#and i always die RIGHT at the end too. agony

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

every now and then I go through my WIPs deciding what I want to work on and stumble across this snippet again, killing me instantly

“Ceara, I just want to ask you about something, and I’d really appreciate it if you could be straight with me for a change.” “Darling,” Ceara replied with a smug, mischievous wink, “You know I’m not straight.” “Ceara.” One breath in, one breath out. Pirkko resisted the urge to kick her under the table. It took much more willpower than she’d like to admit. “Come now,” chuckled the elder sylvari with a flourish, “You walked right into that one~! But, fine.” She settled onto the table, crossing both arms under her chin leisurely. She wasn’t actually at ease, but anyone who didn’t know Ceara well enough may well have fallen for it. “Go on, then. Out with it. What do you want to ask?”

anyway consider that your confirmation that the Scarlet/Ceara of Regrowth and Flourish AU is literally anything other than straight

[theemissuniverse]

“WATCH YOURSELF” - DEADPOOL X GRUMPY FEM!READER

Summary : Despite your love/hate relationship with Deadpool, you won’t tolerate anyone talking bad on him. No matter how annoying he is. (Your power is being lucky, super strength, and you’re great in combat. You have a slow healing ability too. Yes I know being Lucky is Dominos thing. Shush.)

Warnings : none? Besides well, he’s Deadpool

You were beyond annoyed when you were pulled into this disaster of an adventure with one of the most annoying people on the planet but after Wade had explained to you why he dragged you in, your animosity started to die down.

While Wade, who you always referred to as “Deadpool”, liked you, admired you, and even flirted with you, you always made it clear that he irritated you. That all his quips, lines, and forth wall breaking were all getting at your wits end.

Throughout time, he had actually started to grow on you a little and you were even starting to tolerate him. He wasn’t bad. At least not as bad as you thought he was.

You weren’t the only person he dragged, he dragged Wolverine into the party and now it was up to you three to save yours and Wade’s timeline.

What Logan didn’t know was that he wasn’t getting anything out of this. At least you weren’t exactly sure but Wade told you to keep in under wraps and well, you did.

It’s just Wade didn’t seem to remember it.

The three of you were in the car with Logan driving and Wade in the passenger seat. You were in the backseat.

Wade groaned in agony as Logan’s claws dug into his thigh. “I didn’t lie! I made an educated wish!”

The statement made you look at Wade like he was an idiot and you shook your head at how ridiculous he could be.

Logan looked at him the same but only more heated. “Did you say you made an educated…fucking…wish?”

The tension wasn’t dying at all and you rubbed your temple in annoyance as Wade just kept on talking. So much so that it pissed Logan off. “You know what you’re a fucking joke.” He said to him, putting his fist down from the air. “No wonder the avengers didn’t take you or the X-Men, or hell fucking anyone.”

You knew Logan was harsh and you knew a lot of things didn’t get to Wade but you know that was going to. Logan wasn’t done though. He kept going. “I mean you are ridiculous, immature, half witt moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life and that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than two hundred fucking years, and I’ll tell you that bald chick was right about one thing.”

“You will never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper! And motherfucker I wish you could say you die alone but it’s one of god’s best jokes that you can’t die, except it’s on all of us!”

Your eyes widen at everything Logan said. You turned to see Wade’s reaction, expecting a snippy comment but none comes out. He’s silent.

You can’t really see his facial expressions because of the mask but with his head down, you could tell that he was upset. By everything Wolverine said.

You’ve known Wade for the longest and even though he could be too much Deadpool, he was still Wade. The same Wade that adored you, the same Wade that had your back. And the same Wade that would never let anyone talk to you like that.

Looking at Logan, you gave him a harsh glare. “I’m going to fight you now.”

Logan laughed while snorting as if he couldn’t believe you would fight him over him insulting Wade. Especially because around him you acted like you couldn’t stand him. He looked in the back seat where you sat at. “Oh are you?”

You immediately punched him in the face which made his nose bleed. You took the seatbelt that was connected to his seat and stabbed him right in the shoulder with the buckle. He groaned in pain. You proceeded to throw him out of the car.

Wade looked at you in shock. You stepped out of the car and walked over to Logan who got up from the ground quickly.

“You don’t want to do this.” Logan said more so as a warning.

“You’re right, I don’t.” You copied Wade’s words from his interaction with Wolverine before and took out your gun that was in pocket. You proceeded to shoot him and the bullets went through his chest.

He held his chest while glaring at you. The bullets started to come out of him and he instinctively charged at you.

With your luck, you moved out of the way and kicked him down. You went to punch him in the face but he pulled you down.

Wolverine took out his claws and tried to get you in the gut but you rolled away from the impact. On the ground, you wrapped both your legs around his neck and flipped him over so he was laying on his back.

You took out your other gun and shot into his stomach where his intestines were and he screamed. You could tell he was getting frustrated that he could barely land a hit because of your luck.

Wade couldn’t believe you were actually fighting Wolverine. His first thought was, why? Did you do it for him? Or because you were genuinely just sick of him? Wade looks at the reader. “I think I should stop this…but she’s so hot when she gets like that.”

Logan finally kicked you off. Your luck was starting to run out. He picked you up by your neck, choking you with his left hand and his claw had went into your stomach. You screamed in agony.

Wade looked back at the fight and now was going to kick his ass. “Alright, here we go.” He steps out of the car. Then reaches for his small knife in his boot. He casually walks over to Logan. “Baby knife.” He says in a small whisper before stabbing it in Logan’s abdomen.

It hurts him but doesn’t seem to make him let you go. Wade punches him in the face which finally makes Logan release you. He gets knocked to the ground.

Wade knows you can handle yourself but it doesn’t make him worry any less. Unlike him, your healing abilities were slow and just because you were lucky didn’t mean you couldn’t die. “You okay, Buffy?”

You shot him a look, rubbing your neck to release the tension you felt from your neck. “Buffy slayed vampires.”

“Tomato, apple.” Deadpool says as if the information you provided really mattered.

You saw Logan get up and it made you stand to your feet. Wade shook his head. “Nah. How bout you take five? I can’t let you have all the fun.”

Immediately, Logan charged into Wade and they flew into the car. You shook your head at the two fighting, deciding to call it quits. Then walked away so you could get some fresh air and your wounds could heal properly.

Something was bugging you. Why did you do that for Wade? He was extremely annoying but yet, it bothered you when you saw him upset. Maybe it was because that was the first time you saw him genuinely upset.

You sat on the big rock, looking at the waterfall. It was nearly night. You just needed to clear your mind without all the men blocking your inner thoughts.

You wouldn’t get much peace though as you heard Wade walking up towards you. You knew it was him because you recognized his footsteps. You still looked at him to confirm.

When you did, you saw his suit all bloodied and even a little tear in the suit itself. But other than that, he looked fine. He was a professional mercenary after all. He could handle himself.

Wade sits on the rock next to you. “I take it back. The Honda Odyssey fucks hard.” He exasperated while rolling his neck slightly.

You didn’t comment. He turned to look at you and noticed the bruise on your neck hadn’t healed yet. “Jesus your powers are shit.” His gloved hand came up to examine your neck more. You allowed him.

Again, with the mask on, you couldn’t really make out the best of facial expressions but you could tell he was worried. “Who knew your luck would run out with Wolvy?”

You chuckled a little at his comment before looking back at the waterfall. “I know right? Didn’t think he’d actually beat me.”

“Nah. He didn’t beat you.” He raised his hand down. Then looked at your shirt that was bloodied.

You looked to where his eyes were looking. Then shook your head. You lifted your shirt up to reveal that the gash that Logan gave you was almost healed. “I’m fine.” You let go of the shirt. “Not everyone’s got super healing powers like you.”

Deadpool nodded at this. “Yeah. I am pretty great.”

You rolled your eyes slightly. The two of you sat in silence for a minute which was strange considering who you were sitting next to. You wondered if he was still hurt about what Logan said.

Far from that. Wade, for the first time, was in deep thought and wasn’t monologuing it. You defended him and usually, he wouldn’t question stuff like that but it wasn’t in your nature to do that, for anyone. You didn’t care for things like that and just did what you called, “minding one’s business.”

You could tell that he was itching to say something and you were questioning why he was taking so long to say it. “Out with it. I can’t take your silence anymore.”

He knew you liked when he rambled even though you didn’t like to admit it. “I’m just wondering, cupcake.”

“Wondering what?”

“Why you decided to fight him? I’m still not getting that.”

The question he asked made you pause. You still didn’t even know why you did it. How were you supposed to answer that?

The deep part of your subconscious knew though. You liked him. You just didn’t want to admit it. “I don’t know.” You said. “He’s annoying.”

“Yeah. Well, I could take that if maybe he did something annoying but-“

“I’m starting to regret letting you talk.”

Wade ignored you and continued. “He was talking to me. Insulting me. And that’s when you fought him.” He spoke out loud putting the puzzle pieces together. And that’s when he gasped.

You looked back at him when he gasped. “What?”

He hit your shoulder playfully. “You like me.”

The way he said it was like he was a third grader on the playground. It annoyed you. Especially because that’s not why. Or at least, that’s what you thought. “What? Are you kidding me? Me? Like you? Are you sure Logan didn’t hit you too hard in the head back there?”

Wade ignored your denial and kept going. “Denial. One of the first huge steps to getting towards acceptance.”

With that, you stood up from the rock and towered over Wade. “Wade, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Wade stood up with you and because he was taller than you, he towered over you. “Go ahead. But you know I’m only gonna get turned on by it right?”

You crossed your arms, glaring at the man child. “Okay? So I fought him because he was talking shit? So what?”

“Not to be on his side but…I did lie.”

“You didn’t lie.” You told him. “You made an educated wish.”

You regretted saying that because the moment you did, you could tell Wade was smiling under his mask. “Oh come on and just kiss me already.” He went to grab at your hips to pull you into one but you pushed him away.

“Ugh. I can’t stand you.” You went to walk away but Deadpool followed right behind you. He took his left hand and interlocked his fingers with your left.

“So where are we going on our first date? I would do all the heavy lifting but you’re kinda a control freak though so…”

You groaned in frustration but allowed Wade to hold your hand.

I guess you were dating him now?

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage. 

You have to try. You have to. 

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens. 

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break. 

Just like you. 

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation. 

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again. 

The house. 

Your knees find ground. 

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or… 

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace. 

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching. 

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun. 

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip. 

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning. 

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch. 

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick. 

You’re sick. 

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face. 

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?” 

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod. 

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes. 

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity. 

You’re sick. 

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second. 

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking. 

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem. 

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.  

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure. 

If you could make it to the door. 

If you could make it down the hall. 

If you could get out. 

You grit your teeth. 

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time. 

They must not be here. 

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how. 

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron. 

You can do it. You can. 

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming. 

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just- 

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew. 

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks. 

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once. 

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go. 

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass. 

You’re locked in here. With them. 

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors. 

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes. 

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark. 

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look. 

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings. 

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.” 

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle. 

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.” 

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me. 

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.” 

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die. 

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both. 

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot. 

You’re sick. 

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it. 

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes. 

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day. 

Why must the leash be so tight? 

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe. 

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick. 

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick. 

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey. 

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick. 

Eight months prior: 

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition. 

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well... 

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it. 

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered. 

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove. 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Larks and Swimming

There’s a river that they all like to hang out at

Kingsley once jumped into the water and thee resurfaced with an entire turtle (“what do i do with him” “PUT HIM BACK!!!”)

Cole is a surprisingly good swimmer!

But they WILL freak out if something even slightly slimy brushes their toes

Perrine can swim enough to not die

But she’s not very good at treading water

She will also freak out if something touches her feet

Kingsley likes to grab their feet underwater to scare them

Clementine is just straight vibing

They ABSOLUTELY play mermaids, are you kidding me?

Kingsley makes the most overpowered mermaid and upsets Cole because “no, that’s not fair to everyone else!” (i just know Cole takes pretend way too seriously)

Perrine is always very wary and a little shy about playing pretend due to how she grew up, but she ALWAYS gets into it the most

The others are happy to see her acting so carefree and joyful

They play Marco Polo, but Kingsley cheats by just getting out of the water

Chicken fights, right?

Perrine has accepted that she’ll always be on the bottom

But then Clementine is like “i gotchu, sib”

Perrine and Clementine? terrifying duo

Kingsley gets fucking DECKED by Perrine

She plays to win

Kingsley gets Cole on his shoulders, but he’s short, so he just drowns if he goes too deep

Y’all know how penguins will bring rocks to their mates? That’s Clementine and Cole

Clementine brings Cole all the pretty rocks they find in the water and shore

Cole ends up going home with like twenty rocks (they keep all of them in a special antique box in their room)

Kingsley starts mud fights where he just slings giant globs of mud at everyone (this always pisses Perrine off)

Cole, without fail, gets sunburned every single time, no matter how much sunscreen they put on (or whatever the whimsy forest version of sunscreen is)

Clementine constantly reminds everyone to drink water

Perrine always forgets

Kingsley swims with his eyes open underwater and then complains about his eyes hurting

One time, the kids were traversing some rocks in the water, and Perrine slipped and busted her ass on said rock, cracking her tailbone in the process

The other kids were all like 😟😬

She was fighting back tears while saying she was fine (she couldn’t sit down without being in agony for two weeks) (yes this is a projection what of it)

Kingsley pretends to drown to see if anyone would notice

There’s this rock in the river that they can climb up and jump off of

Catch Clementine out here swan diving

Cole gets football tackled off of it by Kingsley (Kingsley then gets scolded for it after because Cole almost had a heart attack)

Kingsley purposely aims for other people when he jumps off

Perrine is so ungraceful trying to simply climb up to the top of it

Knees wobbling, hands slipping

It’s a workout

Clementine catches a frog and brings it to the top of the rock

All the kids hail it as King Frog

The frog jumps off

They start screaming in dismay

[mothiir]

penance

the black templars discover human women. Nothing nsfw, only vaguely lewd, with canon typical violence and religious themes. Possibly will follow up with a smut if the spirit moves me

alternative summary: where is this strumpet so I might detest her with my own eyes

—

—

Isaiah takes his helm off to inhale the sweet scent of battlefield smoke. The sky is ruddy with dawn, and the last of the heretic cities is nothing more than smouldering rubble, the would-be rebels against the Emperor’s Will either dead or soon to be. Those too young, or too elderly, to have served a meaningful part in the uprising may yet find redemption as Chapter serfs or servitors — after all, there is little point to justice if there is no mercy to go alongside it. 

Sweat gilds his high cheekbones, and drips down his nape. Taking a moment away from his brothers to say his private prayer of thanks to the Emperor is one of the small ways Isaiah keeps his sanity during these long campaigns. He would fight and die beside his brethren with pride — and yet if he has to hear one more of Reuben’s jokes, he may consider —

No. No, none of that, not even in the privacy of his own head: he must be grateful, always. Mindful and grateful of the Emperor’s blessings. Reuben is a blessing. A hardship, yes, but so often blessings take the form of hardships; of lessons to learn. Reuben is an excellent soldier, and an exercise in patience. 

Perhaps it is the thought of Reuben’s damned puns that drives him further than usual, or the desire to admire the sight of a battle hard-fought. Either way, Isaiah ends up a good five hundred feet from camp before he quite realises it, crunching over charred bones and burned, unrecognisable standards.

Then: a sound. Thin, high, and vaguely organic. At once, he replaces his helmet, Captain Ezra’s words echoing in his memory: boy, there is no point prancing around like the main character in a holo — the enemy does not need to see your pretty face, and nor do I.

Anyway. The noise. His scanners alert him to a life form, hidden behind a pile of corpses. Humanoid. Rabbit-hearted, and trying very hard to remain unseen. 

He upholsters his bolter, and stalks forwards: a faceless, merciless instrument of the Emperor’s wrath. 

—

The clouds hang thick and red, like they have absorbed all the blood spilt today, and the heat is oppressive. A thunderstorm is coming; you taste it in the air. Soon, the rain will extinguish the last of the flaming rubble on this planet you once called home. It will fill the empty eye sockets of those who died for the delusions of your rulers. It will wash the land clean. 

And you doubt you will see it. 

As the Templar yanked you from the rubble, your shoulder had popped from its socket with a sick, wet crack; you had only kept yourself from crying out by biting into your tongue. Now your right arm hangs useless by your side, radiating bright veins of sheer agony. You daren’t make a move to cradle it, to ease your discomfort. 

“Your world is guilty of the crime of sedition,” intones the Templar, his voice as final as a tombstone falling into place. “Your leaders rebelled against the Divinity of the Emperor, and —“

”And I should die for it,” you manage, through lips gummed together with dried saliva and ash. “Because we let it happen.”

He pauses. The subtle tilt of his helm could be curiousity; could be an invitation to continue; could be nothing at all. But you are not dead. Not yet. Something in your chest is kindled, and you remember when you were little, at a school now nothing but ash, how your teacher would complain: that girl, she always has something to say.   

“We let it happen,” you continue, not sure if you are arguing for your life or begging for martyrdom. “We saw the upper echelons turn to Ch — the accursed powers.” Thou shalt not speak the name of the beast, you remember reading somewhere, lest thou invite it in to feast. “And we did not stop them. We worked away, heads bent and faces averted, and we obeyed orders, and the rot spread and ruined our world. I — I thank you, for your cleansing fire, for your — for His mercy. For bringing the Light of the Emperor to this place.”

You cannot curtesy, not in this shape, and so you drop straight to the ground, knees smacking into hard stone. You bare your nape, awaiting judgement, awaiting the blade, your heart singing against your ribs, that desperate song, that too-late plea: oh I want to live. Emperor above, let me live. 

—

“That is a woman,” says Reuben, like he has never seen one before. 

”Yes, Reuben, that is a woman.”

“In our dormitory.”

”Yes,” Isaiah says. ”She is in our dormitory.”

As this world lacks any proper infrastructure — due to the intensive bombing campaign needed to bring it back to the Emperor’s Grace — the Astartes have retired to their battle barge, as Marshal Ezra Rothenberg plans their next movements. 

Isaiah is honoured to consider himself part of the Edessan Crusade. There are more than two thousand of his brothers dedicated to the continued extirpation of Chaos from the Edessan system: a task that was predicted to take ten solar years, and yet is proceeding far ahead of schedule — due, in no small part, to the enthusiastic participation of the new recruits Guilliman so kindly provided them. If Guilliman hoped that the Primaris Marines would take the edge off the Black Templar’s well-known zealotry, he was swiftly disappointed. Within a few days of arriving, the only way to differentiate between the new recruits and their more seasoned brothers was size. 

Isaiah shares a barren dorm with Reuben, and three other brothers. They sleep on plain metal bunks, with a rough woollen blanket and a thin pillow. Other Chapters, Isiaiah has heard, are so decadent and spoiled as to have duvets — which are sacks of feathers — and sometimes even something called a mattress? Absurd. He pities his fellow Primaris Marines, shipped out to such degeneracy. He hopes that they can cultivate an appropriate sense of duty and decorum in the older generation. How can anyone value such petty things as comfort when the Emperor’s enemies still draw breath?

You are sitting on Isaiah’s bed, the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes wide. You have not spoken since he brought you here — barely whimpered when he popped your shoulder back into place. 

“…what is her purpose here?” Reuben says. He sits on his own bunk, opposite Isaiah, his afternoon reading (a hagiography of one of the more exciting saints) sprawled forgotten on his lap. 

“Chapter serf,” says Isaiah. 

“Do we need more serfs?”

”Yes. We do. The ones we have are — uh —very devout — “

The pair grimace. The fact that the serfs spend so long in prayer is to be admired, but it doesn’t often leave them much time to perform their duties. Isaiah is sick of doing his own mending because Serf Osric and Serf Jean are once more faint from fasting and all-night vigils to the glory of the Emperor. 

“Did the Marshal allocate her to you?”

Isaiah pulls an interesting series of expressions. ”Not…exactly,” he allows, unwilling to lie, and yet not wanting to admit the truth. “But he has been…busy, of late.”

”Yes. Busy. With crusading against the Emperor’s enemies.”

”Too busy to be concerned with this sort of thing,” Isaiah says, hesitantly, dangling the bait before Reuben, waiting for him to take it. Reuben leans forwards to better observe you. Isaiah feels a strange twist of pride when you don’t cringe from his regard, but meet his dark eyes with your own, your chin tipped up, your fingers curling into the blanket. Then you suddenly seem to remember who you are, and where you are, and drop your head in supplication. 

“Yes,” Reuben says, slowly. “Far too busy to be concerned with this. Don’t want to bother him.”

Isaiah utters a fervent prayer of thanks to the Emperor, feeling only a little guilty at thanking Him for his brother’s aid in deceiving their Marshal. But it wasn’t really deception, was it? They weren’t lying to him at all — they just weren’t telling him! Completely different. 

“Exactly! It’s beneath his concern.”

”She’s beneath his concern!”

In total accord, both Templars grin at each other, before hurriedly smoothing their faces into expressions of solemn piety. 

“Yes, brother. I am glad that the Emperor has seen fit to deliver unto us a — hang on, can you sew?” Reuben says, addressing you directly. You glance up at Isaiah, then stammer:

“Y-yes my lord —“

“Excellent.”

Reuben kicks up and off his bunk, rummages in the steel box that contains all his worldly possessions, then throws a wad of fabric at you. It unfurls into a dozen pairs of socks that look very much worse for wear.

“Start with those. Then my tunic needs restitching — the Emperor’s Most Holy Iconography is starting to get a bit tattered. Then —“

”Brother Reuben, you cannot hog the new serf —“

”I am offering her the chance to redeem the sins of her forefathers and mothers with holy labour.“

“Well, yes,” Isaiah protests. “But the holy labour cannot just be confined to your menial tasks—“

”Why — do you have menial tasks that need attending to?”

”Yes!” Isaiah says, thinking of his own increasing pile of ragged undergarments. “You can mend Brother Reuben’s socks, and then you must attend to my laundry —“

”And then she can mend my tunic —“

”No, then she must pray,” Isaiah says, belatedly remembering the importance of even the most lowly baselines in adding their voices to the Emperor’s endless praises. “And attend chapel —“

”Where Marshal Ezra may behold her?” Brother Reuben says. “The serf that we do not strictly speaking have, as she has not been allocated to us?”

Ah. Yes. He had forgotten about that.

”She must pray while she works,” Isiaih amends. “And abase herself before the Emperor’s mercy.”

”Yes. But pray quietly.”

”Do you know the appropriate psalms to recite while conducting your redemptive labour?” Isaiah says. You chew your lip.

“The correct litanies while uh…mending the socks of the Emperor’s chosen may have not been included in my education,” you say. Isaiah sighs. Truly, you came from a blighted world. 

“You will learn them,” he says. “The Emperor will guide your tongue. If you fail to learn them then it is a sign that you have not received His Grace, and in that case fear not — we will deliver unto you the Emperor’s Mercy.”

“She will learn them,” Brother Reuben says, with a fervent and touching belief in humanity’s dedication to the Emperor.

 Or, perhaps, a fervent desire to have socks without holes in them. 

—

And so it goes. The Emperor sees fit to decree that the brothers that share Reuben and Isaiah’s quarters remain on the planet to build a chapter monastery there, taking advantage of the natural resources that are now free for use. No new brothers are installed in the dormitory — a great shame, of course, but it does have the benefit of ensuring that Brother Reuben and Isiaiah do not have to face awkward questions about your presence. 

Isiaiah has never been in close contact with baseline humans before, save the serfs aboard the fleet, and he knows that it is his duty to ensure that you are free of Chaos’s taint, and suitably devoted to the God Emperor. As such, he ensures that you have the appropriate reading material, and tests you to ensure that you can recite the benedictions. The first time you stumbled over an incorrect word, he had sighed deeply and sorrowfully, reaching for his bolter. Brother Reuben had dragged him to the side and explained — in hurried whispers — that humans do not have the same eidetic memory as Astartes, and the misstep was not indicative of a lapse in faith but simply a sign of your humanity. 

Fascinating. 

There are other baseline issues that surprise both brothers. They sleep perfectly well on their hard metal bed frames, and their serfs often deliberately braid thistles into their blankets in order to better scourge their flesh for the sin of being mortal. You, however, suffer greatly for the first few days. You end up with deep purple shadows beneath your eyes, and you wince when performing even the simplest of tasks. 

“I am sorry my lords,” you stammer, when Isaiah confronts you on your constant yawning. “It is just — I am cursed to be a woman, and thus I do not have the fortitude that you have, and my body is frail and weak and cannot find rest in the blessed conditions that you enjoy.”

Reuben magnanimously permits you the use of a blanket and two of the pillows left by his brothers. Isaiah thinks that pandering to your body’s frailty could well be slowing your path to redemption, but he bows to his brother’s greater knowledge. 

He is perturbed by how much you rest — as much as six hours a night, if you are permitted to sleep continuously. Once again, Reuben explains that this is normal for the baselines. Besides, if Isaiah wants devout serfs, he is more than welcome to once more entrust his care to Osric and Jean. 

Isaiah stops questioning your rest hours swiftly. He does not want to go back to the days of having to convince a flagellant to polish his pauldrons. Without the brothers seeking them out, the old serfs seem happy to spend most of their time in the chapel, or wandering the halls while caning themselves and loudly declaring the Emperor’s benevolence to all. 

Yes, Isaiah wants to say, we know He is very benevolent and very merciful. He also wants you to do your damn jobs. 

The first real challenge occurs ten days into your time aboard the barge. You drop to your knees before Isaiah, assuming the penitential crouch you always take on when you address either of them. The sight of you prostrate at his feet — spine a neat curve, head bowed, hands clasped — always makes Isaiah’s stomach warm and twist. He enjoys seeing you so keen to atone, so eager to please the Emperor, and to receive  His mercy. 

“My lords, I humbly beg your permission to take a moment to clean myself — I have not managed to do so since leaving my accursed planet, and I fear that I dishonour your presence by performing my duties while unwashed.”

”You have washed yourself,” Isaiah says, frowning. He’s seen you wipe your face and underarms with a wet rag, and you wash your hands every time you go to the bathroom (a sensitive experience for all concerned, given that one of them has to escort you to the nearest convenience, and the other has to stand watch to ensure no one sees you).

”Yes, but — a shower, my lords, that is what I am asking for.”

Isaiah sniffs the air thoughtfully. True, you do smell a little sourer than you did previously, but he has lived with far more odiferous people; Brother Reuben during his ‘bathing too frequently is decadent and an offence to the Emperor’ phase for one.

(That particular penitence had been ended when Marshal Ezra had thrown Reuben bodily into the icy plunge pool and announced to all that the Emperor suffered enough on His golden throne — the Templars did not need to add their stench to the tribulations He endured.)

”Humans require more maintenance than Astartes,” Reuben allows. “It cannot hurt to permit her to bathe.”

Still, they do not want to risk taking you to one of the communal showers, nor do they want to send you off to the serf quarters. Several of their brothers are already suspicious of their suddenly-improved attire, and the last thing either of them want is to face questions about your presence — or, worse still, a request to share. So Isaiah fetches a large copper tub used by the medicae for those too unwell to stand upright to bathe, and fills it with water, and Brother Reuben donates one of his scraps of yellow soap. 

“Th-thank you my lords,” you say, from your usual prostrate position; then you stand, a little unsure, eyeing them almost expectantly. The tub is set in the middle of the dormitory; Reuben is reading one of his favourite scriptures, while Isiaiah tends to his bolter. ”Uh — is it okay if I —“

You gesture at your smock. Isiaiah blinks at you. 

“Are you asking permission to bathe? I have said that you may — do not waste my time with needless questions.”

He turns back to his bolter, wiping the sacred oils onto the stock, murmuring the appropriate incantations to appease the machine spirit within. A flurry of fabric; a splash; a pained squeal. 

“This water is ice,” you yell, and Isaiah, startled, looks up. 

His hand remains looped around the bolter, polishing up and down, up and down — but he finds he cannot tear his gaze from you. The water comes up to your waist, but the rest of you is bare, your flesh goosepimpled from the cold, your arms clutching your torso. Your elbows press under your breasts, pushing them up, where they glisten under the harsh dorm lighting. As you shiver, one nipple flashes.

Brother Reuben stares as well. 

“Emperor preserve me,” he mutters, and Isaiah comes to his senses, turning his eyes aside. 

“Woman!” he says, sounding only a little strangled. “Cover yourself!”

Another splash. When Isaiah peeks up — just to check that you have ceased to offend the Emperor with your naked bosom — he is gratified to see that you are neck deep in water.

”S-sorry my lords,” you say, teeth chattering.

”You are a Chapter Serf of the Black Templars,” Isiaha says hotly, his grasp tightening on the bolter, his strokes growing surer and stronger, seeking solace in the familiar rhythm. “You must act in a way that is fitting for your station! Do not flaunt yourself so! You must conduct yourself with - with decorum, and modesty. Be demure! Mindful!”

Isaiah, a little breathless after his holy vitriol, looks to Brother Reuben for moral support. Reuben is looking fixedly at his book. 

“I saw nothing,” says the other Templar. “I am blind to that which does not beatify the Emperor Himself. The nudity of a serf has no bearing on my day’s prayer. It is as insignificant as the passage of a beetle along the floor.”

”Is that why you are reading your scripture upside down?”

Reuben does not look up, even as he turns the book the right way around. 

“Brother Isaiah, if you polish that gun any harder it is liable to blast a hole in the wall.”

”It is not loaded, Brother Reuben,” Isaiah snaps. “I am conducting my daily worship to the Machine Spirit.”

”Is that what you call it?” Reuben mutters, and Isaiah elects to ignore him. 

—

“Where did you obtain the uniform for her?” Isaiah says, the next day, his voice hushed. It is just after morning prayer-drills, and the pair are walking back to their dormitory to change, before their lunchtime prayer-drills.

”I — just from the other serf’s laundry,” says Reuben, casting a quick look around. The halls of the battle barge are more akin to that of a cathedral than a space-ship, with huge domed ceilings, and statues placed at regular intervals in well-lit alcoves. Isaiah normally takes great comfort in the stern regard of his immortalised forebears, but for some reason today he feels their gaze like a brand, like he is a neophyte and they are watching him commit some secret and terrible sin. 

“They do not fit her,” Isaiah says. Reuben frowns. 

“What do you mean?”

”I mean — “ Isaiah pauses for a moment, struggling to find the words. Emperor grant him Reuben’s lack of observational skills — truly, his brother is a sterling example of blind faith. “I mean…this morning. When she bent over to pick up the scripture. Her skirt. It — moved in a way that displayed her rump in a way that is most unbecoming to a serf.”

Reuben exhales, his jaw ticking minutely. “Oh? I did not notice. I do not make a habit of looking at the serf’s rear end.”

”I was not looking at her rear end!” Isaiah whisper-shouts. “It was…just there. Wiggling.”

”Wiggling?”

”Yes, wiggling.”

”Is our serf distracting you from your duties, Brother Isaiah?” Reuben says, in a tone of concern so genuine it feels like mockery. 

“No! I just — it would bring shame upon our crusade if our serfs are not modestly attired.”

”I quite agree. However, I would argue that our serf is very well attired. Covered up almost to the throat.”

”Almost,” Isaiah says. “When she bends over to wash her face in the morning, if you stand at the incorrect place in the dormitory, and you have the misfortune to be looking for a book on the other side of the room, and then you find yourself looking downwards at the incorrect moment so you may observe the flagstones, you will be cursed with a view straight down her sleeping smock — and you will see both her breasts, exposed quite fully! It is revolting. A blight upon the Emperor.”

”How hideous! We must of course remedy this at once.”

”At once.”

”However,” says Reuben, as they round a corner, approaching their dormitory. “In order for me to avoid benighting mine eyes with such a distasteful view, I would much appreciate it if next time the serf washes her face you were to demonstrate the precise angle that I should avoid standing at. For I only wish to see what is pure and just in the eyes of the Emperor, and in order to do so we must have a full understanding of where to avoid looking.”

Isaiah pauses for a moment. After all, is it not his duty to guide his brothers when they seek to avoid sin? “Yes,” he says. “I will ensure that I show you most where you must not stand, and where to avoid casting your eyes. And — if I may make a suggestion?”

”Of course, brother Isaiah.”

”Perhaps it is not the uniform. Perhaps it is the way the serf has learned to stand and bend. Coming as she does from such a depraved world, riddled with heresy, it is natural that she does not know the right and proper way for a servant of the Emperor to move. Perhaps we should ask her to bend over a few times for us, and thus we can best advise her on how to avoid unnecessary…wiggling.”

Reuben grins at the thought of guiding a sinner onto the path of the righteous. “Yes, brother Isaiah. I do believe we should.”

[morganski-19]

part 1, part 2, part 3

Wayne stays at the hospital longer than he should. Rubbing his fingers along Eddie’s pick necklace like a rosary. Hoping that if he just prays hard enough, if his voice can be heard, Eddie will wake up. 

The prognosis isn’t great. Each day that passes marks another day where his chances of waking up get lower. Even though many people have woken up from medically induced comas much later than this. According to the doctors. According to the pamphlets given to him at the start of all of this shit. But those are just words. Words he doesn’t believe fully. 

Six days with no changes. No improvement. Just a tube to make sure he’s breathing regularly and an IV to make sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or starvation. The doctors say that his brain still shows activity, and his heart hasn’t missed a beat since he was last revived. Eddie’s alive, but just how much?

How much longer will Wayne sit in this agony waiting for him to wake up? Or how long until the string of hope just ends six feet under? 

Religion was something that Wayne dealt with sporadically. He was raised Catholic, sort of still is a practicing Catholic. Goes to church when he isn’t too tired, still prays, and goes to confession sometimes. Just didn’t always make sense. But now, it’s all he’s got. 

Eddie’s in God’s hands now. Whether that’s the God in the Bible, or some other deity of the many other religions in the world, Wayne doesn’t care anymore. As long as he’s heard, and this being knows his boy is good. That he was taken far too soon. 

Eddie liked to say there was nothing much for him past high school. That he was going to run out of town as soon as he could and fight to make something of himself. Be a struggling musician, find odd jobs. Anything to keep him out of the monotony of a corporate job. Get him away from the conservative views and stuffiness of this town. Somehow get big enough to prove them all that he wasn’t a failure. Or never come back to prove them all right. 

It would be a sad day when Eddie finally left for good. The trailer would seem empty without the life that Eddie brought. The peace and quiet that Wayne always asked for not bringing any peace because it was too damn quiet. He knew this now because it’s what’s keeping him here each day. 

The beeping of the heart monitor was like the heart beating in his chest. Some noise came from Eddie to prove that he was alive. Almost like he was acting himself again. The motel room he was staying in was too quiet. No music down the hall, no clanking around the kitchen, no yelling at the TV or a book. Just the occasional noise if there were neighbors and people driving to the hospital. It was all the wrong noise, though. 

“Excuse me,” a nurse says as she enters the room. “Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wayne nods, getting up from his chair. Back screaming as it pops itself back into place. It’s his day off, or night off tonight, so he can actually sleep. If it ever comes to him. Might be one of those nights where the ceiling and him have a staring contest. He’s been close, but never quite won one of those yet. 

The Chief’s car sits outside of the motel as Wayne pulls up. It’s only been a day since they spoke last, there can’t be that many updates. Wayne can’t think of any other reason he’s here. 

Wayne invites him into the motel room, the urge to offer him a drink screaming at him, but he has none to give. Hospitality doesn’t come with the room fees. 

“I’m guessing there’s something new, that’s why you're here.”

“Not necessarily. I’m still trying, but until the one guy I normally negotiate with comes out of hiding, that’s when the real talking happens.”

Wayne sits down on one of the chairs, too tired to keep standing. “Why’re you here then?”

“To check on you. I know the hospital life well. It’s no picnic, especially if you’re doing it alone.” He pulls another one of the chairs over to sit down. 

There’s no lie in that. “I’m about as good as anyone could think.”

The Chief pulls two beers out from under his coat, handing one to Wayne. He takes it faster than any beer he has in his life. Pulling out his pocket knife to take off the cap. 

“How long till that friend of yours comes out of hiding?”

Hopper shrugs. “Don’t know. Sent him a few threatening letters, and he still owes me one, so we’ll see. If things were better here, I’d go hunt the man down myself.”

Wayne nods. The company’s nice, he can’t lie. Sitting in solidarity with someone who knows what you’ve been through. Making sure nothing’s going worse than it already is. Like a sponsor through the hospital proceedings. 

When the sun finally finishes setting, the chief excuses himself. Not before handing Wayne a slip of paper with his number on it, just in case anything happens. 

The more days go by, the more Wayne is reminded that he’s not alone in this. Not fighting this battle alone. People believe him, more than just kids. People with influence. It shows in how people keep coming in and out of the hospital room. Saying how they know he’s innocent. That he’s guilty of some things, but not this. 

It makes him think back to that afternoon, snapping at the Harrington kid. It’s so easy to be angry at people who are better off, in so many ways, that vision gets blinded. Seeing someone who went through something similar to Eddie get out, and be conscious while his boy is still asleep. Probably will never have to worry about hospital bills and medical debt. It makes him angry. 

Even if the kid doesn’t deserve it. Wayne has no clue who this kid is and how he knows Eddie. Why he claims to have been there in the week Eddie was missing. What it all means. It doesn’t make any sense. None at all. 

But then the next morning when he’s getting coffee, there’s the kid again coming in beside Dustin. Talking to someone at the front desk before heading down the hall. Right to the elevator, and up to the floor Eddie’s on. 

Wayne heads back to the room, ready to kick him out again or apologize. He’s not sure yet. But, the room is empty. Steve is instead down the hall, talking to Susan Mayfield. Looking serious as hell, and halfway ready to cry. 

Another kid comes out of the room, one who’s stopped by a few times to check on Eddie. Lucas, Wayne thinks is his name. Remembers it only because Eddie had ranted a few times about some kid named Lucas trying to be on both the basketball team and part of the Dragons club. 

The kid says something to Steve before he’s being wrapped in a hug and starts crying. Steve just holding him as this kid breaks down. Presumably about the person behind those doors. Wayne assumes it’s probably Susan’s kid. Remembers hearing that she was in bad shape. Hopefully, that didn’t get any worse. 

Wayne returns to his room, not wanting to intrude. A nurse comes in a while later and asks him to step out for a bit. 

“What for?”

“Eddie’s breathing has improved over the last twenty-four hours. The doctor came in to check on him early this morning, and said that if by noon it was the same, the breathing tube could come out.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Wayne’s hesitant to believe anything these days. 

The nurse nods. “As long as his oxygen levels stay, well level, then yes. It means that his body is well on the way to recovery.”

Wayne nods, taking his coffee to the waiting room. There, he just waits.

Next part

Note: The next part of this will get a bit interesting. I've been having ideas for a while now of making this duel POV between Wayne and someone else, maybe Steve. Mainly because I keep thinking of conversations that would happen, but Wayne would be nowhere to witness it. But I think what this fic needs is a POV not directly in the main relationship that will be happening, to keep it an outsider POV fic. So I'm thinking that the second POV would be from either Robin or Dustin. I'm currently deciding between the two so let me know what you think. I'm also going to start posting this to ao3, and will provide the link to that once I think of a title. I will continue to post the smaller parts here on tumblr, and you will not be missing out on any of the story if you only follow it on here. For now all of the parts will also have the tag #morgan's wayne POV. If that changes, as it probably will since this is no longer just a wayne POV fic, I will let you know. Also, Max is alive, they just got a heavy diagnosis that you will learn of later.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs

[pshbites]

LOVE ON AiR: 16. YAP CENTRAL EP.136: did social media ruin relationships?

WARNiNGS » profanity, mentions of d wording, sexual jokes, crying, ynhoon teasing, yn never being safe

wc: 3.1k

episode desc - enjoy your stay today in yap central! as we’ve done the whole cycle, todays episode is a deeper one! we open up with a positive impact we’ve seen on each other. then we go right in with how our presence on social media has affected our relationships. following that up we keep the theme of the deeper episode and go over the influence social media has on us and how we view ourselves. we end the episode off by saying one thing we’ve noticed about one another as we’ve grown and how we think it affects the friendship. the episode ends off on a bittersweet note but we hope you enjoyed your stay today in yap central!

*the 6 of you are seated in your assigned seats. jungwon adjusts the soundboard and riki tests the mic out, then giving him a thumbs up. sunoo sets his mic up a little closer to pick up his audio and looks to the camera, setting his phone down*

sunoo: it’s been so long since we sat in here

giselle: i know like two weeks right?

yn: i think almost three *you say, adjusting your outfit as well as your seating position. riki scoots over so you have more room.*

jungwon: i mean it counts as like a summer break since we didn’t really take one.

kat: good point. you know guys do you guys remember those um fuck what were they called

riki: it would help if you gave a description

kat: shut up im thinking

*the rest of you stare at kat in silence until jungwon breaks the silence to laugh, the rest of you following suit*

jungwon: im sorry it’s just what could it be that has you thinking that long

giselle: she’s using everything in that little brain come on now!

*giselles comment makes the rest of you laugh even harder, kat laughing as well*

kat: i can’t even think of it nevermind

yn: it’s okay babe you’ll find it later.

riki: i have to say these costumes are amazing actually. might be my favorite theme

giselle: you know riki you’ve been hating a lot less recently.

jungwon: i was gonna say that too, he’s a bit nicer

riki: what can i say, finally holding my deal for the new year’s resolution

yn: watch now that we said this he’s gonna be doing some fucked up shit by the time the episode comes out

*a text box pops up on the screen saying “he in fact did do some fucked up shit during the editing process of the episode - jungwon” then disappears after a couple seconds.*

riki: you have no faith in me

yn: simply stating the facts

jungwon: you guys ready for me to sign in?

kat: go for it man *she nods at jungwon who smiles back. jungwon adjusts himself and looks to the camera*

jungwon: beep beep! you’ve arrived in yap central i am your host today, jungwon or aang. starting from my far left we have.

kat: toph

riki: zuko

yn: katara!

giselle: azula

sunoo: appa!! *he shows off his fuzzy appa bucket hat, earning a smile from all of you*

yn: sunoo i love you please don’t die

*sunoo looks at you in horror as the others burst out laughing*

jungwon: anyways.. *nervous laugh* the cycle is complete so today is a deep episode!

giselle: oh my god last time i literally bawled on my way home

kat: won you always pick the most brutal questions

sunoo: i cannot believe you asked us if the younger versions of ourselves would like the us now. like that is so ugh

riki: look at the way he’s smiling i think it’s something torturing again

*jungwon grins evilly at everyone making the rest of you groan in both discomfort and agony.*

jungwon: starting with my first question! what is a positive impact you have noticed on each of us. let’s start with sunoo. you guys don’t have to go one at a time just build it up.

sunoo: okay well.. lay it on me. *he looks to the rest of you, nervously, then shocked at who speaks up first*

riki: you laugh a lot more

*giselles eyes widened as riki spoke, the rest of you sharing the same reaction. everyone stayed quiet so riki could talk.*

riki: like when we were in highschool you always seemed to be bothered, or like you just never really were happy. and i think when we started doing this and you started tiktok you’ve been a lot happier

yn: i was honestly gonna say the same thing. you seem happier when we go out sunoo, like you want to be there.

sunoo: i feel a lot happier, honestly it sounds stupid but doing this with you guys does make me really happy.

kat: i agree. i mean i really wouldn’t trade it for anything.

giselle: awww look at us having our moment!

*both you and sunoo giggle at giselles comment, jungwon nodding to giselle, signaling she’s next*

kat: giselle, you don’t really care what people have to say about you anymore.

jungwon: ahhhh i was gonna say that

kat: like you seem so much more confident now than you did before.

giselle: when though? because i feel like i just started feeling like this overnight.

yn: if i were to pinpoint a time frame id say when you broke up with [BLEEP]

sunoo: no i COMPLETELY agree, like there’s a brightness to you now.

giselle: aw thank you guys *she pouted then smiled*

jungwon: guys please be nice to me.

riki: you’ve always been a natural born leader. i just think you’ve always been positive.

yn: i agree but there’s like a glow to him now

kat: oh my god are you pregnant?

*everyone looks at kat then bursts out laughing. some of you stop but jungwon and giselle can’t stop laughing.*

sunoo: oh my god it has something to do with who gave you that bracelet

jungwon: sunoo seriously *his cheeks turn pink, hand now covering the friendship bracelet*

giselle: oooo who made it for you?

jungwon: it was a mutual swap

yn: mutual swap.. or she gave you that wap?

*the others start laughing again, jungwon as well. riki daps you up*

riki: that was a bar

jungwon: i’m not admitting anything.. on camera.

everyone: OOOOOOOO

jungwon: next! go flame yn!!

yn: not fair, we weren’t even done with you

jungwon: don’t care, you’re not as closed off as you used to be

riki: oh my god yeah, when we were kids you were so shy

yn: really? i feel like im still in my little shell

kat: no i get what they mean. i mean even when i met you, you were really shy.

yn: thank you?

riki: i think jungwon means it in the way that you’re more open to meeting others now. like you enjoy being a people person

yn: ahhh, i see now. i guess the podcast really helped with that. like seeing people say how they enjoy my little bits and just things like that. it sounds conceited but it almost made me feel like people actually valued me? you know.

giselle: i get it, it doesn’t sound conceited babe

yn: okay i don’t like this much attention

giselle: this sounds weird to say but riki has gotten nicer atleast to us

kat: yeah i see

riki: die

sunoo: glad to know you haven’t changed..

jungwon: guess someone doesn’t wanna open up today

riki: oh would you look at that! it’s kats turn!!

yn: i think kats tells us a lot more now. like before you never really told us anything about yourself.

kat: i just have trust issues, it was nothing personal.

giselle: it’s true it took her so long to open up to me

riki: i honestly think the podcast brought out the best in us. surprisingly enough

jungwon: i see what you mean. maybe another way to put it is that we realized how much closer the camera brought us

giselle: or this friendship is just a ploy for jungwon to make more money off of us

*everyone laughs*

sunoo: we’re such coworkers

yn: heard it here first!! giselle hates her friends

giselle: can you stop with that *laughs*

yn: oh i’ll drag it through the mud

giselle: then i’ll drag yn[BLEEP] through the mud

*everyone laughs even harder now, you side eyeing giselle.*

sunoo: she kinda got you there

yn: let’s move on?

jungwon: speaking of relationships. *you glare jungwon down as he chuckles a little, looking at his phone once more.* how do you guys think social media affected your relationships and how do you think social media just influences how you view yourself. you can answer it in any order.

sunoo: i feel like having a presence on social media just makes having a relationship so much harder.

giselle: it kinda does, like people just expect for you to lay out your entire lives on social media.

jungwon: i think it depends on what kind of person you’re with, it’s almost like that person has to be up to your fans standards you know.

yn: i think there’s some people who can be normal about it but at the same time you have to be okay with everyone knowing everything about you.

kat: yeah but then it just shows that people online think that we don’t deserve privacy. it’s fucked up like they’re borderline stalking us you know?

*riki glanced at you as kat spoke, noticing how you stiffened at the word stalking*

riki: a lot of people aren’t okay online, it’s weird. like being so obsessed with someone to the point of finding out their personal information

giselle: if that ever happened to any of us i really don’t know what i would do.

jungwon: i think i honestly would try to sue you know. you have to be a certain level of fucked to do something like that.

yn: yeah, i agree it’s so weird.

kat: i kinda don’t wanna sound like a pick me

riki: just say it, you won’t sound like one.

kat: it’s so much harder being a girl with a social media presence.

sunoo: the fact that you had to hesitate to even say that says everything

jungwon: i really don’t get it either, like i’ve seen both women and men do the same things online and sometimes the guy is worse than the girl and yet it’s always the girl getting attacked and harassed.

giselle: i think it’s because people just view girls as easy targets almost. like a girl could do something completely normal and the internet would spin it to make her a villain

yn: it’s disgusting really, no one really ever really wants to side with a girl.

jungwon: do the comments still get you guys? i mean i know it was really bad in the beginning

kat: actually no i remember when it got bad. it got bad that episode where [BLEEP]

*jungwon and giselle glance at each other then start laughing*

giselle: remind me to edit that out.

yn: honestly no, the comments don’t bother as much anymore. after a while i realized that they’re just saying this because they have nothing else to talk about so i just stopped looking.

kat: i agree, it gets better when you just stop reading the comments all together.

riki: god please take periods away from women and give it all to me.

*you and kat give riki a look then burst out laughing, sunoo jungwon and giselle following that.*

sunoo: can’t stay serious for a second

riki: i would never joke about women in pain

*jungwon and kat keep laughing as riki goes on, unable to take him seriously*

yn: going back to the original question i just think it’s hard, like seeing people overstep a boundary or intrude on your life and just be okay with it

sunoo: and people just say oh well you asked for this um? no i didn’t actually i just wanted post skincare videos

*jungwon snorts, causing a chain reaction for everyone else to laugh*

kat: im glad we haven’t cried in this episode yet.

giselle: oh my god don’t jinx it he still has two more questions

jungwon: you might cry at this next one *kat sends a look to jungwon and he gives her an evil smile* my next question is what changes have we seen in one another as we’ve grown up together. it can be good or bad.

riki: jungwons lost it this is so similar to the first question

yn: i feel like he means overall

jungwon: thank you! atleast someon listens to me

yn: *you look around shocked and confused* oh my god.. did you guys hear that? was that a ghost?

*jungwon stares at you as everyone else laughs at your joke*

sunoo: so are we gonna go around in a circle?

jungwon: no how about.. the person sitting across from you. like riki sits across from giselle so they can say it about each other

kat: wait i wanna start

sunoo: this is too much pressure

kat: *she stares at sunoo and smiles warmly* sunoo i admire your love for us. like i don’t know you always support all of us no matter what and i feel like as we’ve grown closer you just have so much love to give

giselle: that’s so adorable

riki: sunoo i love your videos please don’t die

sunoo: STOP WITH THAT JOKE *he turns to look at kat* thank you kat i love you. i have to say sometimes i feel like you don’t tell us everything but it’s okay, just because we’re your friends doesn’t mean we have to know everything about you. i just want you to know that we’ll always listen no matter what.

*kat stares at sunoo as he smiles at her, then looks down when she feels tears welling up in her eyes. riki looks at giselle and jungwon panicked as they pass him the box of tissues.*

yn: aw babe *you frown looking at her as she lifts her head up to see tears streaming down her cheeks*

sunoo: wait i didn’t mean to make you cry

kat: it’s okay i jinxed myself

*everyone laughs slightly, still worried about her. sunoo moves his mic and gets up to hug kat. they stay like that for a few seconds until he lets go, patting her head. he says something but the mic can’t pick it up then walks back to his seat.*

kat: it’s not that i don’t want there was just a time where i felt like no one really care you know?

jungwon: you’re not obligated to tell us everything, but we care more than you think even if we have weird ways of showing it. *he glares at riki who only throws his hands up*

*the rest of you laugh at riki’s reaction and even kat lets out a chuckle after wiping her tears*

kat: to the viewers watching.. this never happened i am mysterious and batman doesn’t cry

giselle: nurse.. she’s out again

riki: okay giselle! lay it on me! *claps his hands together*

giselle: you use being mean as a cover up you actually care a lot about what people think but you use being rude or mean as a shield.

*sunoo gasps, the rest of you stare in silence because giselle is 100% right*

riki: okay cut the cameras

jungwon: i mean she’s not wrong

riki: if you wanted me to cry it’s not gonna happen

giselle: i know

riki: i hate you guys

sunoo: yeah sure you do

riki: well, since you want a taste of your own medicine *riki clears his throat* you shouldn’t get into another relationship, atleast until you evaluate how you act during them.

giselle: excuse me?

jungwon: weird ass time to admit your feelings

riki: you’re a weirdo that’s not how i meant it

yn: well then how did you mean it

kat: i’m curious

riki: every time i've seen you get into a relationship you just stop acting like yourself. you’re less confident and it’s almost as if you change yourself to please the guy you’re with. I just don’t like seeing any of my friends like that.

*all of you stare in silence at giselle, the air feeling heavy as she pushes her mic away and mumbles something to jungwon then ups and leaves.*

yn: um. is she okay?

jungwon: she needs a second

riki: was it something i said?

jungwon: it’ll be okay, she just said she needs a second.

sunoo: she’ll be okay guys, let’s move on yeah?

yn: okay well.. jungwon i think you bottle a lot of things up, intentional or not.

jungwon: *he sighs, crossing his arms* it’s not intentional i just think you guys have too many worries on your own plates to worry about mine.

kat: even if we have a lot going on that’ll never stop us from wanting to know what’s going on won

jungwon: i know i guess it’s just hard? to admit i need help?

sunoo: there’s never anything wrong with that

jungwon: thanks guys

riki: yeah yeah

jungwon: okay yn, im glad you like yourself more

kat: um

riki: wow!

sunoo: that is certainly a statement

yn: excuse me??

jungwon: no i worded that terribly

*the 5 of you burst out laughing at jungwons poor word choice. within this time giselle walks back in, closing the door slightly. the mics can’t pick it up but riki mouths “im sorry” to her. causing her to shake her head and smile. “it’s good” she mouths back making him smile back.*

jungwon: what i mean to say is that you’re more confident now. not just about yourself but your videos too. i’m glad to see this change in you

yn: thank you won, it means a lot

jungwon: of course

giselle: well this was certainly an episode

yn: one of us always ends up crying

sunoo: that sadist probably likes it too

jungwon: woah? the term isn’t sadist

*the rest of you laugh*

sunoo: let’s have a group hug! everyone up on your feet

*sunoo stands up, kat and giselle following suit. you and jungwon stand up and riki groans, then reluctantly stands up. the 6 of you huddle around one another and go for a group hug. the mics can’t pick up your voices but the recording has slight shuffling and giggles from you 6. after a couple seconds you pull apart and sit back down in your respective seats.*

giselle: i love you guys

kat: me too

sunoo: me three

jungwon: me four

yn: me five

*everyone looks at riki who only rolls his eyes*

riki: me six..

jungwon: well guys hope you enjoyed your stay in yap central we hope you didn’t cry too much. i have been your host jungwon and please make sure to check out our links in this description and like, share, subscribe, and comment! till next time!!

previous masterlist next

AUTHORS NOTE » lol UMMMMMMM sorry guys i didnt realize how long it had been without an update WE ARE SO BACK THO

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[misteria247]

I need professional help at this rate I'm gonna end up writing an actual fic based on this bullshit when will I learn smh-

When Timmy loses his memories everyone reacts differently.

Spongebob is immediately upset and actually ends up breaking down. Because Timmy's one of his closest friends and his fellow free spirit of their team. So having essentially his other half of fun look at him unsure or uneasy like hits the sponge right in the chest. Despite his heartbreak over Timmy and his condition, Spongebob is the first one to try and reconnect with the magic user. He'll talk and ramble and recall events that they all experienced. In the vain hope that it might spark Timmy's memory and help him. But alas magic isn't always fair but that doesn't stop Spongebob from trying. Even when late at night when Timmy's gone to his room and everyone's retired for the day and he goes to his room and just sobs over the agony of losing Timmy, SpongeBob will continue to try to help for Timmy's sake.

Danny's reaction on the other hand is rage. Rage on behalf of Timmy, his little brother. Rage towards the threats that caused all this devastation amongst them. He's already planning on making them suffer in a nasty way. Because no one hurts his family and gets away Scott free. Other than anger, Danny also can't help but grieve. In a sick twisted way, Timmy not remembering any of them is like seeing his little brother die. To look at his guarded blue gaze is like looking at a stranger wearing Timmy's skin. And when Timmy flinches from Danny, it's like having a bucket of ice water thrown on him. Because Timmy has never done something like this. Never shown fear to the man who's partially dead and who has urges that can hurt someone when he's a ghost. It's an awful and bone chilling experience for Danny that makes him stare into the bathroom mirror wondering if Timmy had always been afraid of him that entire time. He doesn't go to Timmy right away, but he does become more protective of him.

Cosmo and Wanda's reactions is pure devastation. The two fairies can't help but grieve and torment themselves over Timmy's condition. Because they're his parents, they're supposed to protect him and instead they failed him. Wanda will hover around him, always keeping her distance to not make him comfortable. She's always fretting a bit, not wanting Timmy out of her sight. Cosmo on the other hand takes up the role of reassuring everyone that'll it'll be okay. Putting on a brave front for his wife and scared son because they need the support even if one of them doesn't realize it. Both fairies are scarily protective of him now, and work tirelessly to try to figure out how to help their son.

Yet out of everyone Jimmy takes it the hardest. He's immediately filled with guilt and frustration over the situation. Guilt for not being on top of his game and failing as a leader, and frustrated that Timmy Turner once again put himself in harms way to protect someone else. Timmy losing his memories essentially knocks Jimmy's world off its axis. Everything feels wrong and Jimmy suddenly feels so very alone as it becomes painstakingly obvious how much space Timmy took up in his life. He'll find himself lost on how to approach Timmy, not wanting to have him look at him like he's expecting Jimmy to hurt him. Experiencing it once was enough to last the genius a lifetime of haunting nightmares. He'll lock himself up in his lab, researching nonstop to try and fix it. In a way Jimmy will throw himself into denial about how bad this situation is because facing the reality is just too much for Jimmy to process properly. He works himself to the point of exhaustion because nothing is more important than Timmy. He'll literally tear the multiverse apart if it means saving Timmy's memories. He refuses to think about the other option. The possibility that Timmy will never remember them.

[dreamwritersworld]

All too well. (Miles morales x reader)

Weather Miles knew it or not he was stabbing her right in the heart every time he made their relationship seem under wraps.

In front of everyone he refused to call their relationship what it was. Love. Not a childish relationship, at least not to Y/n.

Rio could see something was going on between the two. There wasn’t a day where she hadn’t dreamt of seeing Y/n in a wedding dress besides Miles, she was all too prefect. Y/n was practically the daughter she never had.

So Miles kept her close to his heart and he always got Y/n to return back into his arms but every time she did she felt shame, and he would just hold her lifeless frame. Their relationship was crowded, Gwen was stuck in the picture and the teenage boy was stuck between the two. He couldn’t imagine a life without either of them. Gwen gave him thrill and Y/n gave him comfort.

Both girls were spider-women except…Gwen wasn’t in their universe. She was gone and it had been months. Y/n remembered it all too well.

When arguments happened salty tears would fall from the two of them once they wrapped arms around each other, Miles breathed in her sweet candy scent wishing for it to smell like another. While y/n let tears fall knowing Miles imagined someone else with him. She didn’t trust herself, her body would always lead her back to the wrong things, him.

However…the patience of Y/n didn’t last longer. The night before everything went downhill they got into an argument…

It all started when we had came home from keeping watch on the city. Tonight wasn’t the best night, Miles was so distant and he refused to speak to me.

He spoke about me indirectly, I heard it.

“you’re just so irritable….”

I couldn’t ignore it, not this time. His frustration lighted a bottling flame waiting to ignite..

“I won’t ever understand you! You won’t even speak to me directly?! What am I supposed to do with that?!”

He turned around quickly, spoke irrational. Though I knew in some way or another he meant every word he said.

“If you were Gwen maybe I would’ve been just fine?!”

Hearing him say that made me want to die. Confirming something I denied for the longest. There was shuffling in my feet stepping backwards, my heart beginning to feel intense agony and the tears slipping from my eyes.

Miles couldn’t exactly see my face with my mask, but he knew what he had said cut deep.

“…we’re done.”

His hand reached out for me but all I could do was push him away. I fled immediately after, knocking into almost every building. My vision was disoriented since my eyes were flooding with tears.

That night I went to bed listening to my parents arguing in the living room, doing the same thing Miles and I had just done. Maybe it was for the better…maybe if I stayed I would’ve repeated the never ending cycle….

‘All’s wells, that ends well’ but Y/n was in a new hell every time he double crossed her mind. It goes without saying that the next day Y/n dreaded having to go to Jeff’s promotion party, but she would anyways because they were there for her big moments too…

My eyes felt swollen from the rough night and I couldn’t stop thinking about it all. Picking between the clothes and getting myself out of bed was difficult, this breakup felt final.

I took everything step by step and I took a deep breath walking into the party.

“Y/n! Hija you made it, I was getting worried!”

Rio rushed in giving me her nurturing love and all that hit was the fact that this will never happen as much. I wouldn’t allow myself to come over any more after this, not when I know I’d go back to him.

“Hi Mrs.Morales! Hi Mr.Morales-“

“Rio let Y/n breathe!…Cmon give me a hug kid!”

I did return that hug but all I could do was take the emotions in..

“Congratulations sir!”

once we were done with our greetings they turned my body quickly to the skylines of the city

“Isn’t it beautiful!…haha yea.”

The way Jeff had spoke sounded quick and awkward, he rushed my body to turn so fast.

“oh yea it is..”

Rio couldn’t just stand there and act like she didn’t see Y/n hurt regardless if she didn’t see the scene Jeff hid her from, she wanted to protect her but she wouldn’t lie to Y/n either.

“Oh princesa, lo siento.”

Confusión covered my face but inside hearing just that but not knowing why, I was so close to breaking down.

“What do you mean?”

Jeff looked to Rio with pleading eyes begging her to stop and Rio had a sense of genuine and a need to not hide something.

“Miles is with that girl Gwenda, I can’t lie to you Y/n. You’re just too sweet for me to lie. Just know that no matter how or why your relationship ended, no es por ti.”

My swollen eyes wanted to cry once more, I turned my body to the crime scene. He did talk to her the entire time in the beginning of our relationship…maybe did even worse. She came back now, and Miles was the one who ran to her the second we called it quits.

I knew based off the smile on his face, he’d never feel sorry for the way I hurt. He was showing her off just by simply bringing her and pulling her close…

The entire time Y/n was staring Jeff couldn’t believe his eyes, everything Rio had rambled about them being together and Y/n being in love, Miles loving her back but out of nowhere it only ever became halfway. It hurt seeing the pain that struck her eyes.

Jeff gave Y/n the biggest hug..

“If you want Y/n..you can pick out your food, eat and take a good nap on our couch before you head home.”

A small tear feel from Y/n’s eyes, all she could do was nod and walk away…

I’ve never doubted myself so much, I hate that I gave Miles power over that kind of stuff. At some point in our relationship it was always one step forward and three steps back.

Once I made it back down to their apartment I couldn’t nap, my body wouldn’t allow it. Something was telling me to go. So I did.

I closed the window and leaped onto building from building , trusting my body to lead me in the right direction. When I arrived there was a damaged building and a portal..no one was there and it hadn’t closed yet, so I jumped in..

!💓!

guys. please tell me yk the references.

Tag list: @justleila @tati-the-fangirl @kxllanxtdoor @abbersreads @abislays123 @not-aya @usernamepasswordsstuff @moralesluvrr @inluvwithneteyam @twinkletwinklenotastar @ilystarz @vodoo-heart @papichulo120627 @mashiromochi @frogsandmoss @laylasbunbunny

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Some ideas for option 2

Rewind! Reader was experiencing sudden bursts of pain and went to the doctor alone, only to stumble up on Mr Sinister out of his disguise

Causing reader to have to run for their damn life as Mr Sinister tries catching them, maybe even gets close to actually catching them before reader either finds a way to slip away or something something Devine interference-

Cube anon

You'd been feeling sicker lately.

A lot sicker, actually.

Kevin had had to take you home about two weeks ago, seeing you about to pass out and struggling to move without stopping in pain. They'd been kind enough to stay over at your apartment, fixing you dinner amd feeding you and keeping a wet towel presses to your forehead and talking to some some their friends while you were trying to keep the worst of the pain at bay.

It was agony.

Your nails felt like they were on fire, the nailbeds raw and red and stinging sharply. Your mouth ached, your teeth hurt when you touched them and your gums felt sore and bled at any hars touches. Even your bones felt exhausted, like they were shifting under your skin. Your entire body felt feverish and cold and you couldn't stay warm enough or keep cool enough.

It felt like H*ll.

Which led you to here, the old clinic, looking for your old doctor.

The doors creaked as you peeked through them, your boots clacking loudly on the tiled floor. The air smelt of chemicals and cleaning supplies, the shadows seemed too dark and too deep, and each noise and echo made you shiver even more...

But you eventually came across a room, where you saw a shadowy figure waiting.

You hesitated.

It didn't.

"Why, child... come back so soon?"

Your spine goes rigid, feeling like ice filled each crac and joint.

"My my... yes... Reader, correct? It's been quite some time since we last met, face to face~" It loomed in the dark confines of the room, seeming to grow bigger and bigger with each word.

"..."

You couldn't squeeze anything past your throat. Whatever this was... it wasn't good...

"Cat got your tongue~? Hmmm... Always were such an antsy little thing~ But I fixed most of your flaws, my dear... Now... why don't you come closer, so Dr. Essex can fix this, too?"

You didn't waste a minute turning tail and running, panting and heart going a mile a minute as you fled from the dark being chasing behind you. You could hear it's cackle echo all around you, the darkness humming with malevolence. This... thing... wanted to hurt you. It might even kill you, if it had it's way.

You can't let it get it's hands on you.

You grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol as you run, clutching it tightly to your chest as you turn down a hall... Right into a dead end.

You freeze. You can feel the darkness writhing with something, the evil lurking within it...

And then hands are clutching at you, trying to drag you in.

You scream, kicking and thrashing, fighting as best you can against the demon trying to drag you under, bit all it does is make you feel weaker, your head fuzzing with fever. You shake, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.

You can't die here. You can't be taken to God knows where bu this creature. You can't leave Kevin- What would they think? That you abandoned them? That you were ungrateful? Or assume you weren't worth it? Simply forget about you? You yelled at the thought, crying out in despair.

You couldn't disappear like this.

In a shaky twist of the cap, you open the bottle of alcohol-

Then splash it in the creature's eyes, earning am enraged shriek as it releases you, scrambling at its eyes and cursing.

You don't think twice, running past it and down the next hall, making your way into the lobby-

And then you're pushing through the door, running as fast as you can, trying not to collapse on the pavement as you go back home...

It's quiet, when you enter your home.

You feel a sense of unease, stepping forward cautiously, worried, feeling like a naughty child about to be caught sneaking out...

But then you see Kevin, their back facing you, their front hidden from sight, the light from the TV casting their form in shadow.

"K-Kevin-" you start, "K-Kevin, I, I saw something- I'm so sorry, I swear I wasn't leaving you, I'm not going to leave again, we, we just need to hide, fast- Kevin, it's after me- it was horrifying, like- like some undead vampire, or, or some demon- God, I'm so sorry-"

"WhAt did you say you saw?"

You pause.

Something doesn't seem right...

"It, it looked like a being made of, like, shadows. It's face was as pale as death, or a corpse, and it's eyes, Kevin, they were blood red! It's teeth- oh f*ck it's teeth-! They were like needles- It was waiting there, it was after me, I'm so sorry Kevin, but you need to get out of here, before it comes after you-!"

"I'm not going anywhere, kit-cat." Their neck cracks, the snapping noise echoing in the silence.

"All of this time... all of this effort... And he StiLl found you... WhY?! WHY CoULdN'T hE LeAvE yOu ALoNe?!" Their body seems to shift, their form lengthening, growing taller, the skin becoming pale and their bones popping and shifting.

"K-Kevin...?"

The being stills...

Then it turns to face you, and you feel your heart sink to your stomach.

That... is that...

"I'm so sorry, kit-cat... I tried... but it isn't safe here anymore..." The being twitches, then steps closer.

You take a step back.

And it's eyes, bright and hollow and piercing, seem to widen.

"Kit-cat... it's okay... It's me, Kevin. I'm your friend, remember?" it croons softly, smiling at you as though trying to reassure you.

All you can do is shake uncontrollably, starting to hyperventilate. Your hands hurt, your head hurts, your mouth your teeth your eyes your back-

A screech comes out as you double over, clawing at your arms as deep agony rocks your core. You feel tears falling down your cheeks as you cry, hiccups sobs pouring out as the pain only gets worse. You dig your nails in deeper, only to feel sharp pain like daggers stabbing your skin. You glance down, breath shaking-

And see sharpened nails, curved and razor-sharpz covered in smears of dark red.

Your breath hitches, and you shakily stare up at the form of the creature you'd called Kevin. They're frozen, staring at you, shock soon turning to worry.

"Sweetie-!? Shhh, shhh, it's okay, let's calm down, okay? It's gonna be okay, just take a deep breath. See? In, and out. Come on, please, breath kitten, it's gonna be okay-"

You fall backwards, scrambling across the floor, until your back is against the wall. Your heart is beating too fast, your ribs hurt, your mouth is on fire, your teeth burn, your skin crawls, you're shaking and you can't stop-!

A hand comes near you and you scream, nails clawing into your arms and belly, bloody smears starting to stain your clothes. The being (Kevin?) took a step back, stuttering, lost on what to say-

"Reader. Stop hurting yourself. Now."

You freeze up, then slowly turn to look at the screen of the TV.

There, staring back at you, are the X-Men, eyes set on you, watching.

Your ears rush with blood, your mind going into a blind panic as the f*cking TV starts talking at you, the voices swelling as you cry out, tearing at your arms and head and trying to make everything stop-!

The room pops with noise, a loud static and blinding light-

And there's more distorted beings in there, towering over you, looking down, seeing you.

You can't make your legs get up, can't stop them as they come closer, Kevin trying to talk to you as arms and hands reach out, wrapping around your limbs and holding you down-

"Shhhh, it's gonna be okay, kid, yer gonna be okay-"

"Shhh, sweetie, it'll only take a minute-"

"Be gentle, don't hurt them-!"

"Take a deep breath, IN! Then out-"

"Let's calm you down, sweetheart-"

You hear the pop of something small, and try to twist your head around to see it. No matter how hard you thrash you can't free yourself, the grips on you too firm and your limbs held tightly. You see the light glint off something sharp-

"Shhhh, don't look, look over this way-"

And then there's a sharp prick in your arm, then the world starts to... tilt...

"Hey... that's it, sweetie... You're doing so well... Hmmmm, you feeling tired?" A hand is in your hair, smoothing it down and rubbing it lightly, massaging warmth into your chilled skin.

"Good job, kit, ya did real good. Let's get ya up and get ya situated-" Arms are wrapped around you, warm and strong and firm, sitting you up, wrapping around you, then hauling you into a careful hold, the limbs wrapped tight around you.

"Oh, kit-cat, it's okay. Shhhh... I know, I know it hurts so much, and everything is too much right now, and all you wanna do is take a nice, big nap. Why don't you close your eyes for a bit, hmmm~? That's it, you're safe, just relax..." Something is rubbing your back, making small circles and kneading the cold flesh through the wet fabric, causing the muscles to un-tense amd loosen...

"Shhhh... You're so good, kitten... Look at you, you took the medicine so well... You're just feeling tired, aren't you? So so tired... Shhhhh... Just rest~ We'll take care of everything~♡"

Your body is covered in something thick and soft, the arms around you keeping you tucked into their chest... Your head feels thick, your ache melting and waning under the medicine, tugging you down into blissful, quiet, warm darkness...

"Okay, team... let's go home~♡"

( @thewickedweiner @sugar-soda @weebwholovesuchihasasuke )

[angel-kyo]

emophilia

Not me thinking about Satoru easily getting his heart broken and indulging in sweets, ice cream, crappy romance movies, and the attentions of his best friend.

Warnings: None? Or I don't know. I guess Gojo being described as dating too much, and then craving sweets/eating too much after his relationships don't work.

=================

It always starts easy enough. Satoru's charms pull up the prettiest girl in the room, and a few sweet words later, he decides he will be seeing the world through rose-colored glasses for the next couple of weeks.

By the third week he is over the moon about how he thinks this might be the one, how he is falling in love, and how everything is going great... until it does not.

And then, the next marvelous date he has planned ends up with a conversation of how he is too much, or not enough, or just not quite what they are looking for. Sometimes he will even get the 'it's me, not you' line, but with the number of times it has happened, he just does not believe it anymore.

"Most magical thing on earth my ass," he declares, looking at the film currently playing on his tv. "A curse, that's what love is," he says, shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

You watch him from the other side of the couch. "Easy on the ice cream or you'll get a..."

He groans, his face contorted in pain.

"...Brain freeze." You sigh and take the ice cream bowl from his hand before he causes himself anymore pain.

The agony lasts only a few seconds, enough for you to put away the ice cream in Satoru's kitchen and return to the living where it seems he has recovered and is now putting sweets in his mouth.

"Seriously?" you ask him.

He knows you will scold him for finishing up that box of sweets on his own in one sitting, but he cannot bring himself to care. He is heartbroken after all.

"I'll hit the gym tomorrow," he says.

And you know he will. That was his post-breakup routine. It would be one or two days on a diet that would put anyone a bit less healthy in a sugar-induced coma and of him clinging to you as if he could die if left alone; then he would work out like crazy for a few days, maybe ask you to stay as moral support through a strenuous training session, and in about a week, he would be as good as new, ready for his next true love to shatter his heart.

In a way, you believed Satoru was lucky. Yes, his heart was a bit too eager to fall and break, but at least it was somewhat easy to mend. He just needed you to let him put his head on your lap and massage his scalp while he complained about why his life could not be like the sappy movie he had just watched, just as you were doing right now, while you tell him all those lines that offered no real comfort but, for some reason, soothed him when it was you saying them.

"It's her loss."

"You'll be fine."

"You'll find another one," you mindlessly say this time.

"Can that be you?" he asks, and maybe he is too drowsy to notice that your fingers stopped moving through his hair for just a second, or the way you looked at him before deciding to dismiss his question.

"All that sugar is getting to your head, isn't it?"

And he does not respond because he has fallen asleep on your lap, again, like he always does. And you will not wake him up, because even though he may get over it quickly, his heart was broken after all.

=================

Note: Suddenly, I'm craving something sweet.

[hellparkreimaginado]

NEXT CHAPTER

Inglés:

Craig was resting by the window of his room, calmly observing the landscape that always greeted him when he woke up. He had no worries at that moment, nothing to do, all his household chores were completed, and he had no extra schoolwork. This gave Craig plenty of time to simply watch his peaceful town from the comfort of his room. The raven-haired boy looked at the mountains beside the sun for a while, creating an image as beautiful as it was tranquil. Craig loved taking photos of landscapes like this: simple, beautiful, calming. It was everything! Sometimes, when he looked at that natural mural that was the sunset in his town, Craig couldn't help but think of his partner: Thomas Lacey. That boy with blond hair and beige eyes was the most beautiful thing Craig's young eyes had ever seen. They had been a couple for a few years, and although Thomas suffered from a peculiar condition called Tourette's, which caused, among many things, tics, spasms, and sudden outbursts, this did not matter to Craig. He loved him with all his flaws and problems. And whenever Craig brought Thomas to his house, he didn't hesitate to show him some of the photos he had taken of landscapes like the one he was seeing right now.

The raven-haired boy started to get lost in his thoughts, imagining his entire life alongside that handsome boy, imagining them in those mountains: sitting with their children, having a meal while watching the sunset from the top of that mountain. Maybe his dreams often weren't realistic, but anyone would imagine a whole life with the person they love the most if they wanted to.

As Craig continued imagining that teenage novel in his mind, he didn't notice a series of notifications coming from his phone. He was too immersed to care; after all, couldn't they give him a moment to admire the views? After about two minutes, Craig turned and glanced nonchalantly at those notifications: they were messages from Thomas, and what they said was anything but normal.

• Craig, I have to thank you for all the time you've spent by my side. No one, no one, NO ONE will love me as much as you have. YOU, you, Craig, you are the most important person in my life, the most beautiful and sincere person in the world. And I have to apologize for being so weak, for being the most useless person in the world, for... failing you. Forgive me, but I simply don't belong in this world. I deserve to die; I've only caused sadness and pain to everyone who loves me, including you. I'm not made to live; God hates me; I don't deserve to live...

• Craig, I'm the worst person there is, but I truly cherished all the time by your side. Goodbye.

Craig's heart stopped for a few seconds: his eyes widened as much as possible, his breathing sounded like something was choking him. Almost instantly, he felt a huge lump in his throat; he couldn't even say a single word.

Craig ran with the speed worthy of the Olympics towards the exit of his room. His entire family saw him run and ignored them when they tried to ask what was happening. Craig didn't even stop to look at them, opened the door of his house, and ran through the neighborhood. His beloved's house wasn't far from his; he could easily get there in a minute at the speed he was going.

But all his hopes of saving Thomas ended when he heard the thunderous sound, like a distant lightning strike. Craig fell to the ground on his knees: he couldn't even scream or make a sound of agony after hearing that noise. He knew very well where that shot had come from, he knew very well that there was nothing he could do about it now. The lump in his throat grew so large that he could almost feel like he was being choked by it. Those were agonizing seconds, the purest silence covered the entire town. The town that no more than a minute ago enjoyed the beautiful melody of birds singing, of united and happy families chatting about their lives, now everything was in the most absolute silence. There wasn't a single soul on that street, just Craig kneeling: his eyes quickly filling with tears and spreading across his forehead.

The first to break the silence was his father: Thomas Tucker.

• Craig, is everything okay!? What the hell is happening!? - said his father.

T. Tucker shook his son nervously, wanting him to say something, not understanding why he ran out of the house, but knowing very well that the distant shot had something to do with all this. But Craig still didn't say anything, he couldn't even make a sigh, much less say what had just happened. Craig remained motionless for a while, the only thing he could think of was that if he had seen his partner's message a minute earlier, all this might have happened very differently. Maybe, just maybe, Craig could have saved him. But now, now the only thing left was to go to his beloved's house.

Without even the slightest bit of hope, Craig headed to the home of what was no less than 10 minutes ago his partner. And when he saw the house open, with his mother crying inconsolably on the floor and a couple of neighbors comforting her, he understood that, indeed, his worst fear had come true. His partner, his boyfriend, his life companion, was... gone. He couldn't even look at the lifeless body of the person he loved so much. He wasn't strong enough to do it; he couldn't bear to let all his sadness out. He cried in silence as he walked towards Thomas's mother: she was simply devastated. That poor woman had to live through her husband's divorce, had to see her son humiliated for his illness over and over again, had to watch her son isolate himself from the world, and finally, had to live through the death of the only thing she had left in life.

• No~ I don't understand~ I don't understand!~ I DON'T UNDERSTAND!~ I did everything for my son~ but I didn't realize what was happening to him...~ - said that completely broken mother, with eyes that looked like dried grapes from crying so much, her voice becoming weaker and weaker the more she cried, making it increasingly difficult to understand what she was saying.

• I- I don't understand either, ma'am~ I- I loved him,~ I always tried to make his day better but~ but...~ I don't understand what I did wrong...~ - Without saying much more, the raven-haired boy hugged the mother of his deceased boyfriend; only she could understand the pain he was feeling at that moment.

• Oh, Craig~ - Mrs. Lacey closed her eyes and, still sobbing, said to Craig: - D-do you know?~ Of the few moments I remember seeing Thomas happy in these last months was when you were by his side,~ he wouldn't stop talking to me about you and everything you did together. I thought he was getting better,~ but, honestly, I don't understand what happened.~ I don't know what I did wrong~ - The inconsolable lady wiped her tears a little and then handed Craig an envelope with a blue seal.

• Here,~ T-Thomas wanted you to read this~ -

Craig inspected the envelope with his tired eyes; it was very clean and well-kept, adorned with innocent hearts on the sides that seemed to have been drawn with extremely fine and bright markers, while in the center was a blue seal and below it a message that read: "For Craig, my one and only true love." Instantly, an avalanche of emotions overwhelmed Craig. He seemed to have a nervous breakdown, a combination of sadness for knowing this was surely the last thing Thomas did in life, and massive regret for not being there for him. All those feelings that seemed to have dissipated came back, stronger this time. He tried to calm down, tried to look away, only to feel the urge to flee from that place at once. He simply didn't want to be there any longer.

Craig ran out with the envelope in one hand and wiping away the tears running down his face and extending to his neck with the other. He didn't pay attention to his family, much less to his boyfriend's mother, who was asking him to please come back. Amid many tears, Craig just hid in his room and lay down to cry in silence. Everything had happened so quickly, he was so exhausted after this horrible day. He just lay in his bed, but it was impossible for him to sleep. Hours passed, he didn't let anyone in to console him; he felt so guilty and so powerless that he didn't even have the strength to see what was in the envelope given by Thomas. It was simply too much guilt, to the point where he couldn't look anywhere but at that letter he couldn't even open.

And as the hours passed, the only thing Craig heard was the sound of a gunshot in the distance... It was the only thing he could hear inside his head for hours.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Please, please write a hurt/comfort of bringing Natasha back after the events of endgame. Reader had gotten blipped, came back, was completely broken, but they manage to bring Nat back and it’s just a tearful happy reunion. Please alleviate the pain tomorrow 😭 The pain now is too much to handle

Back to You

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight angst(happy end)

Authors note: thank you for this idea, I hope I did it justice 💖

Word count: 1799 Nat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

   You lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a void expression on your face. Part of you still hadn’t come to terms with what you were told yesterday. I mean, how the hell had you been gone for five years? All you did was blink. And Natasha, she….she couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t be. You had been right next to her. And Nat, she's the god damned Black Widow, she can’t just die. That's…that's impossible. Or, it should be. But here you are now, without her by your side. All because a stupid stone needed a sacrifice, and of course Clint couldn’t beat her in a fight. How ironic, you think. This is the only time you've ever wished for her to lose a fight. But of course, it's the most important one she's won. 

   “Y/n?” Clint's voice calls out, cutting through your thoughts, but you don’t spare him a glance, you can’t. “Look, I know you're angry with me, and believe me, I’m angry too, but dinner is ready and you need to eat. You haven't had a proper meal, and Nat wouldn’t want that.”

   “Well, Nats not here, is she?”

   His face twists in agony, not that you see it though, your eyes are still glued to the ceiling, “No, she isn’t. But that doesn’t mean you can just give up”

  “Why not? She was my world, Clint. My whole damn world, and now she's not here and I’m just expected to carry on?” you angrily ask as tears once again cloud your vision

   “I know she was, and of course you're allowed to grieve and process all that we- that you lost. But, you can’t just sit here and rot away, not when she always wanted so much for you. And not when Yelena is out there somewhere desperately trying to get in touch with a sister who will never respond. She needs closure.” 

   “And I don’t?!” you shout, finally looking at him, “You think knowing what she died for, knowing I missed out on five years with her, and knowing that I’ll never be able to see her face again, hear her laugh, be the cause of her smile, or get to fucking say goodbye and I love her gives me closure?!”

   “I’m sorry”

   “No, you don’t get to be sorry, Clint! You don’t get to, because she deemed you important enough to die for, and your fucking family is all here, waiting for you at home! Mines gone! At the bottom of some damned magical cliff in space!” you shout, gaining the attention of some of the other heroes

   “Y/n” Sam says, brushing past Clint in your doorway to offer you support

   “He doesn’t get to be sorry, Sam! He's here, and she's not!”

   “I know sweetheart, I know” he soothes, grabbing ahold of your shoulders 

   “He won’t even go home to the family he so desperately wanted back! Instead he just mopes around here feeling guilty while he continuously talks to me and tries to give me care that I don't want or need!”

   Deep down, you knew it was unfair to be saying these things about Clint, and to him. After all, he had lost Nat too and had even had to witness it. And he was only trying to care for you because he knew how much you mattered to his best friend and that she would want you looked out for. But right now, you can't think that rationally. Because all you see when you look at him, is her. They were a matching set, so when you see him alone, all you feel is anger at the unfairness of it all. Which unfortunately, has you lashing out at the already guilt ridden archer

   “Y/n, he's just trying to do what he can” Sam interjects, trying to calm your misplaced rage, but Clint lifts his hands up

   “It’s fine Sam. She has every right to be angry, and she's right. I should go home. She doesn’t need me as a constant reminder looming over her.” the defeated man admits before sulking off to his room, likely to begin packing 

   You stand there a moment next to Sam, letting him rub your shoulder to offer what little comfort he can. He doesn’t say anything, partially because what could he possibly say that could take this pain from you, and partially because he knows that you regret how you just treated Clint

   “She admired you, you know” you say, breaking the silence

  “Who? Me?”

   You can’t help but smile at his state of surprise, “Yes, you. Right from the start you showed your bravery and you were always her ally. Even during the accords when everyone didn’t see eye to eye, everyone was still her family”

   “She was mine too. I regret not telling her how much I looked up to her, not just Steve.”

   “She knew” you admit, smiling at him sadly, “She never felt deserving of it, but she knew”

   Before the two of you can reminisce any further, there's a knock on your doorframe, and the super soldiers body comes into view “Hey guys”

   “Hey Bucky” you reply, giving him a halfhearted smile. The poor guy looks almost as bad off as you

   “Steves just about ready to leave if you guys want to, you know, say goodbye”

   You both nod and your stomach tightens in knots. How unfair that you were given a chance to say goodbye to a teammate but not the woman you loved. Fate really was cruel. Before you knew it, you were out at the time travel pad with Bruce, Steve, Sam and Bucky. Bruce gives you a look of sorrow, and you hate it. You hate that he knows exactly how you're feeling because at one point he cared about her too even if she didn’t return the feelings

   “You know, I tried” he says, “When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back”

   You nod in appreciation as your eyes fill with tears, and you try your best to blink them away, not wanting to once again break down in front of them. Eventually after some rather short but sweet words between Steve Bucky and Sam, he picks up the briefcase with the stones and heads for the pad. Bruce gives him specific instructions for returning them as Steve gets in the center of the pad next to Mojlnir and activates his quantum suit.

   “How long is this gonna take?” Sam asks, glancing over to Bruce

   “For him, as long as he needs. For us, five seconds” The machine powers up, the hammer, “Ready Cap? Okay, we’ll meet you back here, alright?”

   “You bet”

   “Three….Two…One” he counts down and the four of you watch Steve disappear into the past, “Returning in, five…four…three…two…one”

   Nothing happens and Bruce frantically checks over the equipment. You nervously shift on your feet as Sam looks over at the scientist, “Where is he?”

   Bruce can only shake his head, “I don’t know. He should be here”

   “Well get him back!” 

   “I’m trying!” 

   “Get him the hell back!” Sam shouts even louder this time, losing what little calm he had

   “Hey, I said I’m trying!” he replies, pressing a few buttons

   But as they argue, Bucky notices an old man on a bench nearby, and in his heart of hearts, he knows it's Steve, “Hey Sam!”

   Both men walk in that direction, leaving both you and the big green guy alone at the pad. You think you realize what's happening, and you're about to tell Bruce not to bother with the machine, that there's no one to bring back, when suddenly it proves you wrong by humming to life

   Someone appears in the middle of it then, and they stumble forward. You can tell by the size of the figure that it's definitely not Steve, which you knew, but the helmet of the quantum suit stops you from being able to tell who it actually is. Whoever it is then reaches up to take off the helmet, and when long red tresses fall out, you can practically feel your heart stop. The woman looks up then, to see where she was, and is met with your distraught tear stained face. A face she's longed to see, hold and kiss for five years now.

   “Y/n?” she asks, barley above a whisper as her own tears fall down her cheeks

   Your bottom lip trembles, “Natty?”

   “Oh, moya lyubov'(my love)” she exclaims, rushing over to envelope you in her arms. You don't even care that they’re almost crushing you, “I missed you so much. I never thought I’d see you again”

   You sob against her, clutching onto her suit with all your strength, “You never thought you’d see me?! Tasha, I never thought I’d see you! I came back after what only felt like five seconds and the whole world was different and you…you were gone”

   “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t let Clint-  ”

   “Why? God, Nat, I don’t want the man dead either, but if there was ever a time for you to be selfish, that would have been it!” you exclaim, slightly frustrated with her, “I mean did you even think of me? Of Yelena? What we’d do without you? How your absence would kill us?”

   “Of course I did detka(baby), but someone had to go”

   You sigh, “And why must that someone always be you? Why can’t you see that you are just as important as anyone else, that you matter to someone too?”

   “I just….the things I've done…”

    “Don’t matter anymore, Natasha! You wiped your ledger clean years ago, either in the Battle of New York or the Battle of Sokovia. You have nothing to atone for, and your family needs you, I need you. So please, I am begging you, never ever do something like that again.” you plead, cupping her face, “Because, while I’m sure five years without me was terrible, I can’t do forever without you. I can’t. Please don’t ask me to” 

   She surges forward, unable to stop herself from kissing the lips she's longed for, for so long. You happily indulge her in this, kissing back with a ferocity that conveyed all your emotions, from love to anger and sorrow. Eventually she pulls away from your lips, but keeps you close

   “You're right, I could stand to be a bit more selfish at times. I’m sorry I put you through that, Y/n. It won’t happen again, I promise. And I'm here now, ok? I’m right here”

   You nod, and hug her again, silently thanking all the gods in existence that somehow, someway, the woman you loved had been able to find her way back to you.

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[eganeyes]

thinking of vampires and werewolves integraded in the military clegan au im sighing in agony

werewolf!bucky vampire!buck ofc lets fall to the expected norms mainly because i am a dog coded bucky enthusiast and also as much as i think of buck as a doberman he's very much vampire coded

werewolf vampire feud being an actual and expected thing, the 100th being gunned from the beginning of the war as a trial unit to see how humans, vampires, and werewolves are able to work together. most units kind of failing at it because everyones too territorial, too much blood history, too blood-proud, and humans too cautious.

enter the 100th, always the outlier, ever the undisciplined.

officer training begins far before their assignment to the 100th, so the buckies meet each other first. born-werewolf currently lone-wolfing john bucky egan's proverbial but also quiet literal fur bristling when he firsts scents the air of his new base and zeroing on buck cleven, the vampire who's going to sleep on the bunk right next to him. millennia-old ice-cold buck cleven smelling the wet dog fur and hearing the low growls first before looking up from folding his handful of monogrammed kerchiefs to a werewolf standing by the bunk next to him, presumably assigned that bed.

buck promptly ignores the guy, which bucky doesn't take at all very kindly. john still gives the guy his name though, a week down the line, because, well, he's very pretty and very smart and very capable of putting bucky on his back.

werewolves being high in the sky is unheard of. bucky suffers through the 'trying to get closer to the moon?' jokes easily enough. no sun smiting vampires here btw, should i say they glitter like the cullens or nah. just the slightest glitter then, lets say that there's a glow when the sun hits their skin, vampires being the suns favorite child or something and when they die they return as ashes to the sun to give those vampire pilots some fear of flying too close to the sun.

complicated-relationship-with-the-moon werewolf bucky vs complicated-relationship-with-the-sun vampire buck oh the ache

but like more on the other guys because fuck clegan theyve caused me enough grief

werewolf dougie vs human blakely. sooo attached to dougley you don't understand. dougie imprinting on ev like a baby chick, scenting his clothes and his jacket and his pillows etc. blakely being sooo flustered the first time dougie actually greets him like pack—as in dougie touches his nose to the side of ev's nose, runs it to the side just before his ear, and down to his neck—face cherry red and spluttering while dougie just has the most satisfied cat-who-got-the-cream look in his face. maybe after their first successful bomb-drop practice mission? idk just obsessed with the image.

vampire duo crubbles, centuries of being together reflected on the way they're never apart on the ground. croz's diet has to be like incredibly precise and certain blood sits weirdly in his stomach so up in the air paired with the anxiety of being so close to the sun he's puking out anything that's left in his stomach. ms. jean crosby known keeper of both harry crosby and bubbles payne, only woman to keep those two in line, but nobody actually knows what she is.

another werewolf and vampire pair: hammy and brady. hammy being a werewolf disaster duo with dougie, squabbling and rucking up the base like pups, bucky having to snap at them to cut it out when he's also wagging his out-of-sight tail wanting to cause mayhem too but maybe not when some very important general is by the base yeah. brady just brings that vibes of being incredibly old and incredibly stuffy and incredibly stick-in-the-mud at first you know?? hammy first meeting his vampire pilot and scoffing because that's literally the stereotypical vampire he's shit upon pre-army. until he sees brady pilot. until his pilot manages to execute a move so beautiful he doesn't end up as a pile of burnt fur within minutes of a trial flight. until he sees john fucking brady crack a smile at him with the slight glitter of the dying sun caressing his skin. dougie, smelling this shit from literally 4 miles away groans because brother, really?

vampire!kenny stuck in the body of a 19 year old never to grow old, waiting for his passing from the sun whenever that is. very human very warm very kind rosie rosenthal easily grasping at kenny's ice-cold-yet-sun-blessed skin and sparks fly from the flat of the palm meeting rosie's and to the tips of his bronze burnt curls.

fiery human chick harding able to go toe-to-toe with wolves and vampires, mouth stretched wide the first time he has bucky egan sitting on his visitor's chair whose metabolism is working overtime trying to burn the devils piss of a hooch out of his system. meeting born-werewolf jack the next hour who's bucky's only equal in their eclectic werewolf pack—whose fur is clearly bristling from bucky grounding him but he clocks instantly that this were will be the one who will actually snap on his new boys' heels if they ever step out of line.

currently kind of obsessed with this aaaa might come back with other ships (demacon i Will love you into existence) when it hits (hopefully) probably when the bi!buck euphoria melts a bit

[doverstar]

THERE WAS NO OTHER ENDING FOR ROSE and ya know what, I like to think the doctor thinks so too

I think he does too! I’m gonna talk about it, are you ready for me to talk about it? Are you ready for an essay-

I think the Doctor would agree that the ending Rose got—the one with Tentoo on Pete’s World—was the best possible fate for her. I’ll explain why, because I feel like it. First I’ll break down Rose’s most popular alternative-endings. Let’s start with Rose-stays-with-him-until-she-dies. That’s the one Rose decided on long before Canary Wharf. She planned on staying with the Time Lord until she physically couldn’t anymore. Forever.

First of all, that would be painful for the Doctor. He already said it. Watching Rose get shot, drowned, stabbed, sucked into a black hole, sacrificed for a remote planet’s civilization, poisoned, pulled into a void, atomized, eaten, possessed, run over, diseased, or ripped apart would be traumatic and terrible for the Doctor.

Watching Rose grow old and tired and then die would also be incredibly painful. He might try to prolong her life in alien ways, even in medical ways, but then she’s subjected to an unnatural, un-human existence until death claims her. Making a naturally-decaying body stick around and eke out another year, another hour, another century while he watches, exactly the same as ever. Yikes. Not fun for either of them. No thank you. He was against that ending with good reason.

Now, this ending where Rose stays with him until she dies? It is no less an emotional commitment to make than the one every married couple on Earth, every affectionate relationship on Earth, makes. Friends, family, spouses. You will lose them. You have to decide to love them knowing that.

The Doctor does love Rose, but he can’t tell her or admit it aloud because to do that would be facing a reality he’s not willing to face: he loves something he will inevitably lose. The old coward will not do it.

I believe that if Rose wanted to stay with him until she died, knowing she has a shorter lifespan but committing to holding his hand until she could not hold it anymore because he needs that and she can give it to him, and she knows he loves her back—100% yes girl, go for it. That is good and right and fine and she should be allowed to make that commitment. That’s love. That’s literal marriage vows. That’s unconditional, unwavering, and Rose is the first companion in 60 years of TARDIS passengers to love him like that. And he knows it. And it’s scary. But. Even in marriage, that is a commitment that has to be agreed upon by both parties. And the Doctor did not agree. The Doctor, selfish old man, is too afraid. He doesn’t want to watch Rose die, and he tried to explain that to her without confessing anything, and she heard him and tried to explain to him that she decided he would always have her if she had anything to say about it, not for her sake, but for his. (“Who’s gonna hold his hand now?” “I made my choice a long time ago and I’m never gonna leave you.” “Forever.”)

Now. That’s the first option for an alternate ending for Rose. She stays with him as a mortal and he has to watch her die, and they either dance around expressing their love in an unspoken, inexplicit way until he loses her and it’s agony, or they jump in with both feet and enjoy the time they have left, however many days Rose has before death, with the knowledge and understanding that he will outlive her, which is agony but with kissing. Still not 100% happy because one of them is, well, in agony. With a significantly long life stretched out ahead of him to spend as a widower. And it would fundamentally change the nature of a 60-year-old television show, but that’s another Ask for another time. Next is the Immortal!Rose AU, or the Bad Wolf AU. Personally, I don’t care for this AU (though I get the appeal and I do sometimes wish it could be that way). I used to think it was a good idea, and sometimes it's still sweet and I can see it, but the older I got, the more I disagreed with it. Because really, it doesn’t work. The AU’s idea—or its most popular explanation—is that Rose, by absorbing the Time Vortex and looking into the heart of the TARDIS in The Parting of the Ways, retained one slice of her godlike powers: she became immortal. Even after the Doctor kissed her and took the Vortex away to save her. The most-used version of this is that neither Rose nor the Doctor are aware that Rose was left with immortality until Tentoo ages and she doesn’t, or her family ages and she doesn’t.

The reason why I don’t think the Doctor would ultimately want this ending for Rose? The Doctor himself would not recommend immortality. He knows it’s ultimately a devastating existence. He himself has a ridiculously-long lifespan. Time Lords are supposed to only have a certain number of regenerations, but each regeneration, if left to age naturally, lives a long freaking time. (With the new Timeless Child nonsense, who knows, apparently the Doctor exclusively is immortal? I pretend I do not see it.) And then if they should die of old age, they regenerate and another chapter of life begins. So the Doctor knows what it’s like to essentially be immortal. And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like watching his friends die around him. He doesn’t like knowing he will outlive the people and places he cares about. He hates it. “Immortality is everybody else dying.” “In the end you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust.” That last line, the Lazarus speech, sounds familiar because it’s something similar, interestingly, to what Rose said when she was the Bad Wolf. “Everything comes to dust.” Immortality is not a blessing. Immortality is absolutely a curse, and the show treats it like a curse. It’s not just never dying. Immortality is being alone and being unnatural. It’s bad. It’s not a good thing. If you were a 100% perfect person with a 100% perfect memory, it might be doable, but it’s not an easy existence. It sounds awful actually. We saw it with Ashildr (terrible idea). She’s miserable. She never really stops being miserable. Think about this: the Doctor is (kind of) immortal. He never stays in one place for too long, and he is careful to bring along far more mortal traveling companions wherever he goes. The Doctor once told Amy that he brought her with him because he can’t “see it” anymore (meaning the universe and its value), but he brings Amy and others with him because they can see it. “And when you see it, I see it.” What is everyone always telling him? Don’t travel alone. Not because he’s lonely—even though he totally is. It’s because when he is alone, the Doctor becomes a hazard, not a help. He starts to feel like he can do whatever he wants. I mean, think about it. He starts to feel like his judgement is infallible, because he’s basically a god, isn’t he? But no one should have that much power. It takes a lot to kill him, he’s a genius, and he has a time-and-space machine. What can’t he do? After a long, long, long time of living and being alone, essentially in an echo chamber with himself, the Doctor would lose empathy and compassion and humility just like anyone else. Because he’s not perfect. But he brings friends along to remind him he can stop now. To remind him we don’t walk away. To remind him that the universe has life in it that is worth saving, and that there is such a thing as right and wrong, and that he is not God, and that there is no such thing as little people. 900 years of time and space and he’s never met anybody who wasn’t important before. He needs his friends to hold him to the mark.

So—the Doctor knows that being immortal basically means that in the end you’ll see everything come to dust. If you’re not careful, you won’t be you anymore. And nothing and no one else will be themselves to you, either. You will lose the people/places you care about, and you will be alone, and you will stop caring. And then not only will you be wretched, you’ll be dangerous. Someone who doesn’t care is dangerous. It’s Ted Bundy. It’s evil. But it’s okay, I hear you saying. If they had each other, he would always have someone to hold him to the mark! Well - yes and then no - Think about Rose. Rose Tyler is a young human woman with so much empathy and sympathy. She is “so human”, in the Doctor’s own words. She is imperfect, and selfish, and petty, and easily angry and easily jealous. She is also impossibly compassionate, even towards the most ruthless murderous species. She’s kind and generous and brave and has a strong sense of justice. She’s often very selfless and very loving. Especially toward the Doctor. She values doing the right thing. A lot of those traits are found in the Doctor’s other friends (he chooses them with great care). But Rose is different. The Doctor is in love with Rose. And Rose is a lot of ‘firsts’ for Doctor Who. She’s the first companion to inspire change in a Dalek. She’s the first companion to tell him she’s in love with him. (Jo loved him, Sarah Jane loved him, Grace loved him, yes I know there were others.) She’s the first companion to be a real, proper onscreen equal to the Doctor, and not in a She’s Basically the Doctor But A Girl way, like Clara Oswald tried to be. She is not his assistant, his carer, his associate, his sidekick, his adoptive daughter, adoptive little sister, biological granddaughter, or his partner. Not to be Emily Bronte, but these two characters have the same heart. Like recognized like and fell in love. Perfect complementation. That is also another Ask for another time –

RTD said that Rose “humans [the Doctor] and he Time Lords her”. He brings out the courage and confidence in her that makes her so exceptional as a human, things that turn her into a hero, things she already had in her that the Doctor pulled forward. In turn, she brings out the compassion and humility in him that makes him a hero instead of a villain, things he always had in him that she pulled forward, adding humanity which would otherwise be easy for him to cast off.

But she can’t human him if she isn’t human anymore.

The things that make Rose an exceptional mortal would no longer be exceptional if she were immortal. The good traits would be a duty to retain, and the bad traits would be a poison to keep at bay. Because Rose is on a different level when it comes to her relationship with the Doctor, she could, for a time, help hold him to the mark. They would be exactly as we saw them in the show—passing by, helping out, saving the day, loving one another, making one another better. And then after eons go by, they would be each other’s echo chamber. Rose is the Doctor’s equal? Given eternity to stagnate in, what was once a strength would quickly become a weakness. Rose is not perfect and the Doctor is not perfect. Rose would not always be able to “see it” anymore either, even with the Doctor there. Same goes for him. They might be together forever, but Rose would be watching her mother, father, brother, friends, and family all age and die. She would hate that. But it would be okay because she has the Doctor, right? I agree with that. They have one another. So they’re never alone. That’s good. But Rose would not be a Time Lord. She’d be an immortal human. Ashildr 2.0, finite memory in an infinite body. She’d become detached, unable to appreciate the universe, and she’d stop investing in mortal relationships because they all end eventually. All she’d have would be the Doctor—and that’s wonderful, but after a while it would stop being a special thing that they have one another. Don’t look at me like that; it would. Okay, no – no - even if the Bad Wolf powers allowed Rose to have an infinite memory to go with her infinite body, fine, let’s say they did, she and the Doctor would still end up with “a backyard” as Eleven called it.

And eventually they would both think that the two of them, together, have the best judgement in the universe and should be treated as gods, and they will stop caring (except about each other, which doesn’t sound good for all the little people who are not part of that relationship, can you say unhealthy?). Or else they will become enemies, the way the Master and the Doctor became enemies. Or they won’t be able to travel with one another indefinitely, the way Ashildr, the Rani, River, Clara, and Romana can’t travel with the Doctor indefinitely. Because it would become toxic for everyone. And they would be back to being miserable, wouldn’t they?

(And – again -  let me finish beating this tiny horse here: if you think Rose Tyler would heal fairly quickly - say, ten centuries in - and warm up to the reality that she has outlived other humans because she is really no longer human, we aren’t thinking of the same Rose Tyler.)

The Doctor would not wish the curse of the Time Lords on anybody, especially not the woman he loves. He would not agree that immortality is the happiest ending for Rose, or even for himself and Rose. There’s a very real chance that immortality would ruin Rose. He wouldn’t do that to her. He loves her.

And here we go, here’s my freaking point - The Doctor loves Rose. So he would give her what she wants, even if it means sacrificing what he wants. Putting her needs before his own. That’s love. She knows that; she was trying to do that for him the whole time!

But what does Rose want? Adventure in the great wide somewhere? No. Rose wants love. Rose wants the assurance of real, true love. Rose wants to love and be loved. And when she finds that, she is darn good at it, and she will do her best to keep it. AND THAT IS ANOTHER ASK FOR ANOTHER TIME, HOOOO BOY DON’T POKE ME- The Doctor cannot give Rose what she wants using himself, or even the thing that will make him happy too, for a time—because to outlive her would be absolutely terrible, and they both know it, and because he will not put her through the curse of immortality. (She doesn’t want to live forever anyway.)

But he can give her what she wants in the form of Tentoo. Are you kidding me? A 100% exact copy of the Doctor? The same face, same mannerisms, same hair? All the memories of loving her and longing for her in his head? And he only has one heart? He’ll grow old at the same time as Rose does? Plus, hi, he actually was born in mini wartime and needs the very influence Rose provided for his ninth self? Come on. What else was he going to do? Of course the Doctor and Tentoo gave her this chance. When Rose asks him “What was the last thing you said to me?” The Doctor could have said “I love you”. He was going to say it. It is canon that he was going to say that he loved her if the connection hadn’t been severed the first time. And for him to say it then, they both knew, would have been all Rose needed to hear. She would have gone with him and Donna and died. Or gone with him and Donna and become immortal somehow, hey I hear there are these random Mire repair kits kicking around out there in the universe, they make people immortal, funny we never saw them before now, I hate you Moffat- But he didn’t say it. He said “I said ‘Rose Tyler’.” And she gives him one more chance to say it. “How was that sentence gonna end?” “Does it need saying?” Well, no, it doesn’t. We’re not asking you to confirm it. She’s not asking you to confirm it. It never needed saying. You both knew it was love. We knew it was love. A hundred times over, it was love on display.

But she is asking him to make a choice—and he chooses to let her go because he loves her.

It’s not a question of love. They give each other a chance, both of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Rose had no choice. She asked both of those Doctors to tell her they loved her, and she chose the one that said it out loud, after learning her options. She learned one of them would grow old and was offering to spend forever with her if she wanted. She learned that one of them was genuinely choosing not to say he loved her on purpose.  She made an informed decision. (Yes, she ran after the TARDIS when it left. Wouldn’t you?) The Doctor would agree that Tentoo is the best ending for Rose. Tentoo would agree (because he is the Doctor, and bonus, he gets to have Rose Tyler). Because this, this ending where she gets Tentoo, which is our fancy term for differentiating between two versions of exactly the same man, don’t go there with me-

This ending where she gets Tentoo is genuinely what she always wanted. She didn’t want to live forever. She didn’t want a boring life, but she didn’t desperately want adventure over all else. She wanted love. That’s an adventure anyway. Love. And she loved the Doctor. And she got to have the Doctor, and not lose him, or watch him lose her. And the Doctor, our full Time Lord Doctor, had the assurance of knowing that he did the best he could do for the woman he loved.

(Plus, because yes please, in an official deleted scene which has been confirmed to be intended as canon, Tentoo and Rose have a chunk of TARDIS coral and are growing their own, so they get to see the universe too, so you can’t even complain that all is not as it should be in that sense.) It is sad, because the full Time Lord has to carry on without her (that’s how the story always goes for him, and it should be because without loving and losing, an immortal alien will not have the periodic wake-up call he needs to remember that there is value in people and in relationships and in caring), and it’s sad because Rose won’t see him again, and it’s sad because we won’t really see Rose again. But for her, it is the best ending. It is the kindest, fairest ending. And I think the Doctor would agree.

[magiccath]

It had to be you

tenth doctor x GN!reader

summary: what if it had been you in the radiation cell instead of Wilf?

A/N: sorry not sorry for this one

You really didn’t mean to get trapped. 

There were two glass cells. At least one of them needed to be operated at all times for the alien machinery to work. To open one door, you had to press a button in the opposite cell. 

There had been a man, a terrified civilian, stuck in one of the boxes. So you did what you always did - saved the civilian without really thinking. Now, you were stuck.

You supposed it was all fine now, though. The Time Lords had left, pushed back into the time vortex by the Doctor. All was well, right?

“Doctor?” you asked, your voice shaky “If you could let me out.” 

He turned his attention to you, his face riddled with sadness. You didn’t understand why he was so upset. All he needed to do was use the Sonic to unlock the door. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling sadly. 

“There’s… well there’s a bit of a noise going on in here. Can you please get me out?” you asked, worry seeping into your voice. You didn’t want to seem too scared, but you were.

“The Master left the nuclear bolt running. It’s gone into overload,” He explained, but not like he usually did. There was no childish excitement, and his words were slow and simple. He never explained things like this to you, and it worried you. 

“Is that bad?” 

“No, ‘cause all the excess radiation gets ventilated inside there,” he gestured to the cell next to you. “Vinvocci glass contains it.” You didn’t completely understand the mechanics of it, but his tone suggested it wasn’t the best thing. 

“All 500,000 rads about to flood that thing,” he continued 

“Oh,” you laughed anxiously, “you better let me out then.” 

“Except it’s gone critical. Touch one control and it floods,” he pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, “even this would set it off.” He twisted the tool in his hands, staring at it with a disappointment you had never seen before. 

That’s when it occurred to you. To open the door, he would have to step into the radiated cell. If he tried to use the sonic, it would flood your own cell with radiation. He couldn’t get you out without killing himself in the process. 

Of course, this is how you would die. Helping someone else. The universe was incredibly cruel at times. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Just leave me.” 

“Ok, right then, I will.” He laughed and began to walk away and for a minute you really believed he might leave you there. You weren't even mad. After a few steps, he spun back around.

“You just had to go in there didn’t you?” He laughed, but it didn’t seem funny to you. 

“You had to go and get stuck!” He shouted, voice cracking with pain. He was sad, and he was angry, and those things made him cruel. You knew this, but that didn’t make it hurt any less for you. 

“There was a man in here, he was scared,” you gasped, “I couldn’t just leave him.” 

“Cause that’s who you are!” The Doctor cried, throwing his hands up. He was right - that’s who you were. Something that only a few hours ago he had loved you for. Now, he seemed to resent it.

“Really,” you said, “just leave me. We’ve had our times. I can be done now.” You meant it. It had been a good run, but all things ended.

“No,” He laughed, “we could do so much more,” He screamed, tears gathering in his eyes. 

“So much more!” He shouted, looking up at the ceiling in agony.

“But this is what I get,” He sneered, “My reward.” 

“Well, it’s not fair!” He screamed, throwing a bunch of nearby objects off a desk. You had never seen him this distraught. He was such a peaceful, happy man. 

He was panting now, tears streaming down his face. The worst part was, you were stuck. There was nothing you could do to help him. Nothing you could do to calm him down. You were helpless.

“Doctor,” you begged, fighting back your own tears. 

He ignored you and started walking towards the cell. He had made up his mind, it was better to lose himself than lose you. He could never lose you. Ever. You were the most important thing in his life. “No! No!” you shouted, throwing your hands out, “Please! Please don’t!” you cried. He continued to ignore you, facing forward in a stoic manner. 

You sobbed, no longer caring about staying strong. You couldn’t let him do this. Not for you. 

“It’s been an honor,” he whispered sadly, hand resting on the opposing cell door. You shook your head, tears staining your cheeks as you silently begged him to stop. 

“Better make it quick,” he said before throwing the door open and stepping inside. 

You rushed out of the cell, knowing it would be all kinds of foolish to stay inside. You were mad at him, so incredibly mad for choosing your life over his own. 

Almost immediately, the Doctor began groaning in pain. He clutched the walls of the cell, scraping for any kind of support as the radiation coursed through his body. His knees gave out, causing him to fall to the floor. His hand dragged along the glass as he fell. 

You couldn’t take it, you rushed over to the cell. You placed your hands on the glass, desperately wanting to do something. Anything that could take the pain and suffering away. 

“No!” you shouted, banging against the glass as hard as you could. It wasn’t a pretty picture. In fact, it was far from it. Tears streamed down your face, and not in an elegant way. You screamed at the top of your lungs, guttural sounds that were painful to hear coming from your own mouth. Your hands banged against the glass. You knew it was futile, but that didn’t stop you from doing it. 

You couldn’t bear to see him like this. 

He curled up in a ball on the floor, gripping his hair in excruciating pain.

At that moment, you would have done anything to stop it. It could play out a thousand different ways, and in every scenario, you would much rather be the one in pain. 

Just as soon as it had started, it all stopped. The system shut down, and the Doctor’s body began to relax. You stopped your banging, stunned by the sudden calm. The room was painfully silent, your screams replaced with nothingness. The silence was deafening. 

Slowly, the Doctor got up from the floor and looked around at the controls in the cell. You couldn’t bring yourself to stand up.

“Systems dead. I absorbed it all. Whole things kaput,” he said, like it meant nothing. 

You sniffled the rest of your tears down, using the rest of your strength to pull yourself up from the floor. You didn’t know how to react. 

He pushed the door open with ease, “Oh, now it opens,” he laughed. 

He looked the same. He hadn’t regenerated or died. He looked… fine. 

“Are you ok?” you asked. The Doctor didn’t respond, he didn’t really know how to. 

You couldn’t believe it. He was fine, he was really, truly, fine. You threw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could. He allowed one of his arms to gently wrap around your waist to support you. 

You kissed him, and then you did it again. And again. And when you had exhausted that, you leaned your forehead against his, gasping for breath. 

“You’re fine,” you whispered, closing your eyes. He was fine. Your Doctor, safe in your arms. The two of you would be ok. It was going to be ok.

You pulled back to examine him, to make sure he really still was your Doctor. A part of you still didn’t believe that it was ok. That he was ok.

“Only a few battle scars to show for it,” you laughed, running your fingers gently over his cheekbone, careful not to touch his cuts.

When you pulled your hand away the Doctor grunted and ran his own hand over his face. When it pulled away, all of his wounds were gone. 

“Doctor?” you gasped, horrified. You slipped out of his arms, your feet planting themselves back on the floor. 

It didn’t take long for the Doctor to realize why you were upset. He looked down at his hand, all signs of injury erased. 

He took a deep, shaky breath, “it’s started.”