this is my first sleep token ficlet, and so i wanted to rest out how well i write for them lmao

cw: reader has night terrors, implied that they had a fucked up life, vessel being mysterious and somewhat teasing but ultimately comforting the reader in the end

┅✦┅

it always hurt to think of those bitter memories

those memories that haunted them in their sleep, awaiting in their dreams like a predator looming over its prey. nightmares that kept had them jolting awake and hyperventilating so bad that their chest hurt.

the feeling of waking up to such awful night terrors was like poison ivy constricting their throat, leaving them hoarse and speechless, almost too stunned to even.

y/n was in that same predicament when they shot up from their bed, cold sweat trickling down their forehead, their breathing heavy and labored.

another nightmare. why did the past have to keep coming back to haunt them?

it was such a dark time for y/n… something they wanted to leave behind and keep deeply buried within the crevices of their fucked up mind. it was such cruel wording, but it was the best way to describe their mental state.

a fucked up mind.

“god i’m such a mess..” y/n muttered softly, putting a hand to their face, feeling the dried tears on their face that they didn’t even realize was streaming down their cheeks.

groaning both out of sleepiness and frustration, y/n grabbed the nearest tissue and started to wipe their face, being a little rough with it due to how irritable they were at the moment.

moments like these just made them wish they could take it all back. say how much they were sorry, how badly they didn’t want to hurt those around them.

it was kind of pathetic for them, really. they fucked up, and yet they’re the ones crying on their own bed.

y/n just sighed softly and pressed a hand against their forehead, sniffling slightly and closing their eyes.

“what did i do wrong?” y/n muttered to no one in particular. that question really was meant for themselves.

but it still called out a commanding presence from behind them.

“nothing, my dear.”

a dark, and somewhat alluring presence emerged from the shadows behind y/n’s bed, making his way behind them and looming over them from behind, carefully observing the person below him.

y/n tried to look up at him, but their tears blurred their vision. they only caught a glimpse of the intricate mask designs, before they felt cold, calloused fingers cover their eyes.

“shhhh… relax, sweetie.” vessel whispered into their ear, his voice velvety smooth and dripping with a dark, mysterious charm.

it was almost haunting, but in a strangely, familiar way.

he always came around whenever midnight strikes the hour, but he’s never usually this… intimate. vessel was a strange, dark force that always came by to mock them with his arrogant superiority, looking down on y/n like a predator wanting to consume his prey.

but this time it was different.

y/n could only let out a meek, choked up hiccup from the sobbing they went though in their sleep, but they didn’t do anything to push away vessel’s touch.

“vessel…”

“relax, baby. i’ve got you … you’re okay.”

vessel gently crept around the side of y/n on the bed, gently laying them back down on the bed while making sure their eyes stayed closed. they couldn’t see him, not when he was being this tender.

he didn’t know what overcame him, usually he was a commanding and mocking presence for them. maybe it was hearing their screams and cries in their sleep that made this mysterious being feel the slightest bit of sympathy that was left in his empty, hollow heart.

“rest now. nothing will hurt you.” vessel whispered to y/n, keeping his hand on the back of their head and letting it gently rest on the pillow.

this is the most he’s spoken to the poor soul. he’s never like this… but maybe just this once, he can be a source of light to their sad, unfulfilled life.

y/n just let out one last shaky sigh, letting the comforting darkness soothe the aching pain that swelled in their heart. that pain that haunted them all the time, was slowly fading away. after a bit, the presence went away, and y/n only felt darkness— their eyes still closed.

but the darkness was comforting.

welcoming even.

it was enough to make them drift off into a dreamless sleep. no nightmares, screaming or crying.

just silence.

but the silence was enough to make them feel alright.

[lostinwoso]

After the fall (Alexia x Reader)

Part Two to this ficlet.

A/N: I don't know anything about injures or medicine so I'm sorry if it might does not make sense.

Alexia is sitting in one of the seats in the hallway of the hospital. The dried tear stains are still visible on her face, while her leg bounces in anxiety on not knowing what is going on with you.

As soon as the ambulance arrived in the hospital you were wheeled away, leaving Alexia behind to wait for any updates on you, but so far she has received nothing, not a single word was said to her about what state you are currently in or what's being done to you.

And that was almost thirty minutes ago already.

The wait was driving her insane. Her mind keeps wandering to a lot of what if scenarios. What if you woke up with no one by your side? What if you have serious injuries that could affect your life? What if you will never be able to play the sport you love so much again? What if the fall was life-threatening?

A hand, landing on her shoulder, breaks Alexia out of her thoughts. Looking up, she hopes to be finally met with a medical member to get an update, but instead she is met with a concerning Mapi, some of your other teammates right behind her. In realization, her shoulder slump in defeat.

She informed the entire team of the location of the hospital after arrival and of course she is grateful that she won’t be alone anymore, but there is nothing she would love more than receiving an update on you.

“I haven’t heard anything yet.”, Alexia quietly mutters to the defender in front of her. Mapi squeezes her shoulder in return, hoping to give her some comfort. Everyone who was allowed to come to the hospital sat down on the other chairs in the hallway. For the most part it was quiet, no one really finding words to say, except the usual “They will be okay.” and “We will make it through this together.”.

But with every minute passing, doubt started to set in. If it really will be okay, then it wouldn’t take as long as it would, right?

Before the thoughts can take over again though, the door, where you were wheeled in earlier, opens up. A doctor steps out with a clipboard in his hand, he shortly looks down at said board before turning his attention to the group, “Here for Y/N L/N?”.

At the mention of your name, Alexia immediately jumps up from her seat, “Yes, is she okay? Can I see her?”.

“Calm down, everything is okay so far. It took us a little longer as we had to make sure that no serious internal damage was taken from the fall. Luckily there is none, but she did receive a concussion and her left arm is broken along with some broken ribs. Also, her left leg got sprained and a lot of scratches are scattered across her body.”, the doctor explains in a calm voice.

Everyone visibly calms down a little after knowing that there was no serious damage and that it’s ‘just’ a few broken bones, since everyone honestly expected worse from the way you fell and curled up on the floor.

Alexia can feel tears forming in her eyes, this time from relief of finally knowing about your current state, “So, can I go to her?”, she tries again.

“Only one person at a time.”, is all he offers in response.

The midfielder glances towards her teammates, having a silent conversation with them. It was obvious that Alexia would be the person to visit you first, but she still wanted to make sure everyone was okay with that.

“Go.”, Mapi encourages her captain, giving her a light shove in the direction of the doctor, who was waiting for one of them to follow him to your room.

With a nod towards the rest of the team, she starts to follow the doctor.

“We are here.”, he says, mentioning to the door they both came to a hold in front of, “I have to go now but if you need something, press the button in there and a nurse will come. Bye.”.

“Thank you and bye.”, Alexia thanks the doctor, standing now alone in front of the door. She doesn’t know why she is suddenly so hesitant on opening that door. All she wished for the past 2 hours was nothing other than finally being by your side again, but now she is scared. Scared of the injured sight of you that she will have to face as soon as she steps inside.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door and makes her way into the dim lit room, closing the door behind her. Turning around again, she sees you lying in bed, looking at her through half closed eyes, “Hey.”.

“Hey.”, she chokes out, walking over to you and taking a seat on the chair on the right side from the hospital bed. She softly reaches her arm out to put a strand of hair behind your ear, that fell in front of your eyes, “You really scared me.”.

“I’m sorry.”, you whisper to her, not having enough power to talk louder than that. Alexia now runs her finger through your hair, “I really thought I might lose you at that moment, the way you were curled up on the floor I-”, she explains, voice breaking at the end of thinking about you lying on the floor earlier.

She doesn’t even notice that she started to cry until you wipe her tears away with your uninjured arm, “I’m really sorry, I scared you like that. Falling off the tree wasn’t really my plan to be fair.”, you say, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

A teary chuckle leaves Alexia’s lips, “Would have been concerning if it was. Also, you are never allowed to climb a tree ever again.”.

“Sounds good to me.”, you mumble, trying to fight off the sleep that keeps on trying to creep up on you.

“You should get some sleep.”, the midfielder whispers, using her unoccupied hand to pull the blanket a bit higher on your body.

“Maybe.”.

Humming at your answer, she presses a small kiss on your forehead, “Sleep.”.

The silence that falls over the room after, makes Alexia believe that you did fall asleep until you whisper once more, “Thank you for being here.”.

“Of course, I will always be there for you.”.

And she meant it, Alexia was by your side through the entire recovery process, supporting and helping you in every way she could until you two were finally back on the field together.

[disasterbuck]

Bobby has been calling Buck ‘Diaz’ all day. Buck tells Eddie. 600 word Buddie ficlet

 "Uh, I think Cap knows we're sleeping together," Buck said quietly.

"What? Why?" Eddie asked quickly, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear their conversation.

"He's been calling me Diaz all day," Buck stressed. "I mean, seriously? What's that about if not an acknowledgement of our secret relationship?"

"What?" Eddie asked, frowning. "That's so weird. Why would he-?"

Eddie's words cut off as Buck turned away from him to reach for something and he was met with his surname right in front of his face. His eyes widened and he quickly began stripping off the turnout he was wearing so that he could see what was written on the back.

"Eddie?" Buck asked, turning back around to see him in a frenzied state. "What's wrong? Are you...?"

Eddie and Buck both stared down at the turnout in Eddie's hands which read 'BUCKLEY' on the back. Then they looked up at each other and Buck's mouth fell open in surprise.

"We grabbed the wrong ones?" Buck whispered.

"We grabbed the wrong ones!" Eddie hissed, dropping Buck's turnout onto the bench and reaching out to start pulling his off the other man.

"Well, hey," Buck said as he pulled his arms free and let Eddie take the massive item of clothing. "At least this means he probably doesn't know about our secret relationship."

"Who doesn't know about your secret relationship?"

Buck froze and slowly lifted his gaze to Eddie, who was looking back at him with an extremely unimpressed stare.

"Oh," Buck said, his voice an octave higher than usual as he turned to face his Captain. "Hey Bobby!"

"You're wrong, by the way," Bobby continued, smirking as he stood behind Buck. "I've known about you two for years."

"Years?" Eddie and Buck echoed in unison.

"But we've only been together for a month," Eddie said.

"You... what?" Now Bobby was the one frowning.

"We got together a month ago," Buck said. "Why did you say years?"

"But you..." Bobby gestured between them. "You've been together for years. I've seen the looks. I know you go home together more than half the time."

"Are you kidding me?" Eddie said with a sigh, turning away from them as Buck began to laugh. "Even Bobby knew before I did?"

"You mean you haven't been together for years?" Bobby asked.

"No," Buck said, still smiling. "One month. Just one month."

"And you didn't know...?" Bobby asked Eddie. "Didn't know what?"

"He didn't know he was in love with me," Buck said, his smile turning into a smirk. "He didn't realise it until recently."

"It's an easy mistake to make," Eddie said, trying to defend himself. "We were just really close friends and I-"

"I've heard enough," Bobby said, sighing and turning away from them. "From now on please continue keeping it on the down low. I don't want to have to fill out any extra paperwork unless absolutely necessary."

"Not a problem, Cap," Buck assured him as Eddie sat down on the bench with a groan. "Hey, you okay?"

"Humiliated," Eddie grumbled. "It's like the whole world knew I was into you before I figured it out."

"I don't mind," Buck said. "We got here in the end, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Buck put a finger beneath Eddie's chin and lifted it so he could look into his eyes.

"Yes, Buck," Eddie said with the hint of a smile. "We got here in the end. And yes, I love you. I will stop wallowing, now."

"Good," Buck said, leaning forward to press their lips together briefly. "I love you, too."

[annwrites]

let's go, then

— pairing: jim x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: jim won't stop digging what seems to be graves. knowing he has a soft spot for you, a concerned shane comes to you, to ask you to talk him down before he hurts himself.

— tags: you & jim have a situationship, reminiscing

— tw: suicidal ideation, (kinda) attempted suicide, discussion of loss of loved ones

— word count: 1,539

— a/n: my twd masterlist | i tried to find the source for the gif i used for this post, but was unable. if anyone could send it to me, it'd be much appreciated!

"Y/N."

You set the washcloth you're currently scrubbing the RV's table with down and turn to Shane, who's leaning in from the doorway.

"Can you come out here a sec? Need to talk to you 'bout somethin'."

You nod, following him out.

He leads you away from everyone else and you begin to grow worried at the look on his face when he turns back to you, hands on his hips.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, tone full of concern.

"You aware of what Jim's been up to all afternoon?"

Your brows furrow. During breakfast, he'd seemed distracted—had hardly spoken a word, in fact, before he'd taken off, saying there was 'something he needed to get done'.

You'd shrugged it off, assuming work was on his mind.

You shake your head. "No. I haven't seen him since early this morning."

He glances up to the hill overlooking the camp. "He's been up there for hours, diggin' holes. I went up, tried to talk some sense into him to try and get him to come down, but he won't listen to me. If he doesn't stop on his own...I ain't gonna give him a choice. He'll only end up hurting himself in this heat. But I know he's sweet on you."

You flush at the insinuation.

"Maybe he'll listen to you, if no one else."

"Take me to him."

Half the group follows the two of you up the hill, even if you wish they wouldn't. It doesn't concern them. And, having an audience will only make things that much harder if he's not in his right mind.

When you reach him, your heart drops and you fill with worry. His clothes are soaked through with sweat and he seems to be almost in a trancelike state.

"Jim, bud, I got someone here who wants to talk to you," Shane calls to him, without response.

You step closer to him.

"Jim?" You call to him softly. Once again, no response.

You step closer until you're at his side. "Jim, can you stop for a minute so we can talk?"

"Nothin' to talk about." He looks at you for a moment, then behind him and shakes his head. He gestures toward the crowd. "I'm not botherin' anybody. Ya'll just...ya'll just go ahead and leave me alone."

He pushes the shovel further into the ground with his boot, breaking dirt and clay apart, before tossing it to the side.

You take a small step closer, but you don't dare touch him, afraid of what his reaction may be if you do.

"Jim, please. It's nearly a hundred degrees out. You've sweated through your shirts. Just...come down and let me get you a change of clothes and some water. You're scaring me-"

"Ain't nothin' to be scared of. Just go away and leave me the hell alone."

Tears sting your eyes. He'd never spoken like that to you before.

You grow angry then. "You want me to watch you kill yourself up here from heat stroke, then? Is that it? You want me to lose you, too? Haven't...haven't I lost enough people? Do you want me to go back into the woods and stick a gun in my mouth again, like that first day we finally spoke?"

You think back to that day. You'd been in camp for two weeks and hadn't spoken a single word to anyone in all that time. You communicated only by hand gestures, body language, facial expressions, nods and shakes of your head. You had grown afraid of even your own voice. Because the few times you did open your mouth? The thing which immediately filled your mind was the sound of your own screams. Screaming for your family as they were torn apart right in front of you.

So one day, you'd snuck into the RV, taken a small revolver—tucking it into your waistband and hiding it under your shirt—and disappeared into the woods. Intent on killing yourself.

You'd sat on a tree stump for the better part of a day crying—sobbing—and thinking. Thinking the worst possible things a person could ever think.

You'd held it up next to your head first, but your hand had started shaking too bad to keep it in-place, so you'd lowered it—some small, miniscule part of you hoping that someone would come looking for you. That someone would care enough to bother.

And then you'd put it in your mouth and had vomited almost immediately from the feeling of the cold metal against the insides of your hot cheeks.

Finally, as you'd held it under your chin, finger on the trigger, you'd heard something behind you. Then, "There you are."

Jim had come around to the front of you and his face dropped immediately, kneeling down in front of you. "Honey, you don't want to do this."

"There's nothing left. This is the o-only thing," you'd stammered through your tears. So many of them you could barely see him, could barely breathe or think.

"That isn't true. I know...I know you've lost everything. So have I, so I get it."

You'd shaken your head, pulling the lever back. "No, you don't. None of you do."

His eyes widened, hands shooting out. "Don't, sweetheart, please. Just...just listen for a moment, okay? Can-can you do that for me? Just for a minute?"

You'd remained still. Waiting.

"I had a wife and two sons. They...the biters took 'em right from me. Tore 'em right from my arms. And after—even when I first came here—I was gone. For a long time. As a man, it was my job to protect 'em. And I failed...I failed them. Failed to do that much. Why the hell should I be alive if they're not? I still don't have an answer for that. But I keep going, because it would be disrespectful. For me to throw my life away, something I still get to have, when theirs were cut so damn short. To throw it away like living means nothin'. When it does. It did. For them. So I do it for them."

He'd reached toward you, arm outstretched, palm facing upward. "Give me the gun, sweetheart. We can walk out of these woods together."

Your tears had continued to fall as he spoke, but for a moment—for one second—as you listened to him, his voice became the only thing left in all the world. The thought of dying, of pulling that silver trigger, had been forgotten.

You'd considered what he'd said for what, at least for him, felt like an eternity. Finally, you lowered the pistol, handing it to him with trembling hands, dropping it into his waiting palm.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

He tucked the gun away into his pocket, then offered you his hand. "Let me take you back to camp."

On the way there, he realized your exchange had been the first time you'd spoken since Dale and Shane bringing you in.

He assumed you already knew his name, but gave it to you again anyway, as a way of reintroducing himself. And you did the same in return.

And after that day, he became—for a long time—the only person in camp you'd speak to, or really interact with.

Others had asked him what he'd done to earn your trust, but he'd merely brushed them off, saying it was for him to know and for you to tell. And only if and when you were ready to, at that.

In time, you shared all your meals together, you did his laundry, he helped hunt to feed both of you, and you even—one night, after a particularly horrid, gut-wrenching nightmare—asked him, as you choked back tears, if you could sleep with him. That you were scared to be alone.

All that mattered to him in that moment was that you thought of him as a safe place for yourself.

He'd merely motioned for you to come inside his tent. And you'd slept beside one another that night.

And then every night thereafter.

Eventually, you came to find each other in your sleep. Sometimes you'd be pressed up against his side, limbs twined around him like roots. Sometimes, you'd wake to his form covering your backside, his arms holding you closely to him.

You hadn't called it anything specific. Didn't really talk about it. It just...was what it was.

And you were both content with that.

It was better than returning to being alone.

To wanting to die.

You'd both found a reason to live. Even if it didn't last forever, at least you had it right now.

Finally, you huff at him out of anger, even if he's now stopped digging, those words ringing in his ears—that memory now at the forefront of his mind.

"Fine, I'll go. Just make sure you dig a hole for yourself." You swallow the lump in your throat. "Maybe for me too," you whisper.

You turn to walk away, and you get not even five steps in before you hear a thud against the ground, then feel rough, calloused fingers twining between your own.

"Let's go, then."

[12romy]

Need a one shot of Lewis comforting Charles (because he has experience with this from before)(or them comforting each other) after the disqualifications today to be able to move on😭 im speechless.

Oh anon, trust me, I can't believe it either... This is so messed up, we really can't have anything good. My poor babies...

Here's a little ficlet, I hope it will cheer you up ❤️

It's a little poetic, Charles thinks, that they picked a picture of the two of them congratulating each other to announce their disqualifications. A little cruel, too.

Lewis is curled up against him, his cheek resting on Chalres' chest. It's still a bit damp with tears, wetness piercing through the fabric of his tee-shirt.

He doesn't mind. He lets Lewis cry all he needs because what else can he do? He had been magnificent the entire weekend, not making a single mistake. Charles is used to be let down by his team, Lewis, not quite yet. He hopes it'll never get as bad, that Lewis will never have to be used to that kind of things.

They cried, they talked, they cried a bit more, and they kissed. They didn't have sex, but it has been a while since they used that as a way to cheer each other up. It's better this way, better to keep negative feelings out of the bedroom.

Lewis' motorhome was in a terrible state, when Charles sneaked inside, and he can't blame him. It's really not in Lewis' nature to lash out like this, he tend to keep everything inside and plaster a smile on his face. It's good to know even he has his limits, no matter how good he got at losing.

Lewis also monologued for a solid ten minutes about how he hated Mercedes, and Toto, and everyone involved. About how he should dump their sorry ass and go drive to redbull.

He can get a bit dramatic, and none of his words are to be taken seriously, of course. It isn't often that Lewis can say things without any consequences, so Charles let him.

He would've found it funny, even, if he wasn't busy wallowing on their messed up races.

Lewis is probably asleep, Charles guesses from his quiet, regular breath.

Charles should sleep, too, but he can't. There's something in him that's too restless for it.

He feels Lewis move against him, hear him take a long inspiration that tells him he's awake.

"I can hear you think," he hums, the sound resonnating in Charles' chest, and he feels overwhelmed with love at this instant.

"I'm gonna leave Ferrari," he says simply. Lewis lifts up his head, looking at him with piercing eyes, and nods before plopping his head back against him.

Charles doesn't need to precise he's being serious.

"I'll support you no matter what," Lewis says softly.

"I know," he replies, and kiss the top of Lewis' head. Then, after a few minutes of silence: "Let's go get dinner and celebrate. I'm talking fancy restaurant, maybe hit a bar, after."

"Celebrate what, our DSQ?" Lewis snorts, unkind, annoyed.

"No, but it took me four years to come to this decision. And you deserve a proper way to celebrate your podium. It doesn't matter if it was taken from you, you fucking deserved it. You've been amazing, mon amour."

He can hear Lewis cry again more than see him, as he buried his face against Charles' chest once again.

"Okay," Lewis agrees eventually, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I know just the place. But this time, you let me pick your clothes. No way I'm letting you wear those ugly pants."

"Whatever you want, Lew," Charles smiles. They will be fine.

[giurochedadomani]

For the Spotify Top 100 ficlet prompt: 55, One Piece, whatever you're feeling!

Por la boca vive el pez- Fito & Fitipaldis

(It's my absolute favourite rock ballad in the world, the singer is basically playing around with the popular saying 'por la boca muere el pez', meaning 'the fish dies because of its mouth', meaning 'liars usually rattle themselves out', and he's using that to say how he cannot live anymore while denying his feelings).

“I apologize”. 

Mihawk’s words throw Shanks out of a loop. He closes the door of his cabin, his other hand lightly squeezing Mihawk’s shoulder as he tries to search his face. The penumbra elongates the swordsman’s gesture, making him seem… sad? Embarrassed? In the lonely light of the only couple of candles lit up on Shanks’ desk. 

“...My behavior was unfitting”, Mihawk continues. Shanks blinks, a total loss of words. “I’ll understand if you—”. 

“What are you going on about?”, Shanks cuts him off, heart pounding in his chest as his mind automatically jumps to every single instance throughout the evening in which Mihawk has been uncharacteristically handsy. How Shanks moved Mihawk’s legs to let people use the stairs of the ship they were drinking on and Mihawk just kind of. Left his legs on Shanks’ lap. How he gently took Shanks’ hand and put it again on his knee, every time Shanks thought that he was getting tired of him idly running his fingers on it. 

Mihawk, ever so helpful, gives a non committal shrug. 

Shanks takes a breath. 

“Look”, he says, directing Mihawk to sit on his bed: “I took you out because you usually do not get this drunk, not because—”, he strips him of his coat, then kneels to take out his boots and hopes that not looking at him helps him say something that makes more or less sense, “they’ve done wilder shit— hey, I’ve done wilder shit, it’s just. You usually do not get this drunk”. 

Because that’s the thing. His mind keeps circling back to Mihawk touching him —to things like that little displeased noise he made every time Shanks moved his hand away— but the reality is that the swordsman has been pretty out of it throughout their entire meeting. Hell, he already seemed a little weirded out in the morning, when he’s shown up to their customary duel. 

He looks up at Mihawk’s somber face, and squeezes his thigh even though the other doesn’t look at him. 

“What’s going on?”. 

It cannot be the marines, and thinking about the possibility of a rival making Mihawk this sad makes Shanks internally laugh. That leaves the prospect of Mihawk being in this state by something Shanks adjacent, but he cannot think of anything the swordsman wouldn’t tell him upfront, Mihawk’s tongue being at times as sharp as Yoru. 

Well, nothing realistic, anyway. 

“At this point you’ve got to know that you can tell me about whatever’s going on, and that I won’t use it against you”, Shanks says, because it bears to be said, apparently. “Except if it’s about how you’re bad at fighting with knives. But I already know that”, he teases with a smile. 

Mihawk huffs, and it almost sounds like a snort, and if Shanks pays attention, he can almost see a corner of the swordsman’s lips pulling up. His chest feels warm. 

Warmer, still, when Mihawk’s eyes drop to his lips. 

He closes his mouth. His heart is beating out of rhythm, impossibly loud in his ears in the silence of the room. Half of Mihawk’s face is obscured, the light of the candles a tenuous glint on his golden iris, stuck on Shanks’ lips. Does Mihawk feel the warmth of his cheek, when he cups it? Does he blame it on the alcohol? 

The spell is broken when a wave makes Shanks’ tense position tip, hands scrambling for support on Mihawk’s thighs, straw hat tipped back and hanging on his back and—  he grabs the other’s hand without a second thought, pulling it back to his cheek where the swordsman left it first.   

“...This is okay”, Shanks mutters, because it apparently also needs to be said. It tips Mihawk’s surprise into something close to fondness, if Shanks is reading him well. 

The swordsman kisses his grin away.

[triniteevee]

Hey, Neighbor

(giacomo x reader ficlet)

by law, shared walls suck

tagging @nyandemo for requesting thee dj vice (◕‿◕✿) i hope all u giacomo enjoyers enjoy

There it is again.

For the past two weeks, the person occupying the dorm next to you seemed to make it a point to make your ears bleed. It was the simplest explanation. Otherwise, they must have never heard good music before.

You desperately needed a good night’s sleep. Especially tonight. Your traitorous mind conjures up images of an angry Director Clavell chastising you for not being better prepared for your meeting tomorrow.

Like a ghostly power came over you, you bang your fist against the shared wall and yell out, “Turn it down!”

Immediately, you’re overcome with guilt and shame. A harried voice exclaims, “Oh crap!” The music dies down in an instant, and the same voice apologizes profusely. “I’m sorry! That was my bad! Please don’t be mad— wait you probably already are. I didn’t realize—“ The rest of the words are muffled, and you would not be surprised if they had smushed their face against the wall in an attempt to appease you.

The blanket tightly wrapped around you is warm, and so cozy, but you couldn’t help the need to go over there and apologize yourself. Before you exit your dorm, you give yourself a quick once-over. You snap out of it soon enough. What did it matter what you looked like anyway?

As soon as your neighbor opens up their door, you realize oh no, maybe it did matter what you looked like. (Oh no, he’s hot.)

You’re all too aware of your embarrassing state of dress. Penny’s star patterned joggers, Arven’s sandwich print shirt, and Nemona’s Cyclizar slippers. Not to mention, the bird’s nest of a hair you’re sporting.

If he thinks you look funny, he doesn’t say it. In fact, he stands there, hand on his door knob, mouth gaping open. As if in disbelief.

Speaking rapidly, like there’s a magnetic pull forcing you back into the safety of your own bed, you say, “Hey. Sorry for yelling like that. I appreciate you turning it down. Your music was keeping me up. I have a thing early morning. ‘Kay, thanks, baiii.”

Before he could get a word in, you hightail it back to your room.

Giacomo could only poke his head out into the hallway, staring quizzically at your door. “No problem,” he whispers, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him.

Because of how restless you had felt after seeing him last night, you tossed and turned for hours. You’re not exactly sure what pulled you to sleep, but the need for sleep had caught up so suddenly that you realize you had slept through all three of your alarms.

The red 7:00 on your bedside table gleams mockingly.

A series of rapts on your door rids you of all drowsiness. You’re a little bothered by all the ruckus, but admittedly you’d rather have that than miss your meeting happening in fifteen minutes.

Opening the door felt like déjà vu… sort of, except you’re on the other side of the wall. And the man standing there is a lot better dressed than he’d been last night.

“Good morning.”

Your brain still hasn’t quite caught up to the weirdness of the morning. You stare at him, unintentionally memorizing the color of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his smile.

The brightness in his eyes soon dim down, and is accompanied by the clearing of his throat. “I was wondering if you could keep it down. Your alarm kept waking me up.”

“O-okay.” You’re still confused by everything, the instinct to flare up at his words doesn’t appear.

A paper cup is thrust at your direction. “Anyway, the café gave me an extra coffee. Thought I could make up for all the noise from my end.” The smell wafting from it suggests it should be worth like 12 dollars at least. So, the good stuff. “Plus you said you have a thing this morning so…” He lets the words die down.

You take a tentative sip. “Thanks.”

It was exactly how you liked it. The kind of order you treat yourself with after finals.

“I should let you get ready,” he smiles.

Before he could shut his door, Giacomo feels a hand pulling on his sleeve. You’re looking at the carpet beneath you as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. Cute.

“I want to make it up to you too.”

Giacomo knows his cheeks are going to hurt from how much he’s grinning.

“Buy me a drink tonight?”

You eventually bring your gaze to him, and he has to catch his breath at the sight.

“Sounds fair…” Your eyes widen like you just realized something. “…neighbor.”

He laughs, and you have the decency to look a little embarrassed. A sadistic part of him almost wishes to see that expression more often, but ultimately the gentlemanly part wins over. “Giacomo.”

You repeat his name a few times, and he feels himself blush.

When he gently reminds you of your impending meeting, and you leave his presence, the grin is still fixed firmly on his face.

Pawniard snickers at his trainer.

“Shut up.” He couldn’t even keep the giddiness off his voice.

Not his fault, he lucked out rooming right next to his café crush.

[anxiouspineapple99]

heyyy so for the first kiss prompts, I'm thinking:

Tech

+

"well I guess that answers my question"

❤️❤️❤️

FRIIIEND! Gonna take a different approach (that you’ve approved of already LOL) and make this a Tech x Avery ficlet! Thank you for asking! Also this won’t technically be a first kiss. Hope that’s okay lol.

Well, I Guess That Answers My Question - Tech x OC!Avery

Avery sat in the Marauder’s pilot seat, legs tucked beneath her. Sparks glittered under the console as Tech’s voice drifted from underneath in a lengthy explanation of hyperdrive modification. One of her favorite pastimes since joining the Batch was listening to Tech ramble on as he tinkered away under the console of his ship. She chuckled softly thinking of the looks of indignation that his brothers always gave him when he’d say that.

“Ner sarad, what is so funny? Are you listening?” He asked as he pulled himself out from under the console and propped himself on his elbows.

“Mm? Always, my clever boy. You said with proper calibration and a higher voltage wires you can reroute power from offline systems to increase hyperspace travel speed by 1.56 seconds.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious albeit satisfied that she’d heard him before pushing himself back under the console and continuing what he’d been saying. However, Avery’s mind had already wandered elsewhere. They were finally alone. Hunter and Echo were getting supplies and Wrecker and Omega had taken Nuna out to play. And as much as she loved listening to Tech talk, she loved kissing him just a wee bit more.

She dropped her foot down, and dragged the toe of her boot from the inside of his ankle to his knee. The sparks stopped once again as Tech’s voice hitched at the unexpected touch.

“Did you need something?” She heard him ask, not moving from his spot.

She didn’t answer, wondering how long it would take him to pull himself away from his project. A few seconds passed before he grunted and resumed what he was doing. She waited long enough for him to be fully engrossed before running the toe of her boot from the inside of his knee to mid thigh. That was enough to make him jump.

“Avery! What do you need?” He pushed out from under the console once again, this time his tone was sharp and impatient.

She shrugged, still smiling impishly. He huffed, pulling himself back under the console.

Again she waited, this time until his irritated grumbling ceased and the steady stream of information began to flow like a babbling brook once again. She slipped from the seat, scooting under to console right next to him. It was a tight fit but she was small enough to manage.

Tech whipped his head toward her. “Darling, you should not be under here with no head protection! What is it that you…”

Before he could finish asking for a third time, she lifted his helmet just enough to access his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them as she hummed gleefully.

“Well, I guess that answers my question,” he murmured against her lips before pulling his helmet off entirely and drawing her back in, his kisses deepening. They were interspersed with sweet words of affection exchanging between both of them.

“What are you two doing?” Omega’s question jolted both of them and caused Avery to smash her head into the underside of the console with a yelp.

“Avery was helping me with the modifications to the hyperdrive,” Tech stated matter of factly. Omega, seemingly satisfied with the answer hummed in response and wandered off.

Tech slid his helmet back on. “That is why you should not be under here with no head protection.” Avery crinkled her nose at him, rubbing the sizable lump that was forming. He ran a gentle thumb over the tender spot before cooing, “If you allow me to finish, I shall take a look at that for you.”

“I’m the doctor here,” she teased, planting a kiss on his helmet where his lips would be. “But I’ll allow it.” As she scooted out from under the console she heard him huff a soft chuckle before he resumed working on his project. She settled back into the pilot seat, grin tugging at her lips as she tucked her legs under herself once more. Her gaze traveled along Tech’s outstretched legs as she hoped that her injury was going to result in a few more of those kisses.

Ragu List: @secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @dystopicjumpsuit @mooncommlink @moonlightwarriorqueen @sunshinesdaydream @starrylothcat @starqueensside @mandos-mind-trick @multi-fan-dom-madness @808tsuika @msmeredithrose @trixie2023 @wolffegirlsunite @mythical-illustrator @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz @ladyzirkonia @eyeluvmusic21 @523rdrebel @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @isthereanechoinhere96 @littlemissmanga @sinfulsalutations @the-bad-batch-baroness @freesia-writes

[timotey]

Ficlet: Human, Unexpectedly

The Spirealm. Ruan Lanzhu/Ling Jiushi. Missing scene from ep 60. Unbeta'd.

He wasn't made for this.

(Yeah, I was hit by the feels. Ergo, a ficlet.)

*.*.*

Ling Jiushi keeps holding Tan Zaozao in his arms long after she dies. He’s holding her and not letting go, rocking her slowly back and forth, back and forth, and stroking her hair gently.

She’s dead. And he’s stopped crying.

When the emergency services arrive, Lanzhu finally steps in. He can’t bear the thought of these people being unkind to Lingling. He would never stand for it, but especially not now. 

He drops to his knees next to Ling Jiushi and rests one hand on his lower back. “Ling Jiushi… Lingling, let go,” he whispers gently. “Let her go.”

And he does. Slowly, Ling Jiushi opens his arms, releasing Zaozao, letting the medics take her. He follows their ministrations with his eyes but there’s little life in them and no hope. He knows there’s no bringing her back.

Lanzhu knows it too. Very well. Best of all of them. He’s known the rules since his very conception. He’s known them and accepted them, easily so. But lately, he’s been... living them - and it hurts. 

“Come on,” Lanzhu whispers and takes Ling Jiushi by the shoulders, helping him stand. He has to hold him up, prop him up because Ling Jiushi's knees give out. But that’s okay, Lanzhu's strong enough. For Lingling, always. “Let’s go home.”

*

The ride back is quiet. They don’t talk.

Lanzhu had to help Ling Jiushi into the car, had to put on the safety belt for him because Ling Jiushi completely blanked out, he froze. For a moment there, he wasn’t even sure if Lingling was breathing. Lanzhu's never seen him in such a state and it’s starting to really worry him.

Ling Jiushi is staring down at his hands, numb and uncomprehending. Lanzhu glances that way, taking his eyes off the road for a second, and sees that Lingling’s hands are bloody. There’s a little blood soaked into his pants and his shirt, too. 

Lanzhu hopes that Ling Jiushi didn’t cut himself on the broken glass of the fallen chandelier. He opens his mouth to ask - but then he doesn't. Lingling most likely doesn’t know himself, he would most likely not even answer anyway.

Lanzhu wants to stop the car and hug Lingling, just hug him and hold him. He doesn’t. He drives on.

*

When they arrive at the villa, Lanzhu has to help Ling Jiushi in. 

The others are waiting for them, the mood in the living room serious and somber, grief hanging heavily over them. Qianli jumps to his feet but before he can say more than a hesitant “Lingling-ge…” Lanzhu shakes his head. Not now. Ling Jiushi isn’t even aware of them, it seems.

Lanzhu takes him upstairs, to Ling Jiushi's bedroom and through that to the bathroom where he strips him naked and guides him into the shower stall where he starts the water running. He needs to wash the blood off, the blood and the glass. Lanzhu doesn’t want Lingling to hurt himself. He doesn’t want Lingling to see Tan Zaozao’s blood when he comes back to his senses.

He’s been thinking of undressing Lingling, of touching him and of… other things, too, for quite some time now but none of that is on his mind right now as he runs the washcloth over Ling Jiushi’s arms and the palms of his hands, cleaning away all the physical evidence of Tan Zaozao’s death. 

And Lingling just stands there and lets him, either he trusts Lanzhu that much - or he doesn’t care. Either way his eyes are completely blank and his breath is shallow, barely there, he's just a hollow husk. It’s terrifying, this emptiness.

Afterwards, Lanzhu dries Ling Jiushi off and puts him in some warm clothes, the earth colored sweater that he bought for him and his old pants, so worn, almost threadbare yet so comfortable and soft to the touch. Then he helps Lingling into bed and bundles him up and then he leaves to quickly change too because he’s soaked, having only removed off his outermost clothes, not wanting to make Lingling uncomfortable with his own nakedness if he came back to himself.

But when he returns, Ling Jiushi isn't asleep, he’s lying there just as Lanzhu left him, with his eyes open and staring at the ceiling without really seeing it - and he’s trembling all over, shaking almost visibly. Lanzhu touches his cheek, his hand and finds them chilled, almost icy cold, as if Lingling’s body lost its ability to generate heat. 

Lanzhu calls Chen Fei.

“Lanzhu, I keep telling you I’m not qualified for this,” Chen Fei says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking Ling Jiushi’s wrist in his hand to check his pulse. He’s exasperated and worried - and he's not an actual human doctor, no matter what the others think!

Lanzhu’s leaning back against the head of the bed with Ling Jiushi nestled against his right side and he can feel the tremors running through the other man's body getting stronger, like he’s shaking apart.

And he still hasn’t said anything, Lingling, not a word. He isn’t asleep but he’s not entirely there either and Lanzhu… Lanzhu can’t take this. He doesn’t do helpless, especially when it comes to Lingling.

“Chen Fei!” he says quietly but firmly, cutting off all his objections. He simply stares at him, hard, until Chen Fei sighs and looks away.

“Alright, alright…” Chen Fei mutters and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

When Chen Fei comes back, he orders, “Pull up his sleeve,” while he rummages through the contents of his not-doctor’s bag for a syringe and a small bottle, half full of a clear liquid. “It’s a mild sedative. It will help him rest - or it won’t harm him, at least. I don’t think there’s anything physically wrong with him, he’s just…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. There's no need. Lanzhu was there and the others saw it on TV. In the chase after sensational news, it was aired life, the whole thing. And so they all saw it. Tan Zaozao’s death, Ling Jiushi’s despair, none of it was private.

After Chen Fei’s done, he puts away his things while Lanzhu pulls down Ling Jiushi’s sleeve, hiding the needle mark that should give him some relief. He’s watching Lingling blink more and more slowly, languidly, eyelashes fluttering, until he falls asleep, his head lolling against Lanzhu’s shoulder. 

Lanzhu tries to move, to get up and let Ling Jiushi lie down more comfortably but Lingling instinctively burrows closer, throwing one arm across Lanzhu’s stomach, gripping him tight, hand fisted into Lanzhu’s shirt, one leg slipping between Lanzhu’s, pinning him down.

Breath catches in Lanzhu’s throat. This… he didn’t plan this. It wasn’t his intention to–

“Stay with him,” Chen Fei says softly as he gets up, snapping his bag shut with a metallic click. “Your company might help him more than the sedative. I think what he really needs right now is not to be alone.” And with that, he leaves.

Slowly, hesitantly, Lanzhu wraps his arms around Ling Jiushi, lightly stroking his hair and his back. He stares down at Lingling - and once again he sees him holding Tan Zaozao’s lifeless body, back there, on the stage.

And it hurts!

Tan Zaozao’s death. Lingling’s grief. Those things, they hurt and they're choking him and they're making his eyes burn. And Lanzhu doesn’t know what to do with that. He wasn't made for this. He was never meant to be like this. He’s never thought he could feel so much and so deeply, that he was even capable of it. And yet, here he is. He has friends and a family - and he’s fallen in love, so desperately that it makes him want to live.

Resting his hand on Lingling's sleeping face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb lightly, Lanzhu thinks to himself that... he was never meant to be anything more than an NPC, yet unexpectedly, he feels so human.

[scribeoffate]

hi! For the enemies-to-lovers valentines ficlets, can I request: Sceo + "just say you're lonely and have no one to spend it with, next time, 'kay?" (and if you want to scottuary it: + UC Davis or Beacon Hills Disaster Clubs)?

thanks for the prompt! this went nowhere i expected so enjoy the ride? no real warnings, cut for length

“Thanks,” Theo says, closing his textbook.

“Sure,” Scott answers, “same time next week?”

Theo gives him an unreadable look before shrugging. “Yeah, okay. I guess.”

“You guess or you don’t want to study next week?”

“No that’s not what… I appreciate you helping me out with this. Really.”

Scott sighs. “Yeah, okay. So, same time next week?”

Theo shoves his books into his backpack with a terse nod. “Yeah.”

Scott frowns as he leaves. They’ve been doing these tutoring sessions for several months now. He knows it had cost Theo something to ask for help, but can’t fathom what’s gotten into him tonight.

Scott opens his calculus textbook and starts to work on the assigned problems. Well, he moves his pencil to his paper and copies the numbers, but his mind is still wandering, still trying to figure out why in the world Theo had reacted like that.

They’ve come to a general truce during tutoring. Scott doesn’t say anything about Theo’s gaps in knowledge. Theo doesn’t say anything about how Scott always sits with his back to a wall, eyes constantly casing the library for threats.

Even though the biggest threat is across from him at the table, bent over his biology textbook, muttering about something the doctors had told him that was wrong. Or unethical. Or right.

Theo’s abrupt departure felt different. Wrong.

Scott sighs and closes his textbook, no closer to solving any of his problems. He might as well head back to his apartment and fail to solve them from the comfort of his couch.

- Sometimes Theo joins him and Danny for lunch. They’re at the end of the table, filled mostly with lacrosse players. Danny flashes Scott an odd smile anytime Theo shows up and turns his attention to the rest of the team.

“Theo not joining us?” Danny asks, sliding his tray onto the table beside Scott.

“Uhm? I guess not. Why?”

Danny stares at him. “Just thought with it being… you know…”

Scott shrugs. “Wednesday? Yeah, I guess he usually eats with us then.”

Danny tilts his head. “Nah, man. I mean Valentine’s Day. You two don’t have any plans?”

Scott blinks. “Why would we…”

Danny slaps an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve forgotten the big day a few times myself. I’ve got your back.”

Before Scott can protest, or finish his lunch, Danny is dragging him back to his dorm room, and fishing out a barely rumpled suit jacket.

He throws him a tight black tank top and states that his jeans and sneakers will be fine. He thrusts a bouquet of partly wilted flowers into Scott’s hands, along with two tickets to a play.

Danny shrugs. “Me and James broke up. Again. Someone ought to use them. And you and Theo have a shot, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“What?”

Danny grins and pushes him out the door. “Go salvage this before you regret it.”

Scott walks to the library where he usual meets Theo, because he really doesn’t know what else to do. His head is spinning. Why would Danny think he and Theo were… together?

Theo’s not there, Scott glances at his phone, he’s about twenty minutes early. He finds their usual table and sets the flowers down before pulling out his books.

Scott stares at his English assignment while he waits for Theo to get here. He doesn’t know what to think or feel. Until Theo is ten minutes late. Then fifteen. Then twenty.

Scott glances at his phone. No messages. No emails. He slams his books shut. He thinks about dumping the flowers in the trash, but grabs them at the last minute, crushing them in his fist as he finds his way to the apartment Theo shares with Malia.

The lights are off, but he can smell Theo and hear him breathing.

Scott knocks.

He realizes what he must look like with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Crushed flowers in one hand, Danny’s weird suit jacket, more rumpled now, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Theo opens the door. “What do you want?”

Scott shoves the flowers at him. “I thought we had plans.”

Theo holds the flowers, gently, like a half crushed bouquet of hand-me-down daises is something precious.

“I thought it was just to study.”

Scott shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Theo waves Scott inside. He doesn’t turn on any lights but takes the time to find a glass to fill with water and put the flowers in while Scott watches awkwardly.

“Y’know,” Theo says, setting the glass beside the sink, “if you were lonely and wanted to spend the day with someone… you could have just said.”

Scott’s heart hammer in his chest as Theo turns to face him. He closes the distance between them. Inches between them. But this time Scott grabs Theo. This time Scott brings Theo closer to him.

This time, Scott presses his lips against Theo’s.

[shares-a-vest]

*presents this little Clarkson ficlet to you in a heart-shaped box

Wayne walks back to the trailer at a snail’s pace as he flicks through the pile of mail he’d just collected. His boots scuff along the loose gravel as he walks carefully so as not to stumble. He’d toed them on in haste, not bothering to zip them up because he needed to get to the mailbox at the front of the Forest Hills driveway before his nephew. They hadn’t received a letter from his no-good incarcerated brother since before Christmas, so he was expecting another. And it could come at any time and he wanted to spare Eddie the anguish of the grovelling and self-involved drivel his brother always spewed.

Sure enough, as he flips past another bill (the secret government only paid for new trailers for each resident and didn’t bother about the increased utility costs), there’s a letter stamped with a faded Indiana State logo. He tucks it in his flannel breast pocket and stops short of the steps of his home at the sight of the next letter.

He recognises the writing immediately.

As a hot rush creeps into his chest (panic, hope, whatever - he doesn’t know), Wayne stuffs the envelope into his back jeans pocket and checks his watch. He’s got a good hour before he has to be at the mechanic for a quick morning shift.

He makes himself a coffee (and Eddie a cocoa while he’s at it) and goes to sit on the old floral recliner Claudia Henderson had given him last year when everyone was regrouping after ‘the earthquake’. Wayne smiles as he opens the envelope, trying not to think too much about Scott Clarke’s name on the return address. He opens the letter and skims to Scott’s sign-off that includes a little heart. His heart skips a beat.

Shit. It’s Valentine’s Day.

Just then Steve Harrington pulls up in his marron Beemer and steps out wearing a pale pink shirt and holding a single rose. And then Wayne can’t stop thinking about how his nephew has probably forgotten the day too.

The Munsons weren’t exactly known for romantic gestures.

“Hi Wayne,” Steve says meekly as he steps onto the small porch.

“You boys have plans today?” he asks, nodding at the rose.

“Yes,” Steve says, shielding the flower a little.

He huffs a small laugh and gestures to the door. “Eddie’s up.”

The boy beams and heads inside.

Wayne abandons the letter as he stares out at the trailer park and watches his neighbours putter about, getting in the cars for work, and walking up to the mailbox. He sighs with relief when he sees Susan Mayfield smiling and chatting away with her daughter as they get into their car.

It is a warm day, considering it’s February.

The front door bursts open and Eddie steps out, skipping down the steps.

“Adios, Wayne!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Did you remember to give Steve a card today, boy?” he calls, frowning.

“Yes,” his nephew chimes, holding an envelope up sky high. “You want me to read my super-dirty Valentine’s message to my beloved Prince?”

“Dude! Shut up!” Steve shrieks from the front door.

“No thank you,” Wayne laughs as Steve rushes out past him.

“Bye, Wayne!” he hurries, scurrying away and shaking his head as Eddie laughs with that cheeky grin that gets him into far too much trouble for his own good.

“What?” Eddie says as Steve hops in the car. “I just want you to know how horny you make me, Stevie.”

Wayne shakes his head and makes fleeting eye contact with Steve who just fires up the car in haste, looking mortified. His nephew sure had a bad habit of making him hear things he wish he didn't. And making everyone, even his boyfriend, very uncomfortable.

Even though he teases with that grin, Wayne thinks his nephew is brave. It makes him worry sometimes. Okay, it makes him worry a lot. And he worries about Steve too, in this small town with everyone's narrow-minded thinking, with most of the townsfolk still thinking Eddie is a murderer.

He watches as the boys drive off, waving them goodbye and doing the same again when the Mayfeilds pass by.

Once they are all out of sight, Wayne leaves his (still full) cup of coffee and heads back inside. He checks his watch again and reaches for the phone. Scott probably won’t be at school yet.

He dials Scott’s number and as it rings, he moves to the reminder pad on the fridge and starts scribbling a note to tell Eddie he won’t be home for dinner.

[ghostofskywalker]

hope this is okay: for the event "love you too, asshole" with any of the marvel men or women x reader, whoever you think it fits best!! I literally love all of them so I will be happy with any

hello!! i know i said i had a few character ideas for this, but then i ended up throwing all that out the window and going with wanda (oops). this can serve as a second part to this ficlet, but also can be read on it's own.

words: 1,126

summary: you and wanda have been dancing around your feelings for weeks now, and neither one of you wants to be the one to say it first. eventually, after enough teasing, you finally get to talk, and maybe you don't actually hate each other after all.

wanda maximoff masterlist

Love You Too, Asshole

You could feel the glare on your skin as you walked into the kitchen, but you paid the fuming witch no mind as you opened the fridge and started to browse for something to snack on. You took your time as you moved the various fruits and yogurts out of the way to “look” for something else, knowing exactly who was still staring at you. You wondered if Wanda would actually say something, especially because of what had happened on the most recent mission you had gone on with her, but you would be damned if you were the one initiating the conversation.

Eventually, you had moved things around in the fridge enough that she finally took the bait. “Looking for something?”

“Nope,” you said nonchalantly, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge like that was you plan the entire time. “Why, do you need something?” She shook her head, and you could feel the contempt coming off her in waves. Shrugging, you just shot her a wink and left the room.

It was fun to tease Wanda like that, and you made sure to do so every chance you got. After the two of you had kissed in the middle of a particularly heated argument on an undercover mission, you had intended to potentially talk about your growing fondness for the woman who you seemed to despise (and the fact that she probably felt the same way), but when things took a turn for the worst and your cover was blown, you didn’t exactly have the time for a heart to heart while you were escaping the resort with a horde of enemy agents chasing after you. And even when you got back to the compound you expected to have that talk, but it seemed that Wanda had no interest in potentially picking up where you left off on the mission. Or at least, that’s what you thought at first.

She seemed infinitely more alert around you, like she was waiting for you to say something about the heated kiss you had shared. After a while, you both were back to antagonizing each other like old times, but there was a layer of sexual tension there now, and it was kind of exhilarating, if you were being honest.

It was so palpable that some of the others had even asked you if something had happened on that mission, and you always lied right to their face. You didn’t even know where you stood with Wanda yet, you weren’t going to go around telling everyone your deepest fears and desires.

You appeared around the compound at every chance you could, often in varying states of undress. You were getting really interested in the pool that Tony had installed in the compound, or at least that’s what you told the rest of the team when they questioned why they often saw you in nothing but a bathing suit, your skin slightly damp from the water.

When she was in the kitchen making breakfast, you suddenly needed to refill your coffee cup. When she was working out, you decided to take a walk on the treadmill, staring her down but looking away every time she glanced in your direction. When she walked out to the common area late at night, you just “happened” to be out there too, silently daring her to say something to you about the kiss you had shared a few weeks prior.

The day you finally got her to crack was the day you walked out to the living room dressed to the nines, despite having absolutely nowhere to be. You knew she was going to be out there, and this idea was incredibly stupid (and probably wouldn’t even work), but you took joy in antagonizing her at this point, so it was worth a shot.

“Where on earth are you going dressed like that?”

Your voice was smooth as you turned around, your face nonchalant. “Me? I have a date tonight,” you said. “Why, do you think this is too much?”

She didn’t answer your question, instead posing one of her own. “You have a date tonight?”

“What, are you implying I’m not good enough to date?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you knew you were approaching the final piece of your plan. “I think I’m a pretty good kisser, but I guess you would know the truth.”

She stood up from the couch, walking over to you so that she was now just barely inches from your face. “So that’s what this is about? That’s why you’re dressed like that?”

Feigning innocence, you looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean!” she said. “Ever since we got back from that mission, you’ve been acting like a new person, but I know the truth. If you actually have a date tonight I’ll eat my words, but if you are going to be childish about your feelings, the least you can do is stop dangling yourself in front of me like a piece of meat!”

“Why do you even care?” you said, deciding to finally challenge her. “You’ve made it damn well clear that you weren’t interested.”

She let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a scream, and pulled your face to hers. It was a perfect mirror of your first kiss on that mission, all that passion and fervor still there as you kissed her back, each of you pouring out the emotions you could never put into words. Her hands found your waist almost instantly, and they slipped under your shirt to hold you closer to her.

When you finally broke apart, both you and Wanda were panting slightly. “I love you, despite the fact that you frustrate me to no end every single day,” she said. “There, is that what you wanted me to say?”

Yes, it was exactly what you wanted her to say, and you couldn’t help feeling a little giddy as she said it. “I love you too,” you said, but just because her hand was halfway up your shirt it didn’t mean that you were going to act any differently. “Even if you are a bit of an ass sometimes.”

“You’re really lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

“Oh please, I could take you in a fight.” That was a lie, maybe you could win if she wasn’t allowed to use her magic, but you wanted to see her reaction.

She just laughed. “Do you wanna test that?”

“Not really, I just want you to kiss me again.”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” she said, pulling you closer to her and pressing her lips to yours. This was so much better than arguing.

- the end -

[kanerallels]

37!

37. Bess is Tim's sister. Ehehehehehe this one is so so specific. Okay so I had a dream that Elizabeth McCord (main character of Madam Secretary) was Tim Bradford's (one half of Chenford, from The Rookie) sister. And it just kinda stuck in my head. Namely, the following two concepts:

Tim, being the private, fame loathing guy he is, making his sister, the actual hecking Secretary of State, promise to never come to LA unless there was an Actual Emergency. Since Tim nearly dies at least once per season, this results in a lot of phone calls where Elizabeth goes "THAT'S IT I'M COMING TO LA" and Henry (her husband) and Tim have to calm her down a little

Elizabeth's dislike of Tim's girlfriend, Ashley

Anyways I had a ficlet living in my head, so here you go!

“What are you doing?”

“I’m keeping you company,” Lucy said as she settled into the chair next to his hospital bed, and Tim’s eyebrows went up.

He hadn’t exactly expected that when she blew into his hospital room, demanding why no one had told her about his surgery. Asking where Ashley was— which he hadn’t been able to answer, not truthfully. Even with knowing that the relationship was over, it still hurt to see her walk away.

But this was Lucy. He’d long since learned not to be surprised at how often she did the unexpectedly kind thing.

“You don’t have to do that,” he told her, giving her a smile that hopefully said, “thank you but you have had an equally long day and this is your chance to leave”.

She gave no signs of understanding that. Instead, she met his eyes and said, “I know.”

Of course she did. Tim couldn’t help the flash of gratitude that was really more than gratitude going through him, any more than he could help the way his eyes stayed on hers for a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

But instead of dwelling on that, he listened to Lucy talk, about her day and how she’d wrangled Smitty and the other cops into helping her, and about nothing in particular, and he let himself rest.

This lasted approximately 47 minutes.

Tim was in the middle of scoffing at Lucy, who was busy insisting that he was completely wrong about the best cop movie ever— which he wasn’t. It was hardly his fault that she had bad taste— when they heard voices outside of their room. And one of them sounded… familiar. Oh, no, Tim thought. Please, tell me she didn’t.

“Who is—” Lucy began, and then stopped short as someone pushed open the door to Tim’s hospital room.

And by someone, he meant Elizabeth McCord, Secretary of the United States of America.

Also known as his older sister. Whom he had expressly forbidden to come to LA under any circumstances.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, shooting her a scowl.

“Wow,” Elizabeth said, lifting her eyebrows at him in the older sister scolding expression she was so fond of. It also worked very well, which was annoying. “That’s the thanks I get for flying five hours to see my brother?”

“It is when I specifically told you not to,” Tim said. “Life threatening circumstances only, remember?”

“I do,” she told him, moving in and closing the door behind her. “Do you remember that you told someone to call me right before you went into surgery?”

Frowning, Tim said, “I didn’t do that.” Did I? His memory of the past few hours was fuzzy at best, and he couldn’t be totally sure that he hadn’t asked Ashley to call his sister. “Okay, maybe I did,” he admitted. “But crisis averted, I’m fine. You can leave now.”

“What— Tim!” Lucy protested, giving him an “are you out of your mind” look. “Your sister just flew five hours nonstop to see you, and you’re just gonna chase her out of here?”

Tim glared at her as Elizabeth gave her a smile. “Thank you,” she said, in her warm way. “You’re Lucy, right? Stevie told me about you after her trip, she said you were very welcoming.”

“Yes, that’s me,” Lucy said, and Tim could see her expression lighting up the way people always did around his sister. Elizabeth had inherited all the real people skills in their family, leaving Will and him blunt and uncompromising. Tim didn’t really mind. It was almost fun to see the way she could charm anyone.

Of course, it was easy if that person was already one of her number one fans. “I’ve got to say,” Lucy added, “I’m a huge fan of you, and your work. You’re just an inspiration, the way you’re fighting for change and to help people, it’s amazing, and it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Oh— thank you, that is encouraging to hear,” Elizabeth told her. “It’s an honor to meet you, too. Anyone Tim has mentioned more than once is officially celebrity status to our family.”

It wasn’t often Lucy looked anything like giddy, but this was definitely growing close to that. “I— wow, thank you,” she said, grinning. “Um— I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Let me give you two some privacy. I was just meaning to go get some coffee. Do either of you want some?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Elizabeth assured her. “And if you see a couple massive guys in suits waiting outside of the room, assure them I’m not dead.”

“Right,” Lucy said. “Will do. Back in a bit.”

Shooting Tim a grin, she headed out of the room. As the door closed behind her, Tim said, “Congratulations, she’s not going to talk about anything but this for the rest of the week.”

“She’s very sweet,” Elizabeth said. “And from what Stevie says, she can handle you and your nonsense.” Dropping into the chair, she arched an eyebrow at him. “So. No Lifeguard Barbie?”

“Her name is Ashley, as you well know,” Tim said, scowling at her. “And no, we— I sent her home.”

He must have used up all his convincing expressions on Lucy, because Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “You realize I was in the CIA, right? And I’m currently raising a teenage boy? I can see lying a mile away.”

There wasn’t much he could say to argue with that. Letting out a short sigh, Tim said, “Ashley and I… we broke up.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “I see,” she said slowly. “What made you decide to end things?”

“She broke up with me,” Tim said, and Elizabeth’s jaw dropped.

“What— you’re kidding me! What made her think she had the right, exactly?”

“Seriously?” Tim wasn’t sure if he should laugh or roll his eyes. “You do realize she’s perfectly within her rights to do that. Also, you never liked her, so why do you care?”

“She dumped my brother,” Elizabeth grumbled. “It’s the principle of the thing.” She was silent for a moment, then said, “I may not have cared for her, but I am sorry, Tim. I know you liked her a lot.”

He had, it was true. But even before this, he’d known things weren’t… right. Her opposition to marriage, the way she wanted him to retire already. And just an overall feeling, like things didn’t fit right.

And really, he knew why that was.

“Thanks,” he told Elizabeth, pushing the thoughts away. “But it’s for the best, really.”

“Well, I happen to be sure that you’ll find someone else. Someone much better.”

Tim started to roll his eyes and make a comment about platitudes, but there was something far too confident about her remark. Like she knew something— something he definitely didn’t want her to know.

That’s impossible, he told himself as Lucy reappeared, carrying a cup of coffee, and Elizabeth yielded the seat to her. There’s no way she could have figured that out— even I’m not sure about that.

But, watching his sister talk to Lucy, Tim had an odd feeling that he was wrong. Elizabeth almost always knew more than she let on, and this could very well have been one of those situations.

Mentally, he resolved not to ask her about it unless he absolutely had to. She would be completely insufferable if she found out she was right.