#JUT PUTTING ALL THEIR NAMES MADE ME CRY

[exoscreamsoda]

happy valentines day from exo <3

[colonelarr0w]

Hiiii i really like reading some angst stuffs so heres my idea loll!

What about reader never felt like they were ever loved romantically and has been quite the loner for a while. So, to have Gojo confess to the reader has reader confused, but quite happy, but will soon find out that its a dare and Gojo only has the end of the year to make reader date him! (Just say the current month is near december loll)

But as time goes by, Gojo starts to actually have feelings for reader and suddenly reader overheard their convo of Gojo with his friends about the dare...

(PLS IM SORRY IF THIS IS TOO SPECIFIC THISIS ONE OF MY FIRST TIMES REQUESTING SMTHHH. BTW YOU CAN CHANGE THE GOJO TO ANYONE ELSE :3AND ALSO YOU CAN CHOOSE WETHER TO HAVE COMFORT OR NAH. AND THANKS FOR GIVING YOUR TIME TO READ THIS HAVE A NICE DAYY)

-🍰

Sypnosis - Gojo was already known to be a heartbreaker, but you didn't stop to think for a second that maybe -- just maybe -- he was trying to break your heart too.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, Gojo is a MAJOR dick in this one, angst

Word Count - 3.1k

A/N - Hi Anon! (STOP IM CRYING I LOVE EMOJI ANONS SO MUCH) So you made the mistake of giving me an angst prompt while also saying that I could maybe add comfort. I will be doing no such thing. Kisses!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Satoru Gojo was, by every single standard, a lady’s man.  

And you, by every single standard, were the complete opposite of every man’s “ideal type”. 

How you managed to find yourself in a situation where you told others, “I’m dating Satoru Gojo,” felt like a fever dream constructed by the hardest drug.  

The way in which he asked you out was — well — Satoru Gojo. A grand white banner with your name scrawled into it, underneath it the words: Go out with me?  

Of course you accepted, though you were thoroughly confused. You had always been an observer from the shadows, not emerging unless it was absolutely necessary.  

To have the Satoru Gojo ask you out in front of a gaggle of people was off putting — and certainly not anything that you had expected.  

But none of that stopped you from saying yes, which made the snowy-haired male’s smile widen three times in size — if that was even possible.  

“C’mon Satoru, it’s an easy 2,500 Yen,” Geto says, a sly smirk curling the corner of his mouth upward as he leans over the back of the couch. 

Gojo sighs, jutting out his bottom lip as one of his hands busies itself with running through his hair. It wasn’t a terrible bet — even though the payoff didn’t exactly feel worth it.  

“2,500 Yen to ask her out?” Gojo confirms, turning his head and glancing over the rims of his glasses. Geto smirks again, turning his phone and flashing a picture of you at Gojo, just to make sure that he would be asking out the right person. 

“2,500 Yen,” Geto nods. Gojo sighs, his body slumping forward dramatically. Geto grins again, watching his best friend crack down — no way was he turning down a bet that he could easily secure. 

“Fine, you have a deal,” Gojo holds his hand out, failing to hold back the smirk that curls his mouth upward as Geto slaps his hand against Gojo’s. 

The two shake on it, and the bet is made. 

But, of course, you were oblivious to all of that. You believed that, for the very first time, someone looked at you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic. Someone loved you — really, truly loved you. 

And what an extravagant partner Gojo was, buying you small trinkets that he believed you would like, taking you to restaurants that you had looked at on the street for a moment too long — he had even forced himself to learn how to ice skate because you mentioned offhandedly that it would be nice to skate with someone.  

For the first time in a very long time, you felt connected to someone. Conversations flowed so easily between you both, never forced or uncomfortable. It was as if you had known each other your entire lives.  

Gojo knew that it was fake — you thought it was truly real.  

< … > 

“(Y/N)! There you are!” Gojo calls out with a flashy wave of his arm. Once you’re in reach of him, he latches onto you, nose nuzzling into your hair. 

You let out a startled squeak at the force of his body against yours, but immediately loosen up and return his embrace, snuggling as deeply as you can into his arms.  

“Satoru!” you laugh out breathlessly, squeezing his shoulders as he lifts you from the ground, easily spinning the both of you in a circle. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.” 

Gojo rolls his eyes dramatically, setting you down but keeping his arms locked around your waist. He gaze meets yours through the darkened lenses of his glasses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“Oh god, I know that look,” you mutter teasingly, which earns you an affectionate pinch to your side — one that you swat him away for.  

“You wound me,” Gojo sasses back, releasing you only to place a hand flat against his chest as if he had been stabbed. You roll your eyes, laughing breathily at his antics.  

“What do you want to do tonight? It’s date night,” you remind him, watching as his face breaks into a bright smile. He reaches for you again, lifting your hand and twirling you around before he tugs you to his chest. 

“I was thinking-“ he begins in a sing-song tone. You raise an eyebrow at him, which he quickly leans in to peck. “-we go to the movies, get some cheap froyo, and crash in your dorm.” 

You smile at him, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as you throw your arms around his neck, squeezing him. 

“Yes please!” 

< … > 

“The movies? Froyo? God, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re falling for her,” Geto mocks the motion of throwing up, earning a laugh from the snowy-haired boy that stands next to him.  

Gojo rolls his eyes, catching the basketball that Geto throws at his chest. He bounces it once against the ground before taking a shot, smirking as it swishes inaudibly into the basket.  

“I want her to at least believe it,” Gojo responds with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. Geto rolls his eyes, biting back the chuckle that rises in his throat. “What? I’m not lying.” 

“No, I know you’re not lying,” Geto bends to pick up the abandoned basketball, bouncing it against the ground and taking a shot of his own — which misses. 

“So then why the sudden comment?” 

“Because of the look in your eyes whenever someone mentions her or whenever you see her,” Geto says plainly, turning to cross his arms at Gojo.  

He purses his lips together, eyebrows pinching in confusion as he silently urges Geto to continue. How he looks at you? 

Geto sighs through his nose, then lifting his fingers to pinch at its bridge. The basketball is long abandoned now, rolling into the center of the gym and remaining there.  

“Every time she calls out to you with that — stupid nickname, you brighten up like a dog who’s seeing his owner,” Geto points out. Gojo can feel the tips of his ears burn red at that — because even he knew that it was true. 

“Toru! There you are!” you call out affectionately, crossing the training fields and practically jumping into Gojo’s awaiting arms. 

He smiles warmly as your face nestles into the junction between his neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiarity of your scent and holding you close to him. 

“That isn’t true,” he murmurs, scratching at the back of his neck. Geto stands still for a moment, staring at Gojo with a look that could easily slaughter an entire town.  

“No? How about when she made you lunch that one time?” Geto raises his eyebrow — his eyes visually calling bullshit as Gojo’s cheeks burn the same shade of red as his ears.  

“Ta-da!” you smile widely as you present Gojo with the intricately put-together bento box. He takes it from your hands, allowing his fingers to brush against your own for a moment too long — an action that brought a light blush to your cheeks.  

He smiles down at the bento you had prepared for him, feeling his heart swell at the idea that someone cared enough about him to sit down and put so much thought into preparing him a lunch. Gojo is quick to then lean in, pecking your cheek and smiling widely at the dark red hue that coats your face. 

“That’s…different,” Gojo tries to argue, but Geto is quick to call out his bluff, laughing loudly in his friend’s face and striding towards the center of the gym to retrieve the abandoned basketball. He bends, scooping it into his palms and bouncing it twice against the ground.  

“Oh, I’m sure that it is,” Geto rolls his eyes, twisting his body and shooting the basketball — already displaying annoyance when it misses yet again.  

Gojo sighs, the puff of air he releases blowing his bangs from his face. He watches as Geto goes to retrieve the basketball, bouncing it once before roughly checking it to Gojo.  

“Careful Satoru, I wouldn’t want you to fall for her,” Geto teases, feeling himself smirk as Gojo’s hands catch the basketball. The snowy-haired male rolls his eyes in response, bouncing the ball. 

“That won’t happen, trust me,” Gojo bites back, not failing to notice the knowing glint in Geto’s eyes.  

“Sure it won’t.” 

< … > 

Hey! I’m at the theatre, where are you? 

READ 

Satoru? 

READ 

I’m just assuming you’re running late, just text me when you’re here! 

DELIVERED 

Puffing out the air that you held in your cheeks, you stow your phone away into your pocket, eyes silently scanning the front entrance of the theatre. Maybe you missed him? No, there was no tuft of snowy-white hair anywhere in the crowd — surely he was just running late.  

You shuffle on your feet, adjusting the small bag that you had brought with you. The interior is stuffed with snacks that both you and Gojo enjoyed — including his favorite from the local convenience store. You smile to yourself, already picturing the wide smile that would cross his face when you presented him with the snacks.  

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, which you all but dive for with a speed that feels almost inhuman. You stare down at the illuminated screen, heart deflating as you realize it’s only a message from your mother, checking in and asking you how your date with Gojo was going.  

Lifting a shaky hand to your eyes, you wipe away the tears that cling to your bottom lash line. You text your mother back, lying to her about the state of the date and pushing your phone back into your pockets. You glance back down at your open purse, blinking back your tears at the sight of the snacks — what a waste. 

< … >  

“Sato—“ 

You pause just outside of the classroom doors, resting your palms against the sliding door and peering curiously inside. Your eyebrows pinch together, eyes narrowing as you listen intently to the conversation shared between Gojo and Geto, both of whom seemed to be in the middle of — maybe — arguing with one another.  

“How much longer am I keeping this up for?” Gojo all but whines, leaning back in the seat that he was occupying, his feet propped up on the desk as he releases an annoyed huff.  

Geto chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face as he sits on the desk directly in front of Gojo, folding his legs over one another and smirking down at his best friend. Gojo sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face as he leans forward, his sunglasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose.  

“Why? Getting bored?” Geto raises an eyebrow at Gojo, lifting his arms to cross them firmly over his chest. Gojo rolls his eyes yet again, releasing a deepened sigh that only has Geto releasing the chuckle that he had been holding in.  

“I’m getting tired,” Gojo mocks a dramatic yawn, throwing his arms into the air and leaning back in his chair. Geto raises an eyebrow at the answer, curious now. 

“Tired?” 

“Exhausted. I don’t think you understand Suguru, she’s so desperately clingy and just — I can’t keep up with it,” Gojo explains in exasperation, rubbing his hands over his face and digging his fingers into the skin of this temples, rubbing them in slow circles.  

You feel your heart crack the more that Gojo speaks — listening quietly as he lists off all of the things that he seemingly hates about you. Your eyes burn with tears, and suddenly every ounce of love that you ever felt for Gojo seep out of you in waves. 

Had he felt that way about you the whole time? 

“Hey, you were the one that said yes. You could’ve dropped the bet,” Geto shrugs his shoulders, an action that earns him an annoyed kick from Gojo.  

“It’s 2,500 Yen. I’m not saying no to that,” Gojo reminds his friend, waving a finger in his face. Geto chuckles breathily, but pauses at an unfamiliar sound — a choked cry. His head whips around in an attempt to locate the source of the sound, feeling his heart drop to the deepest depths of his stomach at the sight of a retreating figure by the classroom's doors.  

Gojo follows Geto's wandering gaze, eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the sudden change in his friend's facial expression. "Shit." Is all that Geto says before he moves to the door, peering out of it just in time to see your figure turn the farthest corner of the hallway – then vanishing.  

Geto's eyes flicker to meet Gojo's as the latter leans his chin onto Geto's shoulder, staring at the spot that you had just disappeared from.  

"What happened?" Gojo inquires curiously, not failing to notice the way that Geto's spine stands as stiff as cardboard. The dark-haired male swallows the lump in his throat – they were both royally fucked.  

"We're fucked." 

< ... >  

"There, there, c'mon (Y/N), don't let this--" 

"He lied to me!" You rub your hands roughly over your tear-filled eyes, feeling your chest tighten as you look away from Utahime's concerned gaze. Her eyebrows furrow together in worry, eyes silently taking you in as you curl into yourself.  

She would be lying if she said that she wasn't downright pissed at what Gojo had done to you. After listening to your tearful ramble about what you heard, any and all respect that she had for her snowy-haired classmate went completely out of the window. 

Not that there was much respect there in the first place.  

"So how much of what he said did he actually mean?" Your voice is a broken cry, trembling in a way that has Utahime reaching out to comfortingly lace her fingers with your own.  

"I don't know," she whispers in response, not knowing how to help you. You turn your head away from her, sniffing and wiping your nose with the cloth of your sleeve. "I'm sorry (Y/N)." 

You shake your head, breath trembling as you grip at your knees. You screw your eyes shut, still seeing his affectionate smile behind your eyelids – you wish that you could forget it completely. You can still feel him too; you can feel his arms wrapped around you and his lips as they press affectionately to your cheek.  

You begin to wonder how much effort he actually put into your dates, you begin to wonder if his affectionate touches were genuine, you begin to wonder if it was him writing his text messages out or if it was someone else entirely. Did he ever care about you? 

"Hey." 

You glance up at Utahime, sniffling quietly as she reaches a hand out, laying her palm against your cheek and thumbing away the stray tears that roll down your cheeks. Her heart breaks at the sight of you – but her heart also yells angrily at the idea that Gojo would toy with you for a measly 2,500 Yen.  

She knew that he was an asshole – everyone did. But she didn't think he was that big of an asshole.  

"How about me and you go out? I'll even text Mei Mei and Shoko," Utahime offers, smiling again at you. You sniffle, cheeks reddened by your tears. Your eyes are puffy, lashes still wet with tears that take their sweet time in dripping down your face.  

"Can we stay in instead?"  

Utahime nods, smiling again at you. Her arms extend, wrapping around you and tugging you into her chest, squeezing affectionately at you. You sink into her embrace, face pressed comfortably into her shoulder.  

"Yeah, of course we can." 

< ... >  

"You're such a dick!" Utahime yells in a fit of rage, shoving her hands against Gojo's chest and glaring daggers at him as he stumbles backwards. He stares at her incredulously, eyebrows raised to a point that his forehead is wrinkled five times over.  

He hadn't expected this behavior from the usually calm and collected girl – but the way that she had stormed at him screaming her head off told him that he had royally screwed up.  

Over his shoulder, Geto watches knowingly. He knows that he'll likely be yelled at too, so in mental preparation, he remains completely silent, not wanting Utahime to turn her rage on him prematurely.  

"What is this about?" Gojo asks genuinely, his eyes narrowed in confusion as Utahime angrily takes a step back from him, restraining herself from actively strangling him.  

"What is this – so you just have no idea what you did to (Y/N)? God, you're dense!" Utahime all but screams, throwing her hands up in a fit of rage. 

Gojo narrows his eyes, then they widen – shit. How the fuck did you find out? 

"What do you mean?" He pauses for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What about (Y/N)?" 

"Oh, don't act so clueless! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Utahime jabs a finger at Gojo's chest, her eyes burning with a rage that he had genuinely never seen in her before. She takes a brave step towards him – in return, he takes a step back.  

"I don't--" 

"Does 2,500 Yen sound familiar to you?" Utahime raises an eyebrow at him. He deadpans, swallowing the growing lump in his throat and feeling his heart sink.  

His silence tells her everything that she needs to know. She straightens, shooting a pointed glare to Geto as well – resulting in him looking anywhere but her direction, gaze flickering around wildly.  

She turns her attention back to Gojo, looking him up and down with an expression of nothing but pure disgust. He winces at the glint in her eyes – God, he had really screwed up.  

"You're both disgusting," Utahime spits venomously, then turning on her heel and promptly striding away from both males. Gojo turns, exchanging a worried yet remorseful glance in Geto's direction. His friend only swallows, they had both royally screwed up. 

< ... >  

Gojo suffered with the aftermath of you hearing his conversation – you avoided him like he had been infected with some kind of infectious disease. Any room he entered, you exited. Any time he called out your name with a polite wave, you turned your nose up and continued walking.  

In a way, you pretended that he simply didn't exist – that the person waving to you or trying to interact with you was nothing but a phantom, one that you ignored as if it was the only thing that you knew how to do.  

"(Y/N)! Hey, can we--" 

You stride past him, shoulder knocking against his own as you exit the classroom. He stands silently at its center, lowering his hand back to his side – he had wanted to reach out for you, but something inside of him told him to simply leave you be.  

And the day that he saw you happily hanging off of Nanami's arm was the day that he realized – loving someone from afar was the worst pain of all.  

[greynatomy]

proud of you

lucy bronze x reader

second to last world cup fic. yhis was supposed to be my last, but i saw another in my inbox that’s i should start on.

my requests are closed as of right now. i’ll open it back up when i’ve finished doing the ones i could do, so bare with me.

i will still be writing ones of my ideas and have a couple almost done so keep a lookout for that.

letme know what you think!

-grey

———

In the stands, decked out in England jerseys, with your last name displayed proudly on your back, your two year old daughter, Evelyn, having ‘Mama’ on hers.

“Are you excited bubba?”

“Yeah! Mama win?” She looks at you with her big innocent eyes.

“We don’t know yet, so we’ll have to wait and see.”

It’s a very intense game, as expected. It is the final of the Women’s World Cup. Everyone was getting pushed, pulled, taken down. Evie did find it amusing whenever she sees someone fall.

In the twenty-ninth minute was when your heart stopped, Spain’s very own captain, Olga Carmona, scored a goal that erupted their fans into loud cries and cheers, you were glad that Evie had some ear protecting headphones, while England fans looked disappointed. You kept your hopes up. There’s still lots of time left.

But all your home diminishes once your heat the whistle for full-time. You were very proud of Spain, especially Lucy’s Barcelona teammates that you grew close with, despite having a shitty manager.

“Mommy dey los?”

“They did bub. But that’s okay, we’re still super proud of Mama right?”

“Proud Mama.” Evie nods in understanding. “We see Mama now?”

“In a little bit bub.”

Your heart breaks for your wife, even more when you see her collapse to the ground in tears. You want nothing more than to wrap your arms around her and comfort her, but you want to give her some time with her team and peers.

After the medal and awards ceremony, family and friends are now allowed to go down onto the pitch. People ruching to go to their footballer relatives. You take a bit longer, trying to pick up all the toys, snacks and whatever else you brought for your daughter to keep her entertained during the match.

Stuffing everything in the backpack, you put the straps over your shoulders and carry Evelyn on your hip, making your way down to the pitch. Once on the grass, Evelyn starts to wiggle, wanting out of your arms, so you put her down. She starts running as fast as her little legs could. In the distance you see someone crouching down, holding her arms open, waiting for your daughter to get to her.

“Mama!” She yells out, excited to be able to hold her Mama again after so long.

Lucy wraps her arms around her baby, spinning in circles. She suddenly feels her neck become wet, pulling her daughters face from her neck to look at her.

“What are you crying bubby?”

“I miss you so much Mama!” She cries, her bottom lip jutting out.

You can’t help but admire your wife and daughter together. She has truly been the most amazing wife throughout your relationship, especially with your pregnancy. You gave her a real hard time and she was a champ through it all.

“Hey, Darling.” She wraps her free arm around you, leaning down to give you a kiss, only for it to be blocked by a hand pushing you away.

“No! My Mama.”

You pout, playfully being sad. “But she was mine first.”

“Bu-but mine now.”

“Well, what if I told you that’s you’ve got to share both Mommy and Mama in a couple months?”

Lucy’s confused. Why would her daughter have to share them both.

“What?” You daughter asks.

You grab a small jersey from the backpack. On the back, it reads ‘Bronze 2.”

“No way!” Lucy starts crying again, you joining her. “Really? It worked?”

“It did, Hun.”

She puts Evelyn down and wraps both her arms around your waist, giving you a tight, but gentle embrace. She pulls back and grabs the sides of your face with both hands giving you and passionate kiss.

“I love you. Oh, I’m so excited.” She mumbled against your lips.

“I love you. And I am so proud of you. You made it this far, be proud of yourself for being here. You played hard and made us all so proud.”

She picks Evie back up in her arms. “You’re gonna be a big sister!”

“Sister?”

“Yeah! There’s a baby in Mommy’s tummy.”

“She eat baby?”

“No, bub. The baby is gonna grow really big so Mommy’s tummy is gonna grow big and keep baby brother or sister safe.”

“Wow! Hi, baby. I sissy!” Evie has her face pressed up on your stomach.

Lucy wraps her arms back around you. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You question.

“For loving me.”

“It isn’t difficult to. I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

[cherrycola27]

afterglow

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol and drinking. Military inaccuracies. Allusions to and eventual smut. Friends to lovers. Mutual pining. Unrequited love. Minors DNI. 18+. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: Meet Me

You flopped down, currently reveling in the fact that you were in your favorite place to be. For a few fleeting minutes, you enjoyed that hazy space that had you feel like you were floating.

Your head was in the clouds, and your body felt absolutely boneless. Everything was warm and bright here, and for a small moment, it seemed like any problems you had in the world didn't matter.

Only, just as quick as it came, it was gone. He was gone. It was always the same song and dance every time. You'd go out with your friends. Have a few drinks, sing a few songs, and dance a few dances. It would end with you in the back seat of an Uber with him or in the passenger's side of his car on the way back to your place.

You'd tumble through your front door with him in a mix of teeth and tongues and groping hands. You'd promise each other that this was the last time. That it wasn't serious. Just two friends messing around.

He'd have you crying out his name, nails dragging down his back as his hips rolled into yours over and over, giving you the greatest pleasure you'd ever known.

He'd collapse beside you into your mountain of pillows and your fluffy duvet. You'd both be trying to catch your breath. He would turn to you and give you this boyish, lopsided grin that made your heart melt.

You'd share a stupid, bubbly, post-sex high induced laugh. And then—he'd get up, grab his things, get dressed, and be gone. And all those warm, fuzzy feelings you had enjoyed would turn cold.

You'd wait for his text saying he made it home okay and spend the weekend sulking, only to put on a brave face for work on Monday. You'd spend the week laughing and talking and joking like nothing had happened.

Then, Friday would roll around, and the same cycle would start all over again. It was like you were stuck on a ferris wheel with no way of getting off.

You were torturing yourself doing this. You knew it wasn't healthy and that it wasn't good for either of you, but you didn't care.

The days and weeks of heartbreak didn't matter when you were here in this place. You'd trade a thousand hours of normalcy if it meant you could keep him here for just five more minutes. If you could just keep him—in the afterglow.

....................

Standing in the locker room Monday, you gave yourself a once over in the smaller mirror inside your locker before grabbing your helmet.

As you walked to the tarmac, Phoenix strolled up beside you. "Have a good weekend, Glow?" She asked you.

"Yeah." You lied to her. You gave her a small smile before asking her about what she got up to after she left the Hard Deck on Friday. She told you about catching up with her roommate from the Academy and the new movie she and her boyfriend had watched and how you had to see it.

"Maybe I'll take myself out on a date this weekend to see it." You told her. "Or you could get a certain someone to go with you." She hinted as she jutted her chin in his direction. "Nix, how many times have I told you we're just friends." You sighed. If only she knew. If only you could convince yourself of that statement.

"Whatever you say, Glow. Friends don't look at each other the way he looks at you." Phoenix goaded you. "Natasha," you turned to her. "We are just friends. That's it. If he wanted to be more than friends, he would have said something." You tell her. Phoenix shakes her head.

Before you can say anything else, Maverick pulls you to the side to go over a few last-minute adjustments to the exercise with you. Once he's satisfied that you know the expectations for the day, you head towards your jet.

You see your "just friend" standing beside it, waiting for you.

"Morning, Glow." He smiles at you. It almost makes you sick at how good he looks standing there. His hair gleaming in the sun, tan skin shining with a thin layer of perspiration from the morning heat, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and his perfect teeth that are almost too white to be true.

"Hi." You greet him almost flatly. "Have a good weekend?" He smirks at you like he wasn't at your house in your bed yesterday afternoon for an uncharacteristic Sunday hookup.

"Nothing noteworthy to report." You smirk at him. He chuckles because he knows that less than twenty-four hours ago he had you falling apart on his fingers, and his tongue, and his cock.

You shake your head at him. It's always the same routine. He is in your sheets for a night or two, and on Monday, you both pretend like it didn't happen.

"Need a hand, m'dear?" He asks as he extends one for you to grab on to. You roll your eyes and reluctantly take it before climbing into the back seat of your F-18. You strap yourself into the seat and secure your helmet, and begin checking your instruments to make sure they are all in working order.

He climbs in the front and goes over his preflight checks as the canopy closes. You can hear range control telling you that you're clear for take off.

"Glow, my mighty and amazing weapons systems officer, and favorite backseat driver, are we all good back there?" He asks you before he begins to taxi.

"Yeah, Hangman. We're all good back here."

So I don't know where this came from. Sometimes, my brain does things, and I just gotta roll with it. Anyways I hope you enjoyed this!

Tagging some who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @blueoorchid @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette @rosiahills22 @genius2050

[letstrythisout4]

Mary and Harry Pt. 2

April 1982

Bright green eyes stared into Mary’s deep brown, and Mary could hear Peter in the back of her mind.

He’s very…aware. 

That was what Peter said when he held Harry for the first time. Everyone had laughed at how concerned he sounded and looked, arms held all the way out holding Harry as if bringing him any closer would hurt. 

The comment was the first of many. Everyone loved Harry, more than anything, but he was…different. He just knew things. Remus had refused to baby-talk to Harry, claiming that Harry understood and it seemed that he did. He would babble back at Remus as if speaking, expressions appropriate to every story that Remus laid out.

Mary had never seen these moments herself, always getting the long-winded retelling from James and Sirius. After years of knowing the boys Mary had learned not to believe anything they said unless it could be proven, and it had just felt like another exaggerated story.

But now it made sense, it hadn’t even been a year since they had been together and Mary could see exactly what they meant.

The pair both sat at their small dinner table, Harry staring knowingly at Mary as if he were a proper Legilimens. Then Harry’s hands appeared from where they had rested below the table of his high chair, in his hands were Mary’s keys. 

Mary’s head dropped on to the table and she let out a loud groan.

This baby was going to be the death of her.

Mary stood, reaching across the table to pry the keys out of Harry’s strong baby-hold. “Enough with the keys, Harry.” 

Mary had been told her whole life that she was patient. She didn’t feel very patient as she opened and slammed closed the nearest drawer in their kitchen, keys trapped inside. 

The urge to slam her head into the wall almost took over Mary as she watched Harry’s eyes water. “Don’t start, Harry.” 

He started.

First it was slow, tears silently streamed down his chubby face, his chest rising and falling with the wails that were preparing to escape his lungs. “WAHHHHHHHHH!”

For the most part, Harry was a quiet child. The most sound he made routinely was giggling whenever Mary forgot to tie up her hair, he would laugh and laugh tugging on her curls, finding immense amusement in how Mary would repeatedly say “Ow ow ow ow, stop it, you damn gremlin or I’ll put you up for adoption, do not test me.”

“What do you want now, Harry? And don’t ask for the keys, I’m sick of hearing them chime.” Mary rubbed her forehead, how people could possibly have multiple children was lost on her.

He did the impossible and started crying even harder, “Mama, Papa, Pads, Moo, Pet” and he repeated and repeated, tiny fist wiping his face. 

Mary sighed, “I miss them too.”

Sometimes Harry would just do that, start repeating the broken names that he knew. He wasn’t even two and yet he knew that people were missing in his life. “Come on, we have things to do.”

The pair of them got ready, falling into their short morning routine. Harry was dropped into his play pen, or cage as Mary liked to call it, and played noisily with blocks and sensory fidgets that Mary had bought. Sesame Street was already playing, Big Bird was on an adventure to find a friend, “Alright, I’ll be right back, don’t break anything.”

Harry looked over his shoulder and jutted his thumb towards her to acknowledge he understood. 

Mary didn’t know much about babies but it didn’t feel like he should be able to do all of this.

“Alright, then.” Mary was off, practically running into the bathroom (Harry always found a way to get into something he wasn’t supposed to if she left alone for too long) , pulling off her satin scarf and shaking her curls out. She dressed as quickly as she could, a simple red shirt and dark-washed jeans, and hopped back into the living room, putting her shoes on as she went.  Sneakers now tied, she swooped up Harry and dressed him similarly, though his shirt was blue. The final touch was a tap to Harry’s head, the chill made him shiver and hum disapprovingly at her, his disappointed glare was worth it when his eyes were brown, nose wider and hair curlier; he now looked less like a mini-Potter and more like a mini-MacDonald, it was almost disturbing how much he looked like her cousins.

Her cousins… Merlin, she hadn’t seen them in years. 

A tug and the sound of stomping feet got her to walk. 

The duo walked out of the apartment, Harry stood patiently beside Mary as she fought to lock the apartment door, looking very adorable wearing his baby glasses and book bag as big as him. 

That was another thing Mary quickly realized was, James wasn’t lying about ‘Potter terrible eyesight trait’. It wasn’t very noticeable until a few weeks into their new lives and when Mary had been calling for Harry to look at her when she was standing across the kitchen and he couldn’t make eye contact. An immediate red flag because this boy did barely anything other than make eye contact. 

And so big chunky high-powered glass sat on Harry’s nose, not unlike photos Euphemia had proudly shown James’ entire friend group every Christmas, she would say it was a “curse” placed on all Potter men since the dawn of time to have terrible sight, Mary could remember Fleamont’s hearty laugh filling the room whenever the topic came up. 

It never failed to make the patriarch laugh.

There was another tug on Mary’s jeans and she was back in 1982, staring unseeingly at the wall of the hallways of her apartment building and not in 1979 snickering with Lily at baby James’ glass that made him look like a bug.

No, now instead of a photo bug-eyed James below her was bug-eyed Harry looking concerned. as if he knew.

“Come on.” was all she said, one hand taking his hand in hers, the other patting her wand which was concealed in a pocket sewn on her jeans. 

The pair started their walk, through the elevator and lobby, Harry waving to the doorman as he always did, chirping out “Hi!”.

When they had first moved to D.C. Mary had been worried that she wouldn’t be able to find the magical sections of the district, but it was rather easy. Americans weren’t nearly as strict on secrecy as Britan was. Mary had been lucky to find an apartment on the outskirts of the district, a nice historical town, mixed with apartment, townhouses and shops. The best part -other than the safety- was that just down the street was a Magical Emporium, the front half was for muggles who seeked out the services of the witches who ran the stores. Most muggles were skeptical, some were believers, some were just desperate and willing to try anything. The back half was what interested Mary, in the back of the hole in the wall store was an entire shopping village filled with everything a witch could ask for. 

Mary and Harry walked through the store, Mary covered Harry’s ears as a muggle in a suit started begging if there was anything that the counter could do to save his business. With a nod to the witch, they walked to the back through one curtain, then through another to find the village. Witches and wizards were apparating and disapparating in and out, filing in and out of shops and restaurants. On days where Mary missed her Hogsmead days she would bring Harry here, the two of them sitting on a bench watching as people milled around.

But today wasn’t a day for people watching, today they were on a mission. The duo walked to the owlery, Harry stood patiently in line for a total of five minutes before he started repeating “Up! Up!” Mary stood with Harry in her arms.

For a baby, he looked very smug.

“Next in line please.” They approached the wizard's station that had called them, “Owl preference?” a dark-skinned wizard asked, hand hovering over bins of owl treats. 

“An Elf Owl, please.”

“Been here before?”

“No.”

He smiled, “It’s simple really. Take the treat, extend your hand over the ledge and the owl will come to you. See the treat is charmed to attract whichever owl you ask for, tie the letter as you would any other and they’ll fly off. Whatever you’re sending weighs less than 3 pounds, correct? Traveling domestic or international and if international where?” he asked, handing over the circular treat.

“International, Britain.” Mary stated simply, the less information given the better. 

“Hm well, I am required to tell you that because of the war letters may be intercepted, our owls are top notch but” he shrugged “things happen. And as with all flights we do not do long term stays, meaning the owl will not stay with the recipient. Do you wish to get an owl that will stay  for a total of 10 minutes, allowing for a response?”

“No, no I don’t need a response.” Harry gurgled unhappily at that. 

The wizard raised an eyebrow at her, “He seems to think otherwise.”

Mary pinched Harry lightly, “He just likes to disagree with me.”

Once the payment was finalized they walked to the ledge where several feet in front of them were multiple trees, owls occupying almost every branch. (One of Mary’s favorite aspects of the village was that nobody asked for names unless absolutely necessary, making purchases much simpler for Mary) Mary perched Harry on the ledge before holding out her hand with the treat. A small Elf owl flew to them and Mary tied her letter to his presented talon.

The letter was simple,’I have him, I was right about Dumbledore, stay safe’ was all it read. Mary gently stroked the owl's head, “This goes to Remus Lupin, give it to no one else.” The owl blinked and flew away. 

—

Mary was proud to call herself a decent chef, at least when she paid attention.

Which wasn’t frequently.

She walked around stirred the pasta she was boiling and allowed herself to get lost in her mind.

Remus Lupin. 

There were some days where Mary regretted not bringing Lupin with them to the states. She typically dismissed the idea quickly, there were plenty of valid reasons to leave Lupin. It wasn’t a secret he Dumbledore was looking for Harry, he and Milicent Bagnold -the current Minister of Magic- were all over the papers, stating that someone had stolen away Harry Potter. They stated that they had “good reason to believe” that the boy was alive and somewhere out there in the world. 

Mary had already been in hiding for a month before the attack on Lily and James, hiding that Dumbledore recommended. 

So when Mary had disappeared it was nothing to worry about, but if Remus disappeared, they might as well have handed over Harry right to Dumbeldore. Remus’ description was too unique. But most importantly, Mary didn’t think he’d have gone willingly.

Dumbledore was very…trusted. Everyone adored him, everyone owed him, so everyone listened to him. So when Mary spoke out against him there had been concerns. 

Mary never really trusted him. He was too… politically correct. He never wavered, always preached love and light and forgiveness, but it never resonated with Mary. 

But everyone else agreed, at least agreed enough. Nobody was quite as starry-eyed but everyone still trusted him. Even as people started dying left and right. 

Mary was sixteen when she was attacked by wanna-be Death Eaters in the halls of Hogwarts. She was sixteen when Dumbledore told her that he “couldn’t do anything” about the attack and that “ we are all in a delicate position”. She was sixteen when she officially didn’t trust Dumbledore. She was sixteen when she started whispering her doubts to her friends. She was seventeen when she started noticing that her friends were lying to her. She was seventeen when she and her friends joined the order. She was eighteen when Moody had casually mentioned that he was “impressed” when Dumbledore told him that “she was willing to go on missions alone”, when she had never said that and had thought it was a coincidence. 

She was twenty when Lily had whispered to her about a prophecy that Snape said “no one was to know about”. 

~~~~~

“Who else knows?” Mary whispered, griping Lily’s arms tightly.

Lily shook her head, red hair spilling from her bun, “I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone…” she trailed off and guilty added “not even James.”

Mary’s mouth opened and closed before spitting out, “Why tell me?” 

That was the first time in a long time that Mary had felt one of her friends had been truly honest with her. Ever since the night in the hospital wing years ago, where she whispered to them that she thought Dumbledore was a coward for not punishing Muliciber, honesty was quietly non-existent. Her friends would dance around any details concerning their work for the Order, she would only get vague descriptions. 

They never stopped loving her, no, Sirius’ hugs were still strong and grounding and Marlene never stopped smiling with teeth, but it was different.

It broke Mary's heart to see Lily fold into herself at the question, “I don’t think anyone else will believe me.” Lily gasped, tears flowing.

Peter had said years ago “A fairy loses its wings every time Lily cries.” and it had never felt more true. There was no better way to describe how wrong it was.

All these tears for a letter. Mary hugged Lily tightly, “I believe you.” she whispered and Lily only cried harder. The letter had Snape's cramped spidery handwriting, scribbled out was a prophecy and a warning to “tell no one, no one knows”.

“James and I went,” she sniffled. “We went to my parents' old house and it was there waiting on the kitchen table. I hid it before James could see.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

 ~~~~~~

The night had ended with many tears and the burning of the letter, neither girl was going to forget the haunting words ever. 

And even now, Mary couldn’t confidently say Remus would believe her. Remus was a practical man, never fond of Divination. And denial…denial was a strong thing. Even Mary struggled to believe all of this came from a flaky form of magic.

Lily hated Divination, nobody hated Divination more than Lily Evans. But desperation too was a strong thing. 

Mary shook her curls, Remus wasn’t here and it was too late to get him, the past was the past. She looked down at the noodles she had been stirring and…they weren’t boiling anymore. 

‘Oh no…” Mary thought to herself, head falling back as Harry began to cry. 

The lights in the apartment flickered, the ice machine started pouring ice out of the fridge, and Harry’s toys started levitating. 

“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT! ENOUGH, I’M COMING!” Mary yelled to Harry as she began searching for the keys that she had once again hidden away. 

Keys in hand, Mary jumped over the couch right into Harry’s playpen all but throwing the keys at the baby. 

Suddenly everything stopped, the faint sound of boiling began again, ice stopped falling on the floor and the lights were consistently on. Harry began waving the keys around, listening to the jingling they made. Mary slumped on the floor beside the one year old, “Aunt aunt aunt” he chanted using his hand without the keys to pat Mary’s curls from where they were in reach.

“All this for a snotty, green, bug-eyed one year old” Mary muttered under her breath before gently pushing Harry over, much to his amusement.

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

empire of death thoughts+reactions part 1

previously onnnn (super short sdlkfj)

HOP ON, COWBOY

sdlkjs morris a literal 13 year old having guns on his lil' scooter thing.is UNIT ok.

omg even the vlinx TOT

the birds will sings again!!!!!!

dust of death mmm delicious alliteration

"im sorry there's nothing we can do. we're dead" vibes

loving this action sequence ngl

WATCHA TALKING ABOUT

maybe is not [insert character]. maybe mrs flood is just an old lady who is Like This.

"my true name" "ur true maker" whats her true maker if not RTD!!! / clowning

"we've got worse problems" that's gonna come back to bite him skdfljdskl

does anyone remember the clara / 1 paintdoktahwho comic "dont take that one. take the tv"

thats what im thinking ot

(askdjlad UGH my iplayer stopped so i refreshed and while skipping to the place i think i spoiled my self for susan ?? TOT sutpid internet stupid preview skipping thumbnail function grrrr) im not a tardis smasher in general but the memory tardis….. would. maybe

"remember it harder" i would be a useless companion here tbh. memory of a goldfish.i would doom the earth.

IT'S A TV SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IT'S TELLING THE STORY OF YOUR LIFE

I MADE A JIGSAW OF YOUR HISTORY SDKLFJSLKJF

AAAAAGHHH

sdflkdfj sutekh spining in the vortex. 2 cute

the temple……….. tardis as the thing in the hill meta INTENSIFIES

"so many secrest" um TIMELESS CHILD FUGITIVE MEMORIES FOBWATCH????

oh ok i jut got spoiled for the clip OF susan sdlkfjdskl FALSE ALARM FOLKS

"never yours again, never"

my angels of death………………..

"i find that good" i feel they did this same exact phrasing once for a "death is beautiful" monster like this but i cant remember which story?

also, flux? flux anyone? 13 vs entropy itself?

"i am an extinction event" OOF

(oh this clicks on why the doctor clings sm to living / immortality despite how much it hurts)

memory is a time machine TOT idk but that Hits Harder

"sutes" dlkjfslfk cute

"and doesnt it feel good?" holy shit

yayy mel's not dead yet

MEL GRABBING SIX'S COAT IM FINEIM FINE IM FINE

(idk why but that's what's made me cry slkfjsd)

"ruby roo" sdkljsfd

lasdkj if a regular tardis is 6 people driven then a memory tardis is probably meant to be piloted by every single doctor and companion ever

"meleanie b" TOT (doctor trait unlocked: when 15 is stressed he intensifies on the cutsey nicknames)

CHEKOV'S INGELLITEN GLOVE !!!!! damn i thought for a second about putting that on my bingo card but didnt skldfj

i like that the subtext of "when disaster comes, he's there" / "the tardis is an ommen of death" & "he has one constant companion… death" isn't literally being stated as being "sutekh did it lol" lol cause that would feel a lil cheap. i think instead rtd took a smarter choices of keeping that subtext, but keeping it that stricly speaking what sutekh did was just putting the susan copies everywhere.

73 yards……………

omg wait so in a memory tardis u can remmeber anything to existence………….. what if heiimagines susan at the end

(MOLECULAR BOND ROGUE CALL BACK?)

73 yards…………. HOW DO U KNOW THAT. I JUST DO. SHE'S JUST GOOD AT CONVERTING UNITS DAMN. LET RUBY BE GOOD AT UNIT CONVERSIONS DOCTOR.

ohh wait so this connects perception filters and 73 yards. put on a pin on that (and presumably……. taking down the perception filter is what happened re: ruby? that's why people ran away? people saw beyond her perception filter to the elderitch abomination bellow?)

"you've landed on earth a 100th times" is probably a huuude understimation lol

"she was reborn stronger each time. this monumental figure" dr. who as a cultural institution meta

shots outside the tardis my beloved

1999….. the movie... 2005 …. obvious. 1066 was the fire of london right? with 5?

this is rlly working for me ngl. dr who is all about death meta but it's literal but it's not

and a lso the whole. when u are a time traveler everyone is already dead. we must be like ghosts to u . etc etc

telos… THE OOD SPHERE noooo

mel being like "well…. at least 1% of the universe is fine. that's all right then" .

this |5 "it's all my fault" beat feels a lil' weird until u remember [all the traumas] / flux trauma and then it's like yeah i getchu doc i too take everything bad that happens as proof that it is my fault even tho, factually, it makes no sense as a reaction. trauma/depression girlies united.

THE SUN IS DEAD. rip 42's sun.

omg thank u sutekh for finally fixing that over-blue colorization in the unit set. not all heroes wear capes tbh.

aaaand the end.

fade to black.

doctor who is done! we can all go home and become trekkies everybody. congrats!

[hsgucci94]

A safe place

Summary: The one where Lhh goes to Y/N for comfort.

Content warnings: fluff, sad.

Word count: 600

masterlist

———

The cheeky and always-charming Harry you had known for the past weeks was no longer there the moment he knocked on your door that night. Like every time he was coming over to your flat, you hurried to the door, ready to greet him and feel his lips against yours. Then you would either fall on the couch and keep on making out, or things would spice up enough that you would have to go to your bedroom to relieve yourselves.

That afternoon, however, he didn’t have his usual smirk on. His face was rather sad, which was reflected on his eyes and their sparkle-less green.

“Hey…,” you mumbled, moving to the side to allow him to come in, “Everything alright, Styles?”

He showed you a rather listless smile and passed a hand through his long curls. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as he inhaled your perfume. He closed his eyes, and his grip only tightened around you.

“What’s wrong, H?,” you mumbled, sweetly caressing his hair, like he did to you whenever you were falling asleep on him. That sole gesture comforted him, but he still needed more.

He silently moved away and grabbed your hand, pulling you to him as he made his way to the couch and took a seat. He put his hands on your waist as he helped you sat astraddle on his lap. He rested his hands on your hips, but somehow you didn’t know where to put yours.

“You’re worrying me,” you cautiously admitted and he gulped, “Talk to me, please…, are you okay?”

Your eyes were now fixed on his, trying to read his countenance, trying to read his mind. Whatever was going through it, you wanted him to confide it to you so that you could lift that weight off of him.

“I… I don’t know, Y/N…,” the moment your name came out of his lips, it broke you. He never used it, he always had pet names for you. Harry lowered his head, hiding his face against your chest, “It’s like everything’s falling apart and you’re the only one keeping me sane.”

His voice broke, and salty teardrops ran down his cheeks right away, wetting your t-shirt. Every single emotion he had been holding in all day was now coming out, and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

As soon as he started feeling down, Harry knew he needed to come see you, and even though every single voice in his head was telling him to not bother you with his problems and insecurities, he fought them and drove to your place. You two hadn’t been dating for long, but you felt like a safe place to him.

You cautiously grabbed his chin, moving his face up to yours. He was crying in front of you for the very first time, a sight that was breaking your heart.

“C’mere,” you mumbled, and squeezed him hard between your arms, “It’s alright, H, it’s alright. I’m here…, you’re safe…, you’re safe.”

He kept on sobbing against you, and you understood he needed to in order to get it all out of his chest. So you jut held him tight, your hand caressing both his hair and back as he trusted you enough to see him in his most vulnerable state.

[aristocratic-otter]

Hey y’all. It’s been a rough month, so thank you to all of you who keep tagging me in spite of my silence. And for those of you waiting for new chapters to one of my WIPs, please forgive me. The good news is, I have a week off of work, and I’ll be able to put out new chapters of at least two of my WIPs, as well as the first post from one of those below that you haven’t seen. So stay tuned!

Thank you to : @thewholelemon, @youarenevertooold, @nausikaaa, @wellbelesbian, @cutestkilla, @monbons, @artsyunderstudy, @ileadacharmedlife, @hushed-chorus, @prettygoododds, @whatevertheweather, @angelsfalling16, @noblecorgi, @ic3-que3n, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @alexalexinii, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,and @blackberrysummerblog for the tags over the last several weeks. 

On to the snippets!

From Saving Simon Snow: (slightly more than six sentences)

I don’t know what I expect when I look at him. Recriminations about my family? I’d deserve them. My father and aunt have been vicious and abusive towards my now-husband. I’ll never be done making that up to him. Or maybe he wants to actually talk about the events of the day? Yesterday, I mean, since the clock has clearly ticked over into a new day.

Whatever I expected, it wasn’t Simon’s blue eyes intensely boring into mine as he says, “Can I kiss you?”

From the Heart in the Well

“You–” I start, and my voice is a croak. I swallow, despite my horror at the liquid still laying on my tongue. I try again. “How could you?”

Simon looks apologetic, but his chin is jutting up nonetheless. “Baz, you needed it—” he begins. 

“You’ve made me into a monster!” I cry. 

From Snow Fox–nothing new this week. I'm researching my next chapter at the moment.

From TikTok Dancer: 

Normally, by now I’d be giving coy glances to my chosen partner of the night. I like to have made my choice at least an hour before we quit for the day, so I can make my interest known. It’s a bit of a dance in itself, this small courtship. 

Tonight, unless I find the courage to approach Baz again—why do I even remember his name? Most of the time I forget their names minutes after they say them—I’ll be going to bed without any release. Because nobody in the crowd has drawn my eyes today, despite several pretty people making eyes at me. 

I’ve only got eyes for Baz.

I don’t understand this.

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

One of the tools we rescued from the ship before it sank was a hand axe, and it’s honestly been worth it’s weight in gold. Half the building I’ve done in the last few years would have been impossible without it. I don’t need Davy’s voice in my head growling, “you break those tools, boy, I’ll break you.” I’m constantly aware of the fragility of the life we’ve built here. If I break an axe…no more building out of wood. If the island suffers a dry year, no fruit on our plates. If one of us gets sick…no doctors

From Cupid’s Shield:

My aunt Fiona loves recounting the time he showed up at Watford’s Valentine ball when she was a fourth year. She wasn’t old enough to attend, but she’d snuck into a secret passage that passed the ballroom to spy on her friends, who were fifteen because their birthday (they were twins apparently) was just before the deadline to attend. Reading between the lines, I think Fi was sweet on one of the pair and wanted to make sure he wasn’t making time with some other girl at the ball. 

According to my Aunt, Cupid just materialized in midair beneath the great chandelier, and, with a wicked grin, began shooting incorporeal arrows at every mage in sight. Fiona took great pleasure in recounting just who was compelled into snogging their sworn enemies or the girlfriends/ boyfriends of their best friends. Apparently the event was a source of endless drama over the next several months, and my aunt lives for that shit. 

Of course, my aunts’ maybe-boyfriend escaped unscathed, or I think she wouldn’t have found the whole thing so amusing.

From my COBB project:

“Director,” I say, “It’s good to see you.”

“And it’s wonderful to see you, my boy. In fact, your return just at this time could not have been more fortuitous.”

I know all too well what that means. My heart sinks into my shoes. I just got back…I haven’t even unpacked yet…

“Sir?” I question, directing every fibre of my being towards hoping the director is not about to say what I think he’s about to say. Of course, I’m not that lucky.

“We have a situation, Simon,” he says, letting his face fall into graver lines. 

Tagging: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @messofthejess, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @larkral, @confused-bi-queer, @rimeswithpurple, and @mooncello, @theearlgreymage, @j-nipper-95, @facewithoutheart, @best--dress, @nightimedreamersghost

[bhaalbaaby]

Title: i must make you the perfect evening (829 words) Pairing: astarion/tav Warnings: angst, first time I love yous lol A/N: finished astarion's companion quest and I'm feeling things ;-; this would be before they confront cazador. still feeling fragmented at least with how I write so lol anyways brb crying :")

Sarnarei misses his touch, but sex isn't required. Never was. She flashes a smile at Astarion as they settle in for the night, in a proper camp. They didn't make a verbal agreement about their sleeping arrangements. She just didn't go back to her tent, their bedrolls side by side, cuddled close, arms wrapped around each other.

Tonight is no different. He starts reading more to occupy his mind with the tomes Gale brought along. Sarnarei writes in her journal about their day, trying to remember the details while their mind flayer friend gently reminds her.

She glances over at Astarion, comfortable with his silence, and his presence. He glances up from his book, a smile slowly spreading along his lips. "Yes, my love?"

She leans over, pecking him quickly. "Nothing. I am happy I have you." She says, suddenly sentimental. Time is ticking down. They've made it back to their hometown, the goal clear. The thought terrified her, but they all need this tadpole out of their heads.

Astarion nods, "I'm glad I have you too, my perfect girl."

She scrunches up her nose, "I am far from it."

Astarion sets his book to the side, his hands snaking around her waist as he brings her closer, "You're selling yourself short, Sarnarei." He pauses, looking far away, sighing deeply. "I don't know how to be a good partner without sex." He confesses, his brows lowering. "But you're being so patient with me. You're understanding. You say really sweet things and I don't get it." Astarion whispers quickly, afraid the others could hear him.

She props her head on her elbow, his hand trailing along her jutted hipbone that peaks between her clothes. "You're the best partner in the world, Astarion." Her brown eyes search his face as he looks everywhere but her eyes. "Despite everything going, I wouldn't change anything. I would do it all again to be with you. Sex or not." Her hand rests on his still heart, her hand slightly warming with a silent spell. "My heart calls out to you, sings your praises, even on the rare occasion we're apart." She smiles, removing her hand, her mind working overtime for her magic to stay under control. She would hate if it backfired and she hurts him in this intimate time.

He holds her wrist before she can fully withdraw, pressing his lips against her heated palm. He lets out a soft moan as he shakes his head, swallowing hard. "You say pretty words like that and I want to believe them. I want to believe that you love me that much."

She sits up, resting on her knees. "How do you feel about me?" She asks, tucking an auburn strand behind her ear.

His breathing quickens as he sits up as well. "Hard to put into words. You're the first person I've been vulnerable with. The only person I could afford to be. My thoughts are my own… I don't have Cazador telling me to seduce you, bring you back to him." Anger bubbles up behind his words, but he keeps it at a simmer. His anger is directed at his master for controlling him. Making him into this monster, unable to be his person.

She rests her head against his, her hands resting on his neck now cooler to calm him down. "I know… I know how you feel." She pulls away, staring into his red eyes. "We have all the time in the world. Well, once we get the Absolute under control. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Astarion. I will never force you." She whispers, hoping her words would soothe him for the evening.

He nods quickly, closing his eyes as he takes in a deep breath. "Sarnarei." Her name sounds like music on his lips, the perfect melody. "Thank you." He looks away, shame and regret washing his face quickly. He hides it, flicking his eyes back to the watchful Tiefling. "I love you."

For a moment she ponders if he does, not because of his situation, but because of her traumas. Her heart falls over itself as she blinks quickly, realizing she's said nothing. "I love you too." She smiles softly, letting her hands fall from his shoulders to her lap. "I love the way it feels to say it out loud," She confesses, feeling her eyes start to fill. She looks down at her hands, focusing on not letting any tears fall.

When she cried in front of him before, Astarion awkwardly would tell her there, there, and swap someone else in for the emotional labor. But he couldn't do that to his partner, not now. He takes in a shuddered breath, putting his hand on her waist, bringing her closer to his side, "I'm glad we have each other. Thank you for your patience." She doesn't say anything back, quietly sobbing into his shoulder, so grateful for this love that blossoms between them.

[wanderersbell]

Hi can you write something for scara and his s/o growing old? Well scara can't age but his s/o can! I would prefer it to be kinda cute but also sad.

until death do us part

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst, hurt no comfort

warnings: major character death, very sad ending

word count: 2491

✧.* a/n: took me a while to get to this bc i kept crying thinking about it but here it is! i am so sorry in advance this is really sad, but enjoy!

nothing would make him regret getting to spend your life with you, not even the day he’d inevitably lose you. 

no amount of wishing or praying would stop you from returning to the soil of the earth one day and becoming nothing but another memory. the wanderer knew that eventually, he’d lose you too. just like everyone else he had once loved, you were no exception to the passages of time that sow life and death within the fate of humanity. 

the first time he met you, this thought passed through his mind in a fleeting whisper when your magnetic pull started to reel him in against his will. the soothing trill of your laughter and the kindness in your eyes reminded him so much of a time before pain was all he knew, that he could already picture the way the light would fade out of your eyes if he let his guard down and flew too close to the sun again. 

but no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, every path he went down lead him right back to you in the end. you who insisted with utmost sincerity that he come over for tea since he so graciously helped your grandpa harvest crops the other week. you who would pour him a cup, strong and bitter just the way he liked it, and sit across from him to tell all of the wild stories and legends you heard from the elders in town growing up, never bothered in the slightest when he didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation. 

you who slowly crept into every one of his thoughts until he could no longer fight the urge to see you, even though he truly did try to put up a fight. his feet would unconsciously bring him all the way to your doorstep after a long day, the only thing on his mind being the rush of warmth he gets whenever you look into his eyes and smile. 

he remembers when you’d open the door to the sight of him with tousled hair and dirt streaked on his skin and pull him inside without a second thought. he’d lean against your kitchen counter as you dabbed a soft damp cloth against his skin, your touch gentle but steady. you’d frown all the while as you cleaned him up, shushing and chastising him for never being careful. 

the wanderer was never actually hurt, and he could’ve easily dealt with the issue without so much as a scratch reaching him, but he loved the way you fussed over him. the stubborn crease between your brows, the jut of your lower lip, the brush of your featherlight fingertips—though nothing compared to the unfiltered and honest look of concern and worry in your eyes. 

It had been a long, long time since someone had looked at him in such a way. him, just as he was, with no purpose or usefulness to hide behind. a part of him felt annoyed by your insistence to care for him, and by the fact that he allowed you to perceive him as weak. but the other, louder part of him craved and so deeply desired the way you made him feel like he mattered.

and even still, you would never pry. you’d never pester him about why he would show up in such a state in the first place. in the months you had known him, he hadn’t told you anything. not even his name. you knew him only as a wanderer with no destination, and for this he was thankful. he was sure that if you know who he was, the things he had done, the lives he had taken—you would never look at him the same again. 

he made no move to hide anything about himself from you, but he also didn’t go out of his way to tell you either. if someone were to tell you, he would make no move to stop them. 

but nobody knew him. 

nobody until you. 

long ago the wanderer swore he would never find companionship again, but by the time he noticed the way he had grown attached to you, it was already too late to turn back. 

the existence of his past that had once felt like an eternity became nothing but a ghost in the back of his mind as you became a part of his present. he should’ve known he was in too deep the day he finally agreed to start taking you with him on his travels, but he was too distracted by the hope and excitement on your face as you proposed the idea to him. 

he knew it was risky. you couldn’t fight, didn’t know how to lie with a straight face, and refused to butcher and eat an animal even if it meant life or death; but he didn’t have it in himself to say no to you. you, who truly had no bad intentions or motives. you, who listened to every word he had to say with an open mind and no judgment in your heart. you, who reminded him why he had once been so fond of humans. 

how foolish he was, to get caught up in the fragile web of a mortal life again. but there was no stopping when he started falling for you. 

the first time he had ever snapped at you, raised his voice and said cruel things born from the anguish in his chest, you barely reacted. even as insults left his lips and he told you to get lost, you gazed at him with steady, understanding eyes and waited until he ran out of hurtful things to say. 

as his chest heaved with anger and his fingernails dig into his palms where they were clenched into fists, you waited patiently. when he came back to himself and saw the wetness of unshed tears in your eyes, the guilt and regret that followed nearly knocked him off of his feet. 

it was cowardly of him, but in that moment all he could do was turn on his foot and flee. he couldn’t bear to see that look on your face, knowing it was all his own doing. he spent until the sun began to set dragging his feet around, picturing the way you would regard him like the monster he was from this point onward. 

when he returned to you, he expected to find you upset and disgusted with him. but instead, when he tentatively stepped into your home, he found you sitting half asleep at your kitchen table with a pot of his favorite tea that had long gone cold waiting for him. 

you sat up quickly when you saw him cross the threshold, suddenly alert and awake. he could tell you were hesitant to say something, unsure of what state of mind the wanderer might be in right then, so he put extra effort into moving calmly as he approached the table and sat down as not to scare you. 

that night, he told you everything. you held his hands tightly between yours and listened from beginning to end, letting him retell the devastating tale of the life he’d lived as a heartless puppet. you cried for him. you told him how sorry you were that he had to experience all of that, how sad you were that it’d been so long since he’d felt wanted. you accepted him, his sins, his selfishness and greed. 

no matter how far he jumped, you always met him halfway. he was undeniably, pathetically in love with you. 

eventually, almost like it was always meant to happen, the two of you fell into each others arms as seamlessly as a stream flows. it had been a little over a year since the day he met you that you leaned in and kissed him for the first time. the wanderer was only shocked for a moment before he melted into it and realized that there was nothing more he wanted in this world than to be with you. 

he was happy, happier than he could remember being in centuries. there was nothing he had to hide around you, nobody he had to pretend to be that he wasn’t. it was as easy as ever to fall into a natural rhythm with you, wandering around teyvat and experiencing everything together. even the things he had already done before felt new and memorable with you. 

everywhere you went, it was together. the wanderer had been given a chance to see the world through a clear lens again, though it had become rose tinted over time from the intensity of your affection. 

the many sights he saw with you were indescribable, but his eyes always returned to you no matter how breathtaking it was. home was wherever you were, and so the two of you found home everywhere.  

but there came a day when he was forced to face reality yet again. many years passed by your side, and even though it was only a short amount of time to him, it was a huge chunk of your lifetime. when your skin began to show wrinkles and people began to mistake him for your son, the terrifying thought crossed his mind. 

you wouldn’t be around forever, your time was running out, and it rooted a deep seed of dread into his chest that threatened to bloom into something worse. it dug up old feelings that the wanderer hadn’t felt in years, ones that gripped their icy claws into his head until they were impossible to ignore. 

just like everyone else, you would leave him too. 

why? why did he only find happiness and belonging in the things that wouldn’t last? he didn’t want to be alone again. it was unfair, and never more than in that moment had he longed to be a normal human. 

did it bother you that he would never be able to grow old with you? that people would assume him your grandson and pass judgment if they knew the truth? things would soon begin to grow complicated and people who had known you both would notice that he didn’t age. 

you knew this as well as he did, and after a long and painful conversation about it, you insisted it didn’t bother you and made him promise to move forward even when you were gone. you knew he was afraid and that he had already lost so much, that there was a huge possibility that he would lose himself when you left. you feared that he had become too reliant on you. 

that in itself was what had him making an oath to himself that he wouldn’t let you leave this world feeling worried about him. and he didn’t have it in him to break a promise to you. 

when walking up steps became a difficult task for you, he’d wrap an arm around you and help you make it to the top. when you got worn out more easily and couldn’t keep up with traveling around anymore, he suggested the two of you finally settle down and return to your old house. 

as you grew weaker every year and had to rely on him more, the wanderer never once complained or treated it like an inconvenience. he was there for you, just as he had promised he always would be. you never stopped being beautiful in his eyes, even when your hair turned gray and your joints achy. you still had the same sweet smile, the same captivating eyes, the same comforting smell. you were still you, and you were his. 

eventually, when your skin had become pale and sallow and your hands too shaky and weak to hold anything, you had slowly reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes with a sad smile. 

“i will come back to you,” you promised weakly, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his face. “no matter how many times, no matter what form i take, my soul will always return to you.”

even as his heart got caught in his throat and tears spilled over his cheeks, the wanderer nodded weakly at your words. 

“okay.”

during your final days, it took everything in him to hold it together. he spoon fed you as often as you’d let him, breath hitching every time you struggled to swallow. he stayed by your side and held your frail hands in his steady ones, planting soft kisses against your knuckles and whispering his love for you into your skin. 

by the final evening, he wasn’t even sure if you could hear him anymore. still, he laid next to you the bed you shared and retold the old stories he remembers from the very beginning of your time together. it was hard to talk without breaking down when he knew you wouldn’t respond. only the sound of your shallow breathing filled the silence, growing slower and slower by the hour. 

losing you was something he had long since been preparing for, but was never truly ready to experience. he had felt grief many times in the past, but it had never hurt this deeply. it was like a sheet of anguish clinging to him, weighing him down and piercing him with nails. 

quiet, lonely, and cold, there was a giant gaping hole in his chest that you had once filled. a void that your existence managed to soothe, but it was there again. loud, unforgiving, and so, so unbearably painful. 

he cried more than he ever thought himself capable of in the weeks that followed. everywhere he looked, he could only see where you should’ve been. the wind was lonely without the sound of your voice, and the sky dull. maybe it was just his imagination, but even the birds and bugs seemed less lively without you. 

there was a suffocating stillness clouding his perception of reality. he didn’t want to acknowledge that time was passing without you, or that he would never feel your warmth next to him anymore, but he knew you were gone. there was nothing he could do. 

it hurt. it hurt so badly that he could still hear his own guttural sobs even over the deafening downpour of rain as it soaked him to the bone where he sat hunched over in front of where you had been buried not long before. 

he missed you so much. even though he had gone so long being alone before he met you, it was as if he was experiencing it all for the first time again. his lungs burned and his chest ached as he choked on humid air, wishing you were still there to comfort him like you always had been.  

“please,” he called softly into the wind, willing himself to hold on to even the smallest shard of hope. “keep your promise.”

there was no response. 

he was alone again. 

[justrandomfanfictionskh]

Mary Todd pt 1

15 Odd Years ago...

Jason smiled down at his sister as he pulled her onto the fire escape. He sat down on the cold metal as Mari curled into his lap. He held her close as the voices got louder, and he told her a story. It was about the knitting fairy, a kind a magical sprite that would fly around Gotham and fix all of the orphan's clothes so that they were nice and warm for winter.

"Jay-Jay, can I be the knitting fairy when I grow up?" Little Mary asked with big shining eyes.

"Of course you can!" Jason exclaimed, "Just make sure you fly home every night, and make the best clothes for me."

"Deal," Mary giggled and snuggled closer, and Jason wanted to cry. Mary did not deserve this life. She was only three years old, and she had already known hunger and cold and pain. But, she still smiled and giggled. Jason wanted to give her everything. But he was only five. Adults didn't listen when you were only five. Adults didn't take you seriously or care about your opinions. The only thing he could do was hold her, tell her stories, and keep her away from the worst of it. He would protect her, even if he was only five. And no one would take her away.

Jason was so lost in his thoughts that he barely registered the police sirens getting closer and closer. This was Gotham after all, no one paid attention to the sirens unless they were right at their door. So Jason closed his eyes, as Mary begged for another story. He consented with a small sad smile. But just he was getting to the best part, the part where the fairy made everything better, there was a terrible sound from inside the apartment.

Mary screamed as the sound loud and echoing repeated. Jason covered her as best as he could, as the sound and the screams rang in his ears. Then there were voices. Jason scrambled away, dragging his sister tight as a visored head jutted through the window. As the black reflective visor faced them, Jason saw himself dirty, desperate and scared as Mary small and trembling clung to him in her dirty pink coat.

The visor vanished inside and was replaced by a man. He had greying hair, large square glasses, and a thick mustache. Jason watched as he tucked his gun behind the vest marked GCPD. But when the man smiled it was warm, kind, and sad.

"Hello there," he said softly, "My name is Jim, Jim Gordon. What's your name?"

Jason did not want to say or do anything, but he felt Mary shiver, and the man seemed nice enough. He took a deep breath and allowed this Gordon to coax them off of the fire escape and back into the apartment. Gordon gently guided them into the hall, but out of the corner of his eye, an army of tall beings, faces covered with black visors watching them as they passed.

"Where's mommy?" Mary asked in her smallest voice. The one Jason hated hearing, because it meant that his baby sister knew. She knew that bad things had happened. She wasn't supposed to know that, Jason had to protect her.

"Mommy," Gordon said gently, "Had to step out for a bit. But I'm going to take you to a place with a lot of nice people, who will take care of you for a while, ok?"

Mary nodded into Jason's arm, as his eyes darted around, trying to find answers. He found none as they were quickly swept into Gordon's car, and driven away from the flashing lights and the persistent noise. The room they were told to wait in at the station was very quiet. It was too quiet for Gotham, and it put Jason on edge. Mary fell asleep. After a few minutes, a smiling woman came in, introducing herself as their social worker. She said that had Marinette had to talk to the doctor without Jason for a minute, but she would be there the entire time. Jason held Mary's hand until it hurt, but Mary just patted his arm and said,

"It's ok Jay-Jay. Doctors are nice people. Here," she took her favorite bracelet off of her arm. A plastic pink bead bracelet that she had made with him, "Hold onto my lucky charm for me. I'll be right back."

Jason smiled and let go of her hand, taking the small plastic jewelry, "Ok Pixie, be quick."

"Fairy," she corrected, "I'm a fairy." And she followed the social worker out of the room. Much later, Jason didn't know how much later, a different social worker came in and told him something that he did not want to hear. He yelled. He screamed. He threw things. He punched and kicked and demanded, that they take him to his sister. Take him to Mary. She needed him. He had to protect her. They couldn't separate them. They weren't allowed to do that. Who cares if their father found them. He would protect her. But he was five, so the adults didn't believe him. So she was gone, and Jason was alone.

8 odd years ago...

"So can you find her?" the young boy was looking at the ground as he clung to a pink plastic bracelet as if his life depended on it. Bruce wanted to do so many things. He wanted to hold him, and tell him it was alright, and hide him away where no one could ever hurt him.

But that was not their relationship. The boy still didn't fully trust him, and he refused to be babied, or cared for. He wasn't Jason's father, and he couldn't be until Jason said that he wanted that. So Bruce trained him. He taught him how to protect himself and others. He gave him purpose and a mission. And if there was anything else he could do...anything Jason would let him do. He would do it in a heartbeat.

So with his practiced stoicism he turned to the Bat Computer and said, "Mary Todd, correct?"

He didn't see Jason's face light up in hope and wonder, but he could hear it, when he practically shouted, "Yes! She was three years old when I last saw her! She's ten now. I don't know if she's still in Gotham! Can you really find her?!"

Bruce let a small smile play on his lips. He would move heaven and earth to help Jason, but what he said was, "I will do what I can."

5 odd years ago...

Jason stared numbly at the screen. He reached for the lucky charm, that he kept in his left breast pocket, but it was gone. He had lost it when he had died. But did that matter? Because...there she was. It was her.

"No wonder it took us so long to find her," Bruce said with a stoicism that grated on Jason's nerves. "They changed her name, and she was adopted internationally. Apparently she when she tried to run away from her first foster home, she ran into a visiting French couple. According to her file."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," Alfred said calmly, "Thirteen and attending Collège Françoise Dupont, Paris, France. She is a very beautiful young woman, Master Jason. I am happy that you found her."

"Yeah," Jason said numbly. Alfred and Bruce shared a look and then turned to the young man gripping an empty pocket. Bruce opened his mouth to mention a trip to Paris, but Jason said, "Seal the records."

"Excuse me?" He said with a raised eyebrow.

"Seal the records Bruce," Jason said with a clenching jaw. "No one can ever know that we're related. No one can ever know about us. Seal the records and make sure no one, not even you can connect her with me."

Alfred and Bruce shared another look, but it was Alfred who spoke. "Master Jason---"

"Alfred," Jason said panic dripping into his determined voice. "I have to protect her...I have to protect her...even from me. I can't...she's happy...she's normal...I can't take that from her. I can't ruin her. So please Bruce for the love of God seal those damn records!...please."

The please was spoken in a small voice that Bruce never wanted to hear come from Jason ever again. Jason might not want him as a father, but he would always see him as a son, and he would do anything for him. So he closed his eyes, ignored Alfred's disapproving eye brow and said, "Very well."

Next

[blood-teeth]

I absolutely love the mouth of elysium omg.

I'm intrigued so much by it. And alil grossed out at times lmao 🤣 but that's okay! Your writing is just really vivid and descriptive it's hard not to imagine the gross imagery 😅

I love it so much. It makes me so thoughtful tho. Like this is just my rambles so forgive me. But it's very cultlike. This devotion. The knowledge that you'd probably be better off not being here but feeling honored that your life is being sacrificed for some greater good.

Like moved by it all. When I'm here like.. this shit is so sus. Lol

Being that brilliant that you feel like it was just your fate to be doing this despite how MCs mom didn't even really want it for herself in the beginning and their dad has a whole legacy of dying in the pursuit of it all. As again. An honor.

It's crazy. And interesting. And crazy. And a part of me is just like how much of this is actually true. Is this place really home or just an elaborate prison keeping people here. And that same part has me saying fuck the King because whose to day this isn't some goal to save your home but the need for a selfish scared little man who knows death is all our due and is using his people as pawns to strive for some immortal elixir that he feels only he's worthy of. That it's not to save a kingdom but because he is so egotistical that he believes he is the kingdom.

I feel sorry for MC but ai also feel their rage and it's both interesting and conflicting. The shifts between when they are alone and you read this doubt and self depreciation and then swiftly cry over being "allowed" and "chosen" to sacrifice your life for a dream that isn't yours.

Like they aren't even studying anything they want to from my understanding.

This story has me thinking so much and it's chapter 2. Christ lmao.

Sorry that this is so long. It's great writing is all i wanted to say then i got carried away. 🤦‍♀️💕

aww thanks so much for sending me this it absolutely made my day <33333

YES i'm so glad this is being portrayed and picked up in the way i was hoping!

i wanted to write about an environment that was so plainly and obviously abusive, but the MC can't help but love it. its the only thing they've ever known and how can you not help but love all that you have? They're constantly conflicted, but they don't know enough to be resolute. if that makes sense.

it's very on purpose that you as the player has so little choice right now when it comes to actual gameplay.

and for the king- to live for someone else. to potentially die for someone else - is as you've accurately put it "sus" and yes so much of this story will be unraveling the intricacies of the labyrinth and what the relationship the king and the labyrinth truly have.

im curious to know what you've thought about the Princess/Prince once they were introduced as well! and not jut the MC's thoughts, but the entirety of the class seemed to be moved just as equally.

i'll share something here about the Princess/Prince, too.

their names mean Gift of God

[whumpasaurus101]

*takes u out of my pocket*

my most talented son!! 🥰🥰💖

do you have any shock collar content for asher 👀

EEEEEE *INTENSE HAPPY FLAPPY HANDSSSSSS*

Okay ik ive been texting you loads abt how much i hate this and what not BUT ONCE AGAIN, IM SO GRRRRR CAUSE I WISH I DID A BETTER JOB IM SORRY- i acc havent really written much shock collar so i feel like maybe i can write it a lot better HUIKJDHKDH but someday i wanna do party time part 2 and have more shock collar content in that >:3

masterlist

CW: shock collar / cursing / 'mutt' used as a name

---

“Let me go!!!!” Asher growled, fighting off the men who were holding him. They shoved him onto the floor in front of Antonio’s desk, who stood from his seat, taking off his glasses with a heavy breath, “Boys?”

“Sorry for disturbing you boss,” One of the workers sighed, almost out of breath from how much effort it took holding back Asher, “But this little shit was trying to cause trouble with a newbie.” The worker emphasized his sentence, kicking Asher hard in the ribs.

Antonio had run this boxing gym for a while now. He has dealt with all kinds of fighters. The broken, scared, defiant, confident, weak, strong, you name it. But Asher? Asher, quite frankly, made Antonio want to quite frankly beat the ever loving shit out of him. Antonio sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly before nodding, “Leave it with me, thank you boys.” And with that, the group of trainers walked back to the training gym, out of Antonio’s office.

“I didn't do shit,” Asher growled, rubbing his side while practically pouting like a child. “I highly doubt that. I can always pull up the CCTV security footage if you’d like.” Asher froze and shook his head quickly, only making Antonio chuckle, bending over slightly and tilting Asher’s head up by a finger under his chin, “You never learn, do you?”

Asher growled, ripping his face away from Antonio, “Don't fucking touch m-” He was quickly cut off as Antonio grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head so he was face to face with Antonio, “Listen here, you little shit. I am sick and tired of putting up with your bullshit every fucking day-” 

“…technically it's not e-every d-”

“Silence.” Asher was backhanded hard and a small whimper escaped his lips before he tried to cover it up with a growl, but just Antonio chuckled, walking over to his desk and opening a drawer, “Do you remember that day I used the taser on you?” 

Asher instantly paled, gulping and shifting anxiously, “Oh o-of course. How could I ever forget such a wonderful day. You know what, you and I have the most amazing time tog-”

*click* 

Asher immediately looked up to Antonio, “Wha-what the fuck-” His hands flew up to his neck, desperately trying to pull at whatever had been latched around his neck. “Hm, what’s the matter, little pup?” Asher growled, rushing up to his feet as he clenched his fists, “Don't you dare call me that.”  

Antonio smirked and chuckled, “Ohhhh, you will want to watch your mouth from now on.” Asher’s eyes turned cold and he stepped right up to Antonio’s face, jutting out his chin in defiance, “And why’s that?” 

Antonio’s eyes practically sparkled as he took out a controller, simply pressing a button and watching the show happen before him. 

Asher’s eyes went wide as his whole body seized up and with a cry as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. His arms flew up to his neck, desperately pulling at the shock collar as much as he could, “SH-SH’T- Tu-turn ‘t o-o-’ff-ff-” His whole torso and back seized up, twitching and beginning to shake. Antonio chuckled, bending down to his hunkers and brushing a hair away from Asher’s face, “Beg me, dear.” 

Asher growled, snarling as he grit his teeth, “Like sh-sh-i-it I will.” Antonio smirked, “Suit yourself,” And with that, Antonio stood up and sat at his desk, starting to fill in paper work he had been procrastinating for weeks. 

Asher slammed his fist against the floor, trying to get Antonio’s attention. His body was on fire. His lungs felt as if lightning struck through them. “Th’s ‘s b-BULL,” He bellowed with another punch to the ground. Antonio just chuckled, spinning his pen with his finger absentmindedly, “You know what I want, Asher.” 

“Wh-wh’t you want, n-nah, bu-bu’ wha-whatchya ne-...nee-d is a li- FUCK- a li-fffff-fffe.” 

Antonio simply hummed, his fingers twisting up the dial to the control, smirking as a scream ripped from Asher’s throat. “I must admit, I’m impressed at your pain tolerance,” Antonio chuckled, “I mean, managing to keep that annoying act up while being shocked at nearly the highest setting. I'm… almost… surprised…to be honest!”

Asher’s body twitched with a grunt, “Th-th’nks alo-ot, asshole.” Antonio studied him for a moment more before switching off the collar, watching with a smirk as Asher’s back slumped to the floor, his body aching as he tried to catch his breath. Asher cursed under his breath as his body occasionally twitched, glossy eyes staring at the ceiling, “Ge-get it ‘ff…”

“I told you what I wanted, dear, and you haven't given that to me. So, shall we continue, or are you willing to beg?”

Asher clenched his jaw before bringing his eyes up to meet Antonio’s, “Bri-bring it, bitch.” Antonio scoffed, rolled his eyes before turning the dial full. Asher screamed  this time, his whole body completely seizing as his head hit the floor, heels digging into the carpet of the office, his back arching in pain, “Sh-sh’t, pl…”

“I'm sorry, speak up darling, I didn't quite hear you,” Antonio pressed, knowing how close Asher was to breaking. He watched as Asher’s face screwed up, what the fuck was he to do??? He wanted the pain to end more than anything but there was no way in fuck that he was about to beg to Antonio.

Suddenly the shock stopped as there was a knock on the door. Antonio slammed his fist against the desk, “What is it,” He growled, “Nobody is to come in while I’m work-”

“My sincere apologies.”

Asher froze at the familiar voice. Fucking Rodger. 

“Heard my boy was causing trouble.” 

Antonio scoffed, “When is he not?” That made Rodger chuckled, “Mind if I sit in?” Antonio gestured to the seat where Asher lay near, “Take a seat! I'm not letting Asher leave until he begs- but… you might wanna get comfy, god knows how long he’ll take.”

“Well, Asher, “ Rodger chuckled, delivering as hard of a kick as he could to Asher’s ribs. Asher groaned, his hand flying to clutch at his ribs with a groan, “F’ck o-o-’ff…” Rodger laughed, looking up at Antonio, “You really think he’s going to break???”

Antonio simply shrugged, “Worth a try though! Want a go?” Rodger quickly extended his hand, “Oh, you fucking bet.” The second the control was put into his hand, Rodger instantly turned the dial.

“FU-FUCK- Stopstop-st- SHIT- stop-” 

“Not the words I’m looking for, Ashy boi.”

Asher snarled, his top lip curling up, “D-dn’t call me tha-thah-” “I think that's the least of your worries right now,” Rodger scoffed, resting his feet up on top of Antonio’s desk, ignoring Antonio’s disapproving look. 

Asher’s eyes fluttered as his head suddenly felt dangerously light, “Sh-sh’t…” Antonio gulped, his eyes snapping over to Rodger, “He-hey uh, take it easy on him, he looks like he’s about to pass out.” Rodger simply waved his hand dismissively, “Oh please, he’s just being a dramatic little shit.”

“Mmhnn-” Was all Asher managed before his eyes rolled up to his head, and his body fell still. Silence. 

“Dramatic?”

“I can hear you smirking.”

“You know, you can always leave the mutt with me for a week or two, I’d bet I could have him broken in that amount of time.”

Rodger laughed, shaking his head, “Funny. Hilarious. But I might take you up on that offer, I could do with a break from the idiot.”

“Sounds like a deal, you just hit me up and I’ll be there.”

“Deal. Now, help me carry him to the car, will ya?”

---

THANKIE SM FOR READINGGGGG 💜💜💜

Taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit @milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @hold-back-on-the-comfort @tears-and-lilies @heathenwhump @whumpkinpie @happy-little-sadist @shywhumpauthor @cursedscribbles @whump-queen

[skyward-floored]

Febuwhump day 13 - Forced to hurt a loved one

This is kind of a loose interpretation but I started this like five different ways and it was the only one that worked 😅 oh well it’s good enough.

Hibiscus is alttp ooa/oos and la Link, Mini is mc, and Cloud is sksw

Blood/injury warning! It could be worse I think, but this definitely deals with that

————————————————————

Hibiscus knew screams.

He’d heard more than his fair share over his years of adventuring, both from enemies he’d cut down and ones torn from his own mouth when he’d been injured. As much as he hated them, they were a rather common occurrence in his life, and he’d learned to differentiate the different kinds. Ones of fear, excitement or pain all holding distinct pitches he could hear.

And the cry that rang across the battle they’d all found themselves in was the latter of the three, with a voice so horribly young it made his head snap up in immediate attention.

Mini.

Hibiscus immediately turned from the pig-like monster he’d just cut down and made a beeline for where the scream had come from.

He sprinted past a moblin some of the others were fighting and found Cloud viciously swinging at what he was pretty sure was a lizalfos, Mini fallen to the ground beneath him with a spear sticking out of his side.

The silvery creature hissed as it tried to get its spear back, lunging toward where Mini was curled up, but Cloud kicked it backwards with a furious look, eyes glinting. Hibiscus figured he had things in control for now, so he darted past him and slid to the ground next to Mini, the kid’s face already white with shock.

Hibiscus bit back a hiss at the blood staining his tunic, and ghosted a hand over where the spear had gone in, carefully running a hand over Mini’s side.

Mini bit back a whimper as he pulled his tunic away from where the spear went in, making shaky eye contact with Hibiscus.

“H-Hib—”

“Easy kid, you’re going to be fine,” he reassured, already thumbing through his pouch. He brushed a hand through Mini’s hair when the hero let out another whimper, and swallowed back the anxiety that threatened to make his hands shake.

Sure he knew more about healing then most of the other heroes: he’d practically been named unofficial medic for Din’s sake. But Mini had a literal spear in his side, it could’ve hit any number of important parts inside of him, and there was no doubt internal bleeding somewhere—

Hibiscus breathed in, then breathed back out. Panicking wasn’t going to help anyone.

Footsteps sounded behind him and Cloud practically fell to his knees next to him a few moments later, eyes wide as he took in the red soaking through Mini’s tunic. He tossed his bloodied sword aside and took Mini’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze as he continued to study the injury.

“We have to get that out,” Cloud breathed, looking a little sickened at the sight of the spear. “I have a red potion if you want, what do you need me to do?”

“We can’t give it to him with the spear still in, it’ll heal around it and he’ll have it embedded in his skin,” Hibiscus said quickly, pulling out some bandages and his canteen. “We’ll have to take it out before we do anything else, okay Mini?”

“Okay,” he said weakly, and Hibiscus saw Cloud’s gaze get darker.

Hibiscus swallowed, then angled himself around the side of where Mini lay, putting a careful hand on the spear jutting out of him.

“Can you hold him Cloud?” he asked in a voice he fought to keep calm, and the other hero tugged Mini’s head up on his lap, keeping his arms around him as much as he could with the spear in the way. Hibiscus surveyed the situation one more time, then nodded, steeling himself. “Okay, I’m going to pull it out on three, ready?”

Cloud and Mini both nodded, the older holding Mini steady.

“One, two, three.”

He tugged firmly on the spear and Mini let out a strangled cry, jerking in Cloud’s hold. The older hero held him tighter, and Hibiscus gave the weapon another tug when it was oddly resistant, Mini crying out again. He gave it yet another sharp tug, but he could tell something was wrong, something catching the spear and not allowing it to slide out the way it should.

Something was stopping it from coming out, and all his tugging was doing was making the wound worse.

Hibiscus stopped pulling and Mini fell still, breathing shakily as a couple tears rolled down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Cloud asked, and Hibiscus bit his lip, studying the metal embedded in Mini’s side.

“It’s stuck. I don’t know why, but if I just yank it out it‘ll only make things worse,” he said quietly, and Mini reached out a hand to tug on his sleeve.

“It feels l-like it’s caught on s-something,” he said shakily, and Hibiscus frowned, leaning in closer and studying the spear again. “L-like when you’re p-pulling it, i-its cutting—”

He sucked in a breath, and Cloud gently rubbed a hand along his head.

Hibiscus continued to study the spear, wiping some of the blood away so he could see the spear better. Then his stomach dropped as he got a look at the very edge of the weapon, blood glinting in the sunshine.

“It’s serrated,” he breathed. “The edge. It’s pulling on him when I try to get it out, we...”

He swallowed.

“I’ll have to dig it loose,” Hibiscus said quietly.

Cloud paled, and Mini swallowed, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

“Do w-what you have to,” he whispered, and Hibiscus couldn’t help but be impressed by the little smithy’s fortitude.

“I’m not going to mince words, this is going to hurt a lot. And I don’t have any way to alleviate it until it’s out,” he warned, and Mini simply closed his eyes.

“I know.”

Hibiscus looked back at the spear again, and felt his throat tighten.

He’d been stabbed by a few spears in his time, and while he’d never had the fun of any of them being serrated, they’d all hurt like mad to remove and be healed. He couldn’t imagine how bad it would be for Mini, adding to the already excruciating pain he was in.

He knew sometimes you had to inflict pain in order to fix it, especially in cases like these. But by the three did it have to be like this? He’d essentially be making the wound in Mini’s side even bigger, and the thought of cutting into him like that was making his stomach roll.

But he ignored it, stuffing the feelings to the side. He was good at that.

Hibiscus breathed in, and took out a small dagger he owned, quickly swiping his fire rod over it to heat it up and hopefully sterilize it. He put a hand on the spear, trying to ignore Mini’s flinch, and steeled himself again.

“Okay. Hold him steady. I’ll be as fast as I can,” he said in a voice he fought to keep gentle. Cloud nodded and held Mini tighter as Hibiscus used his canteen to clear away some more of the blood so he could better see what he was doing.

And then, before he could lose his nerve, began to painstakingly dig out the spearhead.

Mini bit back a whine, his knuckles white where he was gripping Cloud’s hand. His eyes squeezed shut as Hibiscus went deeper, carefully loosening the spear so he could slip it out without further damage, and Mini began to shake, though he was obviously trying not to.

Hibiscus began to tease out the spear, and Mini held out for an impressive amount of time before crying out, but it was soon too much for him to handle and he yelled as Hibiscus tugged on the weapon.

“I know I know I’m sorry I’m almost done,” Hibiscus bit out, forcing his hands not to shake as Mini cried out again. He almost had the spear, blood making his hands slippery as he tugged, and tried to ignore Mini’s cries as he gave it one last pull.

The spear came out, and Mini nearly collapsed, breathing shakily as tears ran down his cheeks. Hibiscus threw the spear aside as blood poured out of the wound, shoving a cloth against it as Cloud sat Mini up so he could drink a potion. Mini began to sip at it, and Hibiscus waited a few minutes for the potion to close the wound enough that he didn’t have to hold the cloth there anymore.

Once the blood had finally slowed, he studied the barely-healed skin on Mini’s side, grabbing the bandages he’d taken out. Cloud helped him clean and wrap it, and Hibiscus let out a slow exhale when they finished, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“Just get some rest now Mini, you’re going to be fine,” he said gently, giving Mini’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll probably be a bit dizzy for a bit, you lost a lot of blood. Take it slow, drink lots of water.”

“Okay,” Mini whispered, then curled up against Cloud, his eyes slipping shut.

Hibiscus closed his own eyes as Cloud tugged his sailcloth over Mini, trying to get the sounds of the younger’s screams out of his head. He failed rather miserably, and clenched his fists, then felt a hand settle on his shoulder. He looked up to see Cloud giving him a kind smile, and swallowed.

“You did a good job Hibiscus,” he said gently, and he nodded, looking at the blood beginning to dry on his hands. “Are you... okay?”

“Yeah.”

Cloud studied him in silence for a moment before nodding. “Okay. There’s a stream pretty close by if you want to clean up. I’ve got him.” Hibiscus merely nodded in reply and stood, his knees feeling sore.

He watched Mini breathe for a few quiet seconds before turning away, blood sticky on his hands.

[grumpy-zane]

In Which a Retired General Enters Limon

Cryptor scowled as he sat in the luggage car of the train. It was horribly bumpy, incredibly warm, and overly crowded with cargo boxes and supplies. He couldn’t afford a ticket to be in one of the main passenger cars, nor did he want to ask Cyrus to help him with anything, so he settled for stow away.

Sure, Dr Borg *was* the one who ripped his soul out of the departed realm and shoved it into a compatible vessel, but that doesn’t mean he had to become some sort of friend to the doctor. Why, it just didn’t make sense to Cryptor why he would even do this in the first place, but he didn’t get any answers he wanted to hear. 

"I just think everyone deserves a second chance. Now I did consider making you head of the sentry units but, well, I wouldn't want to put a ghost in a place where it rains often!" Cyrus had laughed, much to the annoyance of Cryptor, "but its clear you don't want to stay around here either. So! I have the perfect place for you to become re-established in the world of the living." 

The trains' wheels screeched as it braked in spurts, gradually slowing the vehicle to a stop. He took no time to pull open the door and wedge hiself between the side and the subterranian linestone wall. Working his way towards the front of the train he managed to scooch his way to the main stations general opening, a wide subterranean space upheld by wood and steel beams. It would have felt a lot bigger if it weren't for the fact that it was filled up with tourists from all walks of life. 

Cryptor weaved his way through the main streams of traffic, rudely shoving people aside who moved too slow for his liking. Forcing his way up the stairs, his optics shrunk at the drastic change of light. 

From the train station, the cul-de-sac shaped town sprawled with houses and trees. It was shaped perfectly for tourism; a wide general road that looped around multiple fountains, with vendors and tourist trap buildings lining the sides set perfectly to grab your attention on your way around. Beyond the inner ring laid the hotels and saloons, and beyond that were scattered clumps of residential housing. Citrus trees lined the entire town like a forest wall, separating this breath of life from the desert wasteland beyond.  Finally, directly across from the station and town in its entirity, stood a large building half carved into the jutting canyon stone. It was the town governing building, and it was exactly what he was looking for. 

The first thing he noted upon entering the front doors was the large set of shark bones that hung from the rafters, its rib cage seemingly built into the roof support. Various glass cases lined the walls between sinage, housing historical artifacts and facts about the area. 

"Howdy," a wrangler, the towns law enforcement and DNR, greeted from the side wall, "need directions?" 

"Yes, where is your head honcho? I have a letter from Cyrus Borg that needs to be delivered to your..." what type of government did Limon have again, "mayor."

She snorted and pushed herself off the side wall, "we don't have a Mayor, but I can take you to the seinor wrangler. My name is Charleston, and you are?"

He hesitated, "Cryptor." 

"Nice to meet you, come this way." She led him down the right wing which housed more museum looking pieces. Three doors down, she knocked on the office door and twisted the knob, "Head Donna, a letter for you." 

The older woman looked up from her paperwork, "coem in." Another wrangler -Joey- fixed his posture as Charleston let Cryptor in and returned to her post. 

Immediately, the former general was pur on edge by Joeys posture. The straightened shoulders, hard gaze, hands hovering by his tool belt, and tipped hat made it seem like he was beyond ready. It was at that moment Cryptor realized that although guns were outlawed in the city, they weren't here.

"Don't mind Joseph, hes a little paranoid by newcomers. You have a letter for me?" Don asked kindly with folded hands. 

"Yes," Cry stepped forward and pulled the letter from his arm plating. "Cyrus Borg has requested that I get a job here. I figured being a wrangler would be of great benefit to you." He smiled with an air of arrogance, "A machine can withstand greater impacts than a man." 

Joey caught his side-eye and frowned.

Donna laughed in half paying attention, "Never heared of this Cyrus person, never heard of you either," she set the paper down and looked him in the eye, "you seem to think you have what it takes to be a wrangler, hm? We get a lot of people like you walking in here asking the same thing, and we always let the wastes do the deciding. I have no authority to make you a wrangler until you pass the exam, so until then, you should get comfortable with the landscape."

Part of her tone urked him, "I know what I am capable of." 

"Thats nice sweetie," she looked back at her paperwork, "Joey, show him out please." 

"Yes ma'am." He almost giddily opened the door for him. 

Cryptor glared, but turned heels. He stomprd his way down the hall and eyed the glass. He was capable alright, beyond qualified to do this job. It was easy wasn't it? Just make sure people arent doung dumb things and smile and wave, what was there an exam about that? 

Charleston felt his deep rooted rage and stepped forward from her post again, "don't take it too personally Cryptor, everyone gets turned down on thr first day. You just gotta pass fhe exam, which happens right at the end of tourist season." She informed.

"Yeah and when is that?" He snarled, "and what do I do before then? I can't live here rent free." 

She tapped her belt, "I can give you a place to stay, and the bars around are always looking for chefs and bartenders." 

He seemed to consider this, "so I have to learn to cook before I can smile and wave? How quaint," his sarcastic tone oozed, "and let me guess, I will need a uniform that I cant afford in order to work, hm?" He was only there in boots and pants, not that he or anyone minded.

Charleston hummed, "tell you what, I'll give you a grace period of 4 days for you to get acquainted with the town before I'm making you work. It'll give you enough time to see what's needed, and to get familiar with the culture. Part of bring a wrangler is upholding Limon's law, which is mighty different from the City. Here," Crptor caught the kry she tossed to him, "The farthest east house on the south side, thats mine. Don't mind the roommate, she's a little too unafraid. You two will get along great." 

He looked at the key and scoweled. At least that meant he could take a nap. In this vessel he needed recharge time, it took at a lot of energy to move it around, and the exghaustion was starting to weigh in on him. 

[chesspinss]

brother’s box

I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. The man was up, awake, and crouched in front of Henry’s crate. Clothes were moved onto my bed, the bed he woke up on. Photos were littered neatly on the ground, beside his old toys and books. He looked back at me, cigarette in mouth, and smiled softly. Mother always preached not to smoke inside. Why could he?

“Don’t touch that.” I scorned. I hated people touching my stuff and I hated even more people touching his.

“Why not?” He plucked his cigarette from his mouth and blew the smoke out from the side of his twisted grin, smelling the whole room up.

“That’s my brother's stuff.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.” I jutted my chin towards him. His eyes were piercing, unnerving. “Don’t touch it. Who said you could touch it?”

He looked back at the box, then sighed and pushed himself up to stand. He was still injured and stood like it, trying not to wince. “My deepest, most sincere apologies, miss lady.”

“Who said you could touch it?”

“I just assumed I could.”

“Why?”

“Lucille, don’t you remember me?”

I looked him up and down. Dark and stringy hair, blue eyes… I finally saw that freckles only covered half his face. He had the start of a beard, a sad scruff that was awfully untamed. He stood with humble confidence, a demeaning fortitude that I, some small farmgirl, could not and would not hurt him. He let the cigarette climb into his long fingers again and exhaled more towards my bed. How did he know my name?

“Why?”

“You're as curious as I remember. As curious as me.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

He smiled like ‘woah!’ and held his arms open. “I don't remember little ladies speakin’ like that.”

I pushed myself off the doorframe and stood there, adjusting my stance in case he moved at all. He would not move, will not. He made me anxious. “You don’t remember nothin’. Who are you?”

“Henry.”

“Good one.”

“Your brother.”

“Real good one.”

“Lucy do you- do you really not remember me?”

I squinted and looked him up and down again, crossing my arms once again. “I ‘on’t remember you bein’ so ah-live.”

“Fine-” he put his arms up higher in surrender, cigarette still tucked between two fingers. “Been a while, had’ it.”

“You wouldn’t know.”

“You’re so grown up.”

I took an angry stomp towards him, a harsh step slamming the ground like thunder, and pointed with all my angry might. “You better get the fuck out ‘for I find one-o mama’s guns and shoot you worse than whoever got to you first!”

He scoffed, smiled, and lowered his arms. I didn’t like how he moved. He moved with… Dishonesty. “Here- here then.” He reached down into the crate, carefully pulling out Henry’s old box of feathers. “If I ain’t the cadaver himself, then was’ in this box here?”

“Fuck you askin’ me for?”

“Feathers.”

“You cheat- that on’t mean shit.”

“I would collect these from birds we shot.”

“You makin' up shit real good.”

“Lucy- God! It's me! Henry! I’m alive, goddammit! I’m back!’

I stomped again, like an angry child getting no chocolate. Like lightning, striking the floorboards as thunder. “No you ain't! No you ain't cauze I saw my Mamaw cry!”

“I never died- I just-”

“Where did you go, then?! Whydja leave?!”

“I- I had to, Lucille- I had no choice!”

“Yes, you did!”

“I was taken! Kidnapped!”

“You rode your horse all lonesome!”

“I had to go!”