#drabble? don't know her

[mothmothmothmothmothmoth]

@angel-eyes-and-devil-hearts

Doodles for On the Run!!! It's taken up so much space in my brain recently <3

[fbfh]

Hey! Could you please do some headcannons of cuddling with Jay from descendants?

Thank you!

oh fuck yes baby boy NEEDS a snuggle so fuckin bad. Jay is SO motherfucking - his full name is Janasheen Lagmani Mufti btw (successor, born at nightfall, one who gives council or legal advice) - Jay is SO motherfuckin touch starved that he'll get injured on purpose just so he can feel you touch him up. After a while you start to catch onto this because you don't have the heart to tell him he's not quite as slick as he thinks he is. So OBVIOUSLY I have a medieval game OBVIOUSLY I have a jousting game the only way you're gonna get him to turn into your snuggly lil bunbun (yes he does insist you call him that after you say it once as a joke and he loses his mind) is to make him think YOU'RE really the one who needs cuddles. like of course you're feeling kinda sad and tired from all your schoolwork so of COURSE you need a big strong tough cool guy star of the tourney team to make you feel all safe and cozy. obviously it's TOTALLY for your benefit. not at all because Jay was not hugged once as a child! that's hilarious and true and totally not the reason at all! I just washed my hands that's why they're wet! no other reason!

but yeah once you actually start cuddling with him it's going to take approximately less that six seconds for him to become a total and complete velcro boyfriend. it takes longer to watch any vine in existance than it does for Jay to latch onto you like a small baby bird. he did not know that touchy feely stuff could be so... nice. especially when it's with you. he tried giving Carlos and Evie and Mal bear hugs between classes when he's away from you and it was good, but it wasn't the same. Maybe it's because Carlos still thinks he's going to get suplexed whenever Jay grabs him like that or maybe it's because Mal keeps asking if he huffed her spraypaint and that's why he's so huggy out of nowhere (Evie doesn't mind too much as long as he doesn't wrinkle her outfits or mess with her hair and makeup. she actually approves of you two and likes that you're bringing out Jay's more affectionate side. she makes a mental note to give you the friends and family discount on any future designs you order from her.) but shortly after that first time you snuggled up with Jay and had him tell you all about the video games he's been playing and about tourney practice he's full on addicted to your touch and cuddles. Coach sometimes has to pull you off your extra curriculars to give Jay hugs and kisses during practice when he cops an attitude or gets too rowdy. you're known as the Jay whisperer immediately and believe me the nickname sticks. Carlos asks what the hype is once and you give him head scratches and he understands.

[kangaracha]

Felix + focus

(this is actually written by @keepswingin, who gained access to my blog for five minutes and decided she wanted my prompts list)

---

It's bad luck, and you know it's bad luck, but you can't stop yourself from sneaking across the hall as soon as nobody is looking. You close the door as quietly as possible behind you and turn around, fully prepared to tease your husband to be, only to find him standing before the mirror, shakily adjusting his tie.

Felix is muttering to himself as he struggles with keeping his hands steady, smoothing them down the sides of his pants, once, twice, three times, and then he catches your eye in the mirror, and he freezes, and something about it reminds you of a deer caught between bright headlights.

"Sorry," you giggle, approaching him with your heart thumping wildly in your chest because this is actually happening, and he's going to be what you wake up next to every morning, and those hands will help you cook dinner and those eyes will look at you and call you beautiful and - and you're getting carried away. "I couldn't wait." 

You reach out for his hand as soon as you're close enough, twining your fingers together. You can still feel him shake despite it, and the small smile he gives you is wobbly at the corners, and his eyes are crinkled in that anxious way that he claims he doesn't do, and you tug him closer, reaching your other hand up to curl around his cheek. 

"Hey," you whisper, his eyes catching yours. "You're okay. Everything's okay. Focus. Focus on me." You press your forehead against his and hear his chest stutter with a long exhale. "I'm right here." 

"I'm sorry," he says as soon as he's able to, blinking fast. Leave it to him to apologize over things that don't require one. "I was just - my mom left to go find something, and I was standing here alone and I just got to thinking and then I - " Another breath, this one calmer than the last. "I just don't want to mess anything up. On our day." 

"You could never ruin our day," you tell him, and then your smile grows because you can't help yourself and he knows how you are. "Even if you did, I'd still treasure it all the same." 

It does work in dragging a laugh out of him, genuine and carefree. "You're going to make me worry all over again," he throws back gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're beautiful, by the way." 

"Can you still act surprised when you see me walk out? My mom already threatened me," you ask, and then his lips pull into a smile you'll never forget as he moves closer, lips brushing lightly against your own. 

"My mom threated me too," he admits quietly, and then he's kissing you, and you can't help but wonder how any of this could ever be bad luck when it's the luckiest you've ever felt. 

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — blind spot.

JANUARY 11, 1986

The key turns in the front door, the winter chill rushing into the house. A moment later, the hall light turns on.

“Mom? You awake?” 

Sylvia smiles at the sound of her son’s voice, putting down her crochet things on the end table.  

“We’re in here, Georgie!” 

Carefully, she stands, easing her grandson’s head off her lap and tucking a pillow underneath. She’s pretty sure the kid must’ve been an acrobat in another life; there’s no way he’d be able to sleep all twisted up like a pretzel otherwise. She readjusts the blanket she’d put over him, smoothing down his hair, before meeting her son and daughter-in-law halfway.

“Well, how was the party?” she asks, leaning up against the breakfast bar as George and Lorraine hang up their coats. “You two crazy kids have fun hobnobbin’ with the head honchos at Simon & Schuster?” 

“It was nice, Mom, thanks,” George answers, way too dismissively for a party he’d been talking about for weeks, full of editors and publishers and everything he’d always dreamed of, “but–”

“How was Marty?” Lorraine interrupts, urgently.

Here we go. Finally, some answers.

“Lorrie, honey, you know Artie and I always love bein’ with the kids,” Sylvia begins, and she meant it, even though Artie had called it a night about three hours ago and was now snoring loud enough to shake the walls, “but seventeen goin’ on eighteen’s a little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, we’ve just been so worried about him, Sylvia,” Lorraine pleads, eyes wide. “We… we didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone.” 

“For the last few months,” George elaborates, wrapping an arm around his wife and holding her close, “he hasn’t been himself. He doesn’t sleep, he’s been having nightmares… he’s been having memory problems, too, and I know he’s a teenager, but sometimes he’ll get in his own head and it’s like… he’s not even here, like he goes somewhere else instead.”

“He’ll get so confused,” Lorraine agrees, “and-and he used to love thunderstorms but now he’s just so afraid of them and... other things… sometimes it even feels like he's afraid of us…” She bites her lip and buries herself into George. 

It breaks Sylvia’s heart to see them like this; in mourning for the boy who’s alive and breathing and fast asleep on the couch. Just a few hours ago her and Marty were singing along to the radio while making dinner and laughing until they cried trying to play games on his Nintendo while eating Lucky Charms by the bowlful.

“We must’ve missed something,” George murmurs, “something must’ve happened to him and we missed it somehow.”

“We’ve just been so busy,” Lorraine laments, “too busy. I-I thought it was the stress… with college applications and everything changing… but even Jennifer and Doctor Brown don’t know what’s wrong.”  

Sylvia isn’t quite sure she buys that. 

She may not know a lot of things, but she does know that Carl Sagan from 1931 certainly doesn’t look like that nice young man on PBS from a couple years back but did look a whole lot like that whiz kid Emmett and even more like her grandson’s best friend, that nice Doctor Brown, that Emmett grew up to be. 

She also knows that Sonny Crockett (who is pretty much all they talked about at dinner tonight) is from one of Marty’s favorite shows, not that kid from 1931 with her grandson’s sweet blue eyes and a fake mustache.

She even remembers George begging her and Artie to help him get all dolled up for some dance at the last minute and talking all about how he wasn’t going with a date but he was going to meet up with his new friend Marty there.

Not to mention the date on that Bubble Bobble game of his is two years from now.

When you grow up around liars and cheats, you get to be really good at noticing things. 

“So how was he tonight?” George asks again. “Really?”

“Georgie, sweetheart, he was fine,” Sylvia emphasizes. “We had a great time. As for the other stuff… Remember what you were like when you were his age? I sure do. Any time your dad and I got near ya we’d have to promise we weren’t tryin’ to look in your journals. Even if we were just givin’ you a hug!”

They crack a smile at this, George at least having the decency to look sheepish.

“Whatever’s going on with Marty,” she continues, “he’ll tell ya when he’s good and ready. And remember: you’re great parents. He loves you. He’d do anything for you. Just be there for him until then and let him know that you love him too. No matter what.”

Sylvia looks over her shoulder at her sleeping grandson, a fond smile and a mischievous look in her eye.

We got a lot to talk about, kiddo. I’m ready when you are.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

71 - Off-Script

It's okay.... it's okay! I've been over this countless times before - read all the books, rehearsed all my lines... I'm good! I can do this! Just... step out into the big wide world, put on my biggest smile... it really is that simple! Literal child's play!!

So why... why am I struggling so much...?

Why don't they respond the way I was told they would? Why is it so... so hard to even look at them sometimes? A-and why is there this tightness in my chest, constricting my heart with every forced laugh and every unexpected turn?

The thing is, it... always works out. It never is as bad as I fear it will be. Sometimes it's even... fun? Yes, fun! Yet still the facade almost slips whenever she grabs me by the hand, or whenever they reach out to hug me, and I feel like I'm about to die because this wasn't in the script no-one told me this is what it'd be like-!!!

...but I can't ever - not ever, not even once! - let my performance slip. If... if they see me for what I really am, then it'll all be over, and I can't... I've g-got to be strong - I've got to be brave because I told them we're heroes, and heroes are brave and strong, aren't they? They don't let anything hurt them - especially not something as stupid and insignificant as this! I won't let them down... not for anything. Not even for myself.

Because the show must go on, no matter how far it goes off-script.

______________________________

The Dark Menagerie No. 71

<-<-First || <-Prev || Next-> || Index

[sso-montana]

Seven times Montana unconsciously realizes what home feels like (and one time Justin does)

Word count: 2k+, Rating: General

The first night in her grandma's house she tosses and turns, unable to find a comfortable spot on the mattress in her mom's old room. It feels like an eternity has passed when she finally gives up and instead turns to the window looking over the pasture not too far away. She can see the horses, a few Jorvik Warmbloods, some English Thoroughbreds and a Shire dozing under the silver moonlight. The more she stares out her window the stronger the longing in her chest seems to grow. It's almost if the horses are calling out to her. Wouldn't that be silly?

Within the matter of seconds she slipped into a pair of old sneakers and out the door, still in her pajamas and her headphones and phone in hand as she heads straight for the pasture. The horses would make much better company than the spiders in the corner of her mom's old room, that Montana was sure of. Nothing more to it than that.

Leaning over the wooden fence the Shire she had seen earlier lifts his head from where he's grazing before walking towards her. Luckily it was a full moon that night, otherwise it would've been even harder to see the dark coat against the night sky. As she carefully reached out a hand the Shire curiously sniffs at her palm, warm air grazing her skin as he exhaled. She can't help but smile as the horse let out an unsatisfied snort when she pulled back her hand just to change his mind and perk his ears up once she started climbing on top of the fence.

As soon as she is sitting on top of the wooden railing the Shire gently nudged his head against her chest, making her smile even more as she started to pet his nose again.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

Two months after arriving back on Jorvik she is sitting dumbfounded on the cobblestone path between silvergladd and moorland. There had been these weird, shadowy figures that had popped up out of nowhere- ever changing shapes of dark matter and glowing red eyes that had whispered her worst fears seemingly straight into her head.

And there had been a blinding pink light coming straight from the palm of her hands as she tried to block them from coming at her. After that the creatures had vanished just like that, as if they had never been there in the first place. While she was staring at her palms in confusion Onyx trotted back over to her, his nose gently nudging her head before nibbling at her purple locks. He looks almost worried once she turns her head around to scold him, making her pause with her mouth wide open to tell him to stop eating her hair goddamnit-

They stare at each other for a couple seconds before Onyx lets go of her hair and exhales softly, big brown-green eyes looking at her with even more concern, almost as if to ask “are you okay?”. With an exasperated sigh Montana leans the side of her head against his nose, raising one arm to pet the side of his neck as she again stares at the spot where those creatures just had been.

The thought of them doesn't frighten her nearly as much as it had without Onyx by her side.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

Three hours after running away leaving the Dark Core HC Montana can still feel the stinging pain in her chest. Like a thousand fine needles being stuck into her heart and lungs. Her knuckles turn almost white as her grip on the bathroom sink tightens while another wave of pain ripples through her. Not only had she failed to convince Justin to come back home, she also managed to break her magic. How fucking pathetic was that? Outside she can hear bits and pieces if the conversation taking place; her Grandma and Yuka giving Thomas the “magic exists” talk while at the same time trying to give the least heart attack inducing version of what had happened with her and where Justin was.

Looking up from the white marble sink Montana doesn't recognize the hot pink eyes staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. The glowing birthmark on her chest seems to almost pulse with her heartbeat, almost in sync with the headache she had developed on the way back home.

By the time she comes out of the bathroom her and Thomas are the only ones left in the house. Going into the kitchen there is a bag of medicine, undoubtedly left by her grandma, on the dinner table next to two cups of hot cocoa. Thomas is siting at the table, a worried expression on his face as he looks at her and-

She can't look at him. Not after failing to bring Justin back. Not after being deathly afraid that he's going to kick her out and-

Gentle hands placed on her shoulders, her name being called out in a soft, low voice. She shakes her head from side to side, eyes firmly fixated on the ground.

“It's not your fault.” Makes her eyes burn. “I'm not not mad at you.” Lifts a bit of the weight off her shoulders that had threatened to crush her.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

It's four minutes after they're back at Moorland Stables that Thomas pulls Justin into a hug. The soft smile on Montanas lips is just the tiniest bit tinted with sadness. She's happy for them, really, but the pang in her chest as she realizes that she'll never have this again still hurts. As Justin wraps his arms around his dad she can't take it anymore and decides to look at the ground instead, arms crossed and praying that they can't see how her smile turns just a tad bit bitter.

Suddenly there's an arm around her shoulders gently pulling her forward. Before she can even comprehend what's going on she's pressed against Thomas' side, Justin against the other, as he calls them “my children” and talks about how “you're going to be the cause of all my gray hairs”. The hug is warm and gentle. Like the hugs her mom had given her as a kid. Exactly how she had always imagined a hug from a dad would feel like. Loving. Caring.

It's almost enough to make her cry, almost. She tells herself she doesn't, even as her eyes start to sting and she hides her face in Thomas' jacket. Even when Justin wraps his arm around her back and she uncrosses her arms to do the same, her hand gripping the back of his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping her from crumbling to the ground.

And if there are a few tears she didn't manage to hold in neither Justin nor his dad commented on them.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

By the end of the party there are only five people left in the living room, excluding Montana herself. Jasper was sitting in the armchair next to the couch, where she had been sandwiched between Justin and her grandma, while Yuka was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of her. Thomas was putting a CD into the DVDplayer, something about her “final birthday present” that he and Justin had been so secretive about.

To say she was surprised to see a video of her toddler self play would've been the understatement of the past decade. What surprised her even more was the videos that followed, clips from past birthdays and her playing in her grandma's garden as a kid. She and Justin both smiling to show their missing teeth and her standing on a stool to help her grandma bake. Clips from the place she and her moms had lived at, of forests in Germany and bustling cities in Japan. Montanas freshly dyed hair and how happy she had looked after seeing herself in the mirror for the first time. Her moms and her at karaoke and so, so much more.

She hadn't looked at any videos of them since the accident. To hear their voices and see their faces-

Despite her burning eyes she keeps looking at the screen in front of her. She can feel Justin's arm around her shoulders, her grandma taking her hand and squeezing gently while Yuka pats her leg from their spot on the floor.

Because it doesn't stop with clips of her and her moms. There are clips of her complaining as she's grooming Onyx, of her, Justin, Maya and messing around in the hayloft and throwing hay at Alex who was holding the camera. Videos of Josh teaching her how to line dance and his terrible attempts at hip-hop. Lisa and her just sitting around while Alex was making jokes about the “emo invasion” on Jorvik. The time Loretta had convinced her to wear one of the bobcat jackets. Clips of Trail Rides and bonfires and festivals. Her and Onyx cuddling on the fields over at South Hoof.

By the time the video ends Montana is trying, and failing, to wipe away the stream of tears flowing down her face. The watery “I'm happy. Really, really happy.” Seems to kill any “are you okay.” questions that were just about to be spoken out loud.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

Six days. Montana had been stuck in bed for six days when she finally decides enough is enough. Her body should've had more than enough rest by now. Kicking her legs over the edge of her bed and firmly planting her feet on the ground she's confident in her abilities to get to the stables by herself.

By the time her legs are shaking uncontrollably she's still two steps away from the first floor. It was so, so frustrating to not be able to do anything. Hell, she couldn't even walk down one flight of stairs without her legs trembling like the ones of a newborn foal. After the last two steps are behind her and her feet touch the wooden floor her legs ultimately give out. Leaning against the wall, exhausted and angry- no furious- she wants nothing more than to cry and scream and curse out whatever gods would listen. It takes all the self control she has to not give in to her anger and start punching the wall or hitting her head against it out of frustration. Why, why did she have to be this broken?

She just wanted to see Onyx.

It's a matter of second before a door down the hallway opens and Thomas walks out, his expression confused as he searches for the sound of the commotion her fall must've made. As soon as he spots Montana sitting on the ground his confusion turns into concern, calling out her name as he swiftly walks over to where she was sitting. Once she explains what happened Thomas shakes his head, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he offers to piggyback her to the living room. To let her rest and later ask Justin to go with her to the stables.

She buries her head in his shoulder as they walk down to the first floor, arms tightening around his neck as she lets out the softest “Thanks, dad.”

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

It's seven am when Montana cracks her eyes open, groggy and grumpy as she turns away from the clock on her nightstand to hide her face in the warm chest next to her. A low hum that she can feel more than she can hear comes from Justin before a hand reaches up and carefully starts detangling her hair, mindful of all the curls and knots that had formed through the night. Their legs move and rub against each other as the both of them shift into a more comfortable positions for laying on their side. Montana pulls the blanket back up to her shoulders (which meant it was barley able to reach Justin's middle.

They lay like this for a few more minutes, warm skin pressed against each other before Justin ultimately rolls over onto his chest. But not before wrapping his arm around Montanas waist to pull her with him so that she's laying atop of him. With a sigh and bleary eyes she lifts her head from his chest to look up at him. His hair is a mess of dark brown curls and the white streak in his bangs. The look in his eyes and idiotic smile can't be classified as anything else but love and, for once, the though doesn't terrify her. Quite the opposite, she can't help but match that stupid smile of his as he leans forward and presses his lips against her forehead. His hands move from her waist to the mattress, pushing himself up and giving him a more comfortable angle to scatter kisses all over her face. Nose and cheek, cheekbones and chin, under her eyes and on the corners of her mouth. Everywhere he presses his lips against her skin there's a tingling feeling that's certainly not coming from his stubble. Really, it's almost comical how hard he tries to not scratch her face that Montana can't tell if it's that or the kisses themselves that make her giggle.

After finally having enough of his endless teasing she takes his face in her hand, presses their lips together.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

It takes one offhanded comment to the mom of one of the summer camp girls for the news to spread like wildfire. The second Alex had heard the words “my wife” leave Justin's lips she had almost jumped him. To say him and Montana had been bombarded with texts and phone calls would've been an understatement.

Neither of them had wanted a big party or wedding in the first place. Not to mention how spontaneous the whole thing had been. Heck, they hadn't started to wear wedding rings until three weeks after the documents had been signed (Montana insisted she make them herself, what good was being a blacksmith if she couldn't even make her own wedding ring?). Not having had a big wedding ceremony hadn't been a problem for either of them, rather they had welcomed it. It was something they had done for themselves and themselves only.

Still, dancing and laughing together under the glow of the lanterns they had hung up in Mrs. Holdsworth garden, the laughing and chattering of their friends and family around them wasn't half that bad. Not to mention how ethereal Montana (his wife. His wife. He still had a hard time wrapping his head around that fact) looked in the black and magenta dress she wore.

All they had gone through, everything that had happened, having Montana smile at him, a smile that he could only compare to the one she had had when they were kids, eyes filled with love and pure, genuine happiness, made it all worth it. Her laugh as he picks her up and spins her around is heavenly.

The smiles don't leave their lips even after Justin sets her back down again and she pulls him into the millionth kiss that night.

[therantingsage]

Ok I've been playing Slay the Princess and I feel like if you removed all the romantic subtext it really feels like the hero and the princess have N and Cyn vibes (or rather the other way around? idk). Like just in the inherent stress and tragedy of it all.

Two pairs of inherently connected characters, forced into a cycle of hurt, and pain, and desperation. Trapped. She's capable of immense cruelty and yet...still such a terrible victim of circumstance. You can't help but want to save her even though it can and will end in your own demise.

N's just that kinda guy about all the people he cares about tho so you could probably make the princess just about any character he cares about and the theming would be the same. But Cyn specifically in that kind of role is the most compelling to me. Change the romantic vibes to family ones and it just.....fits really well

Brainrot says make a crossover au. Also a platonic version of the Slay the Princess situationship genuinely sounds interesting to write and yet....I'm too busy writing one MD au thingy so I don't have the brainspace to write another :/ guess I'll just think about it

[autumn-foxfire]

"Do you have to put him to sleep everytime?" Ran asked as she arranged her father's sleeping form into something that looked less like he was deep in the land of dreams and more into the hunched sitting pose that Shinichi usually had him in.

Shinichi huffed and jumped off the chair he had been standing on to help prepare the trick to prove the murderer's guilt. "It's better than him accusing every other person of murder."

"Oi! That's my dad you're talking about!" Ran snapped, shooting a glare at the shrunken teen, "He just wants to catch the criminal!"

Shinichi winced, "He can do so without sprouting everything that comes to mind..." he grumbled.

Ran looked back at her father with a guilty frown, "Can't you-I dunno, lead him to the correct answer without doing this?" she asked.

"It's not that I don't try, Ran," Shinichi sighed, the guilt and upset on Ran's face making his own stomach twist with the emotions, "It's just easier to do this most of the time... besides, the old man gets all the credit for it! He's gotten a lot more work since we started doing this too! Plus people listen when we use his voice, when it's just me..."

"You get ignored, I know," Ran whispered.

Shinichi bit his lip as the guilt refused to lessen, "I'll try to guide him more on cases, when he lets me," he said, "But I can't promise anything."

A small smile returned to Ran's face, "Thank you, Shinichi."

[appalachianapologies]

[random drabble to get you through the day]

“I was able to hack her stuff pretty easily.”

“That didn’t take long.” 

Riley sends Mac a look. “I’m sorry, have we met? Riley Davis, hacker extraordinaire.”

Rolling his eyes, Mac replies, “You know what I mean. What’d you find?”

“The usual. For a double or triple or quadruple—or whatever type of agent she is—Nikki doesn’t encrypt her files as much as she should. I’ve already sent the juicy stuff to Patty.”

“Nice.” Giving a nod, Mac pulls a spare wheeled chair toward Riley’s desk and sits down. “What’re you doing now, then?”

“Oh, just having some fun.”

“Should I ask?”

“Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

With a poorly contained smile, Mac says, “Go for it.”

“After getting the goods out of her laptop, I hacked into her phone. Weakest wifi password in the history of ever, by the way.”

“Noted.”

“And she’s been listening to Spotify for the past three or so hours, so if I were to guess, she’s probably doing some other task while listening to music in the background.”

Mac gives another nod, still not exactly sure where this is going.

“So, like I said, I decided to have a little fun, and I wrote up some quick code this morning before you and Jack got here.”

“Code for what?”

“Basically,” Riley starts, “I made it so randomly in the middle of her songs, Spotify will pause itself.”

“Is that… it?”

“Yep.”

“Riley, what the fuck?”

Turning her head away from the monitor, she looks at Mac. “What, I can’t have some fun? When I wasn’t doing hacktivist stuff, this is basically all I’d do.”

A stuttered laugh escapes Mac before he can stop it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you.”

“She’s been dormant for a while,” Riley confirms, “but I think it’s time I bring that part of me back.”

[thatiranianphantom]

i love you, i adore you (i lay my life before you)

Always. Forever. (The first ten years of Nancy and Ace's forever)

Read on AO3 here.

[aaternum]

The train is oddly crowded this morning, bodies packed tightly together, the conductor's voice distorted over the speakers as she squeezes through. It feels like it took ages to get here, legs moving to its own maddeningly slow beat. Feels like she’s late, but she can’t catch a breath to check her phone. She forces her way into a spot beside the corner seats, holding onto the metal strap as she tries to find the trains’ schedule on her phone. Maybe an alternative route would help her get out faster. But the screen won’t budge from the lockscreen’s time.

00:00.

Shit, maybe it was busted, that couldn’t be right. Her eyes quickly lift to the gentleman beside her, his phone’s outstretched in his palm as he reads something on his screen. Ah, she can’t see the print of the time from this angle. “  Hey, sorry, I – ” The  words die at her lips, her body jerking backwards when his faceless visage meets her own. It’s just an empty canvas of skin, all the hair over her skin standing at attention. Her mouth hangs, a strangled gasp withering in her throat as she stumbles back into the train’s walls. “   Wh–? ”  Panic grows fierce in her as she turns to find other individuals, someone else who sees what she does. But all she finds are a sea of vacant faces, faced towards her.

A scream works its way out her mouth as she turns around to escape to the next cart, shakily grappling at the door to make it through to the other side. But unlike the last cart, this one was disturbingly quiet, the advertisements against the walls and top borders a sea of eyes. And everyone is still. So still. The conductor's voice distorts and echoes. “   Do you remember me? I don’t want to be forgotten.  ” Dread wells in her stomach as every faceless reanimates and turns to her to stand. 

“   You promised … don’t forget me.   ”

The echoes continue, the voice a disembodied, discordant blend of hundreds of others. She can’t find her own voice, her own hands clawing to find her knife, a blade, something. But her pockets are empty. All she can find is her phone staring uselessly back at her. Slick with the blood between her hands. “  I - I remember.  ” She tries to say, but nothing comes out. She steps back shaking her head, trembling digits stained. In the corner she catches her reflection within the doors windows; her mouths missing. Bloodied fingers desperately claw at her throat and face in search of it. Her reflection ripples through the glass and extends its palms to wrap around her throat. She can't scream for help without a mouth. Without a voice. It feels like waters flooded in her lungs; drowning from within, nails digging into flesh in a silent plea for mercy. And as consciousness slips, her knees give out, darkness bleeding into her vision. There's a crowd of them now, empty faces, all watching on as she fades. The last hollow echo the only thing she can cling to.

“   We’re all forgotten here.   ”

03\ ??? dream drabbles

[wintaerbaer]

twds taehyung when was the first time you realised you like y/n

"That I liked her?" He smirks, scheming. "The day we met in the third grade. She was so excited to show me her pencil case, and seeing that energy come off of her, I knew I had to become her friend." A wide smile breaks out across his face, stretching from ear to ear. "The rest is history."

[toasteaa]

Lied again, thinking about Manu's folklore au fic once again -

[periwinkle-the-11th]

Just A Man is literally such a pre-canon Iroh song. like imagine:

Iroh is brought an earth kingdom guard during the siege of ba sing se for information gathering and unmasked only to find out just how young the earth kingdom guard is.

I look into your eyes and I think back to the son of mine, your're as old as he was when i left for war.

Iroh during the siege questioning the morality of forcing their 'better culture' on people who so clearly don't want it, reflecting on his actions during the war and wondering if more bloodshed is truly the answer,

Will these actions haunt my days every man I've slayed is the price I pay endless pain.

I'm just a man who's trying to go home even after all the years away from what I've known. I'm just a man.

Iroh learns of a group called The White Lotus. A group which claims to base itself on philosophy, beauty, and truth, one that transcends the nations.

After the death of his only son Iroh is left questioning everything he's ever known.

But when does a comet become a meteor, when does a candle become a blaze, when does a man become a monster, when does a ripple become a tidal wave when does the reason become the blame, when does a man become a monster?

Iroh pleading at his sons grave after joining a group that directly combats the very cause he died for,

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, I'm just a man.

[whitherwanderer]

20 // hamper

Sawyer huffed as she looked over formulas and figures, the graphite in her hand tapping an impatient spot into the paper where the dulled tip hit it. Even as she reached forwards for her cold tea (per the usual, she’d forgotten it was there while it was hot), she continued to glare down at the page, her brow set into a focused scowl.

Behind her, errant wings tapped at her shoulder—one, two, forcing her to pay attention to her posture in her chair as the other two skittered across the paper lightly and poked at the material samples that lay atop them.

Sawyer turned in her seat as the raen’s pointed nouliths folded neatly against her back, and the raen reached out to touch the page.

“Frustration and fury. No stranger to the Hawk, but poured into what, the oasis rarely knows.”

Sawyer hummed a note, answering in her comparatively unembellished fashion, “Modifications to those tools of yours. I’ve traded letters with some acquaintances in Sharlayan that were thrilled to see an original iteration of the concept and asked for schematics in exchange for…”

She paused, watching the way her partner’s hand felt aimlessly at the fibers of the page. She had tried to involve Amesha in as many steps of the design process as she knew how to, initially, having her try to attune herself to a great many different crystals and conduit metals, but the parchment-bound stage of design was always… rather one-sided.

She made an angry noise to herself at the injustice of it. As much as she tried to offer Amesha agency—asking what might better enable her rather than assuming, giving her a means to feel her way through a space rather than be led. "Unfettered by sight" as she so often described herself, and yet there were still realms that Amesha was kept from.

“...Hawk?” the raen called, the lengthy pause no doubt causing her worry as she reached out comfort Sawyer with a scaled hand that the hyur took and pressed to her cheek.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment. I… find it unfair that I’ve spent all this time designing these wings of yours and yet I’ve not included you in the design as much as I could. The wood models are serviceable, but only once I’ve gone through iterations upon iterations with little of your input.”

The raen’s head tilted, and though she smiled, she knew better than to placate. She’d learned well than to give Sawyer an empty reassurance when the hyur was set on the idea that something could be improved for her partner’s sake. Honestly, the hyur might have felt more strongly about it than even she did, but she knew Sawyer would argue back, “All the more reason to be a part of the solution.”

Sighing, the raen withdrew her hand and returned it to the page. “Would that quillstroke and letter could be writ into parchment like the river writes a canyon. Engraved upon page as it is engraved upon earth…” With this, her noulith tipped itself into the sheet, pressing a deep line into a corner of the page that nearly threatened to tear.

Sawyer sat up, at first ready to give the raen light admonishment, but quickly stopped herself at a realization. “...That’s less of a fantasy than you imply. I think you’ve quite possibly come up with the first step towards a solution all by yourself.” she mumbled, looking up and around her desk at the various materials there. “Just a moment.”

She leaned forwards to grab for a narrow metal rod, then grabbed for a blank sheet of parchment while she moved all others aside. The shuffle of paper followed by the quiet scraping of metal caused Amessha to wonder quietly what Sawyer was, presumably, sketching onto this new sheet.

“Now,” the hyur said, papers shuffling again. She pulled Amesha’s hand to the table and laid it gently across the parchment, where the raen explored with her fingertips delightedly. “What do you think I’ve drawn?”

Amesha made an unsure noise as she explored, but indeed, she did feel raised lines in the paper. Long, not quite straight, narrowing shapes that met a tight, rounded end. Many of them, fanned out and layered not unlike scales—

“A… bird’s wing?” Amesha questioned, and she could practically hear Sawyer beaming.

“Yes, exactly right,” she said, in that tone Amesha knew meant she’d be spending a while longer hunched over her work table. She was pulled in briefly, a kiss planted on the raen’s cheek before Sawyer excitedly mumbled. “I’ve got some additions to make to my schematics.”

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 80/366 - Doctor Who

"Will you go find the Doctor?" The Master asks. Even's foot dangles from the maw of their TARDIS. (She wears dead things to keep away the curious, and when she flies, the broken bodies move.)

"You will," they answer, "so I'll see him again." They stare out at time, wonder which dregs of it are the ones where they jump. "He's never going to forgive me."

"Never!" The way he crows the word compels them.

Softly repeated, "Never," but it doesn't help them understand the joke.

"Well, I forgive you," all too sweet.

"Keep it." Even snaps. It feels good.