#i need to have a tag for these snippets

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

thank you for reminding me that your tommy is bobby’s son au exists (looooooove it so much) (apollabarnes) (please for the love of god when can i send an ask from a sideblog it’s been 84 years)

I NEED TO GET BACK TO IT. I finally got Tommy to the 118, here's a taste of his first day:

While he's scrubbing down windows, Deluca approaches him.

“Tuscany,” is all he says.

“Campania,” Tommy replies, and Deluca grins, sticking out hand. “Tommy.”

“Sal,” he says as they shake hands. “Wasn’t too sure with a name like Kinard, but it's hard to hide that schnozz.”

Tommy’s eyes cross as he looks at his nose, and Sal cackles when Tommy smiles and shrugs. “How long you been at the 118?”

“Couple years, I transferred from Philly, thought I'd see the Kings get their asses beat up close.” He leans against the frame holding the windows, his arms crossed over his chest. He's handsome, that's for goddamn sure, and charming enough that Tommy has to fight back a blush. “You a local?”

“Sort of,” he says, spraying the window cleaner carefully so it doesn't blow back in their faces. “Grew up in Bakersfield—”

“My condolences.”

“Exactly. But I spend a lot of time in Minnesota with my dad and stepmom, and I was in the Army. Just got out. So I've actually got more Wild loyalty, which is lucky for me.” He grins when Sal laughs, and he's about to ask what other sports he's into when he hears Gerrard call Sal’s name.

“Stop flirting with the probie, Deluca, and get your ass back on that stick check!” Gerrard barks.

Tommy freezes, even though Sal just rolls his eyes.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Sal mutters, pushing off from the wall. “Nice talking to you.”

“You, too,” Tommy says, even though it feels like there's ice in his lungs.

He tries to keep his head down, and it helps that the alarm starts ringing. Tommy's eventually one of the only people in the station along with Chimney, who seems to be determined to balance an orange on his nose.

“Can you do this?” Chimney asks, wobbling past.

“Never tried,” Tommy replies, smiling and catching the orange when it's tossed his way. It turns out he has an even harder time, but his attempts make Chimney cackle. “Why do they call you that anyway?”

Chimney grins. “Oh, it's a—”

They're cut off by the return of the engine and Gerrard yelling at one of the firefighters.

“He always like that?” Tommy asks softly.

“Nah. Sometimes he's an asshole. You caught him on a good day,” Chimney replies, squeezing his shoulder. “Go make yourself scarce for a bit.”

It's like that all shift. Gerrard finds something or someone to have a problem with, but it's never Tommy because Hen, Chimney, and Sal are running interference. He doesn't get to go on any calls, but he doesn't have to face any wrath or humiliation.

In the morning, Tommy trudges out to his truck, having gotten very little sleep after Gerrard refused to take the house offline all night and the alarm kept going off.

“I know it might not feel like it, but you did good,” Hen says from somewhere off his left elbow. She looks exhausted for a good reason, having put out a house fire and delivered a baby in the last six hours. “It's not easy being new.”

“Transfer, right?” he recalls, and she nods. “Yeah, Sal was, too. High turnover rate here, it seems.”

“Yep,” she says, sighing. “God, I want to crawl in bed with my girl and just sleep until tomorrow.”

Tommy almost asks how and why she could feel okay saying something like that, but Gerrard isn't around to hear it and they're not in the military. She's saying it because she thinks Tommy's okay to say it around. So she either knows or he hasn't given her any reason to think he's like Gerrard.

“She okay with the schedule?” he asks, because he doesn't know how to get her to reveal which option it is. “My dad's on a twenty-four-forty-eight rotation, my stepmom says it's tough.”

“No kids,” she says, shrugging. “And she's got her own stuff going on. Your dad's a firefighter?”

Tommy grins. “I'm a fifth generation firefighter, if you can believe it. I didn't grow up with it, because I didn't know my dad until I was eighteen, but it just kinda felt right.”

“Assigned firefighter at birth?” she teases, and he tries to pin down the reference but can't. “Never mind. That's great, though, that you have that. I had the opposite: Dad took off when I was a kid.”

“That's tough,” he says, and she shrugs. “He didn't know about me. I thought my dad was someone else, then my mom died—it's a long story.”

“We swapping stories?” Chimney asks, having apparently silently jogged up on them. “What kind?”

“Tommy's a legacy firefighter, and he had a Maury thing with his dad,” Hen fills in.

“Ah, correction,” Tommy says, raising a finger. “Thomas Senior knew I wasn't his. Like I said: long story.”

They give him their numbers and get his in return, and Tommy gets into his truck and drives back to his shitty rental, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel with the music.

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Woooooow, you're getting fed today. Here's a whole cut section from Rook x Observant Reader. This was one of my early, early drafts. While it's not the angle I ultimately chose, it's well thought out

Context: This is in the middle of your first canonical meeting with Rook when you and Clown Crew are trying to sign up for VDC. He just revealed his uncanny ability to memorize things, including personal information

“You have a good memory. Do you know everybody’s name and height?” you ask.

“Oui, as I said I like to be prepared for any situation,” Rook reiterates with a deadly smile.

You ignore the warning sign and press forward. 

“The names and class I can understand, but where did you get our heights?” you question.

“I can tell just by looking at you,” the hunter answers.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. 

“That’s a specific skill,” you comment. “Is there any benefit other than fact-checking people if they’re lying about their height?”

“I learned it to help narrow down and estimate the length of someone’s gait. However, I can call out a lie of that kind when I see one,” the vice leader replies, amused.

“That’s resourceful,” you admire. “Are the Leech twins the same height?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Non, Monsieur Malfeasance is one centimeter taller than Monsieur Mastermind. Those are two of my other favorite subjects to watch. They’re so interesting.”

Frowning, you decipher the names. 

“Monsieur Mastermind is Jade, but what does malfeasance mean?” you question.

“It’s the fancy word for wrongdoing,” Rook provides.

“Yeah, that’s an apt nickname for Floyd,” you agree before leaning in.

You ask the question you’ve been wanting to ask since the beginning. “Where did you get your hat?”

Rook looks up, touching the object.

“I made it myself,” he reveals with a smile. 

You perk up with a tilt of your head. 

“Can I see it?” you request innocently.

Rook relinquishes his hat with a dramatic bow. “Oui, it’s a délice you’ve taken such an interest in me, [Y/N].” 

You giggle, taking it into your hands. You’re glad he understands your desire to learn more about him. He’s interesting.

You refocus on the hunter’s accessory. It’s surprisingly soft and smooth. You run your thumb along the leather, observing its trim and stitches. The belt buckle is shiny, and the white feather is big and fluffy. The entire item is made with high-quality materials. It makes you wonder…

“Did you personally source the materials?” you inquire. “You said you were a hunter after all.”

Rook’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oui, I did!” He grins. “I’m impressed you made the connection. Most people don’t.”

His emerald green eyes sparkle, fascinated. You glance away with a satisfied smirk. 

“This is an ostrich feather, right? What animal did you use for the leather? Did you make the leather yourself?” you bombard.

He drifts closer to you, answering with ease. 

“Oui, that’s an ostrich feather. I used deer skin. I dried and tanned it myself,” he responds. 

“It’s a work of art,” you comment, before placing the hat on yourself. “It’s well-made and comfortable. It has a nice weight, too. How long have you had it?”

Rook watches you model his hat. His gaze follows you with the narrowed eyes of a hunter. 

“I’ve had this one since I joined Night Raven College,” he explains.

“Have you made any others?”

“Oui, I made the hat that goes with my dorm uniform,” Rook replies with a small and fond smile.

“Is it from the same hide?” you question, still feeling and touching the hat. 

“No, but it is still deerskin,” the hunter answers.

Leona butts in, “He didn’t even make it at the same time. He transferred to Pomefiore halfway through his first year. It’s the only good thing he’s ever done.”

You’ve been watching Rook this whole time. The hunter’s face flickers, displeased at the reveal of personal information. It’s for a split second. It’s gone so quickly that you doubt it was there. However, with one glance at Leona, it’s confirmed. He has a smug and pleased look in his eye. He wanted to gain a negative reaction from the hunter. You file that information away. 

Rook comments, “I do not regret my decision to follow Roi de Poison, but I miss watching you closer while I was in Savanaclaw.”

“Well, I’m grateful I don’t have to sleep with you in the dorm,” Leona retorts. 

It takes a second for Deuce to whisper to you, “Roi de Poison?”

“Vil,” you translate without a second thought.  

“[Y/N], you're most astute, quick, and clever! With my hat, I’m sure you’ll be able to impersonate me in no time.” Rook claps his hands, delighted.

You take his direction. You imitate him, giving a flourish similar to Rook’s when he introduced himself.

“Je m'appelle Rook Hunt, the self-proclaimed Le Chasseur D'Armour. I'm honored to make your acquaintance,” you act with a wink.

You decide to be bold. Bowing, you pull off the hat and hold it to your chest. You grab the hunter's hand and kiss it. You straighten, donning the accessory once more. You take a step back, pleased with your performance. 

“How did I do?” you ask with an eager grin.

Rook wastes no time or words to drown you in praise.

“Magnifique! Beaute! 100 points!” He bursts out, grabbing your hands this time. “The added detail of the kiss was merveilleuse. You could pass for me anytime. You are truly incroyable.”

You smile at his enthusiasm. How can you not? His energy’s infectious.

“The only thing I need to do is get accepted into Pomefiore and then we can trade at any time,” you joke.

Rook looks at you with a glimmer in his eyes. 

“We can solve that,” he tells you, slipping off his blazer. “As the Vice Leader of Pomefiore, I can make you a temporary member. I can’t take the crest off my jacket, so we’ll trade accessories and personas for the afternoon.”

Excitement bubbles within you. You bite your lip to keep the smile off your face, but it doesn’t work. You haven’t had this much fun in a while. You’ve always been fond of plays, musicals, and acting, but haven’t gotten to talk with someone with those interests. You love your Clown Crew, but they weren’t the type to participate in improv. Although, you’re sure their personalities would get them a spot. You match the hunter’s movements, taking your blazer off, and holding it out to him.

“My blazer definitely won’t fit you, but keep it to make sure I come back to give you your items back,” you answer. 

“Oui, I will,” he reassures, draping your jacket over his forearm. “Roi de Poison would scold me for an atrocious fashion violation. However, I will risk it for the joy of such a beaute and radiante person. I’ll take extra precautions to avoid Beautiful Vil’s wrath.” 

Rook gives you a wink as you put on his blazer. It’s too big, but you don’t mind. It smelled like fresh rain. 

“You smell nice,” you comment, “It smells nice, but you don’t wear cologne, right?”

“Oui, I don’t,” he confirms with an interested smile. 

You give a sage nod. “It would give away your position as a hunter.”

Rook hums in agreement. He watches your movements. 

“When and where do you want me to return it to you?” you ask. “Or will you find me?”

“You’re catching onto my habits well, Trickster. I’ll be able to find you,” Rook confirms.

You perk up. “Is that my nickname?” 

The huntsman laughs. “Oui, a special one just for you.”

You grin. 

“Alright see you later—” you start, before pausing. “Do you like hugs?” 

Rook’s cat-like eyes narrow in delight.

“Oui, I would be more than happy to receive one from you,” he replies, before murmuring. “Such innocent prey coming into the arms of a hunter.”

You prove him wrong by pouncing. The wind knocks out of him as he makes a sound of shock. Rook recovers in an instant, chuckling.

“You’re full of surprises, Trickster,” he says.

You pull away.

“And you’re full of secrets,” you tease quietly. 

You giggle, pull away, and sweep out of the room.

"Bye, Rook!" you tell him.

Your friends soon catch up. 

“That was disgusting,” Ace emphasizes when you’re out of earshot. “Next time, warn me when you flirt with a guy.”

“I didn’t know that was your type,” Grim grumbles. “He was weird. He looked like he was going to track and stalk Leona. I don’t want to be next.”

“I’ll keep the attention off of you,” you reassure.

He gives you a wary glare with a scrunched-up nose. “I don’t like him.”

You shrug. “I do. He’s interesting, talented, and more importantly, he let me borrow his hat. He’s entertaining. Besides, I think he’s hiding something.”

Deuce leans in closer, interested. “What do you mean?”

“There’s some stuff that’s off about him. Why does he know everybody’s heights at a glance? That’s not something a normal person would know, even if they were a hunter. He also tensed up when Leona revealed he was from Savanaclaw. I don’t think he likes personal information being revealed despite knowing a lot about everyone else."

“Huh, I didn’t notice that,” Deuce says.

“Yeah, because you’re dense and not in love with him,” Ace snarks. “Is that why you were trying to get close to him?” 

“No, it’s just a bonus that he’s a little mysterious. It adds to the appeal,” you reply.

“I was hoping for the impossible,” Ace grimaces.

You pat him on his back in sympathy.

(Interesting first take! Compared to what I have now, this version of Rook is way more open. The Reader is also much more excitable. Ultimately, I like the official version, but this is adorable. I hope you like it as much as I do... probably more because you don't have the official and giant 40k fanfic at your disposal lol

(The sentence variety isn't as engaging as it could be, but it's good enough. Plus, I have a headache. rip. send me get wells lol... still going to work on Riddle's Dreaming of You fanfic despite the pain lol

(Tell me what you think!)

[addiepaca]

#01 Blue Hour Talks

“Are you an idiot?” Medic glared at the Villain, their eyes slightly narrowed while they wrapped a bandage on the other’s arm. “What?” The Villain, slightly baffled at the sudden jab that broke the peaceful silence. They had hoped to at least get some slack after the disastrous fight in the warehouse last night. Bags clearly visible under their eyes after barely getting any sleep for the past few weeks and their body riddled with fresh cuts and bruises.

“Did you really let the Hero beat you because they seemed ‘under the weather’?” They tighten the bandage around their arm, causing some tension in their already strained muscles. “I did not, I just didn’t want to fight a sick hero,” Villain cleared their throat. The two had been throwing punches like usual when the Hero’s eyes seemed hazy, their breathing uneven and their face slightly paler than usual. Their moves were also lacking the typical force and precision, the Villain dodging every blow with ease it was almost laughable. Though the thought seemed to churn the Villain’s stomach with an uncomfortable feeling. Probably pity or something.

“Right, whatever helps you sleep better.”

Medic finished wrapping up their arm and leaned back on their seat, crossing their legs. Turning their attention to what the Villain assumed was their patient file. Villain scoffed lightly, pulling down the sleeve to cover their arm and rolling their eyes. “You know I’m really not appreciating your judgmental comments,” they sneered, brows furrowing as they rested their chin on their hand, pouting like a petulant child.

“I don’t get paid enough to keep those comments to myself,” Medic didn’t look up from the stack of papers in their hands, noting something down with barely readable handwriting on one of the pages. “You don’t get paid for this at all,” Villain retorted.

Medic finally shifted their gaze and groaned, hitting Villain on the head with their own file which made the other gasp in disbelief. “You’re right, it’s charity work. Be grateful I’m even listening to your nonsense,” Medic grumbled. Throwing the papers on their lap for them to read later. “Oh shut it,” they muttered under their breath.

It’s not like the Villain cared or anything, they just happened to be a considerate person. Besides, what good would beating a sick hero be? It’ll be too easy, too boring and definitely not worth their time. Villain had better things to do than prolonging the fight that night, like getting a few minutes of sleep before inevitably failing to get some rest. Eventually dragging themselves to the infirmary to treat the wounds they had been too lazy acknowledge.

“Really, how long are you going to keep this up?” Medic sighed, their eyes scanning over them with a thinly veiled exasperation. Villain, sprawled up on the patient bed with arms folded across their chest raised a brow at the vague question. “Keep what up?”

Medic made a strange gesture with their hands. “This ‘thing’ with the hero,” Swirling their left hand around unceremoniously while scrutinizing the Villain, their face almost looked annoyed. That fact, for whatever reason, made Villain just as irritated. Why couldn’t people mind their own business anymore?

“There is no ‘thing’ between us,” Villain said with a stern tone. Leaving no room for interjections as they glared at Medic. If they were allowed to punch medical personnel on company time, this ridiculous conversation wouldn’t even be happening right now. Medic pursed their lips with a sceptical expression on their face.

“Right,” they replied.

“Right.”

A moment of silence passed over them, as if to let the words sink in before Medic started persisting again.“So there’s nothing going on between you two?” They tilted their head in curiosity like a cat. Villain fought the urge to roll their eyes and rubbed their temples instead, surprisingly taking a second to think before answering. “Other than the usual hatred and disgust, no.” The other hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as they took in the Villain’s reply. “So if the Hero were to start seeing someone else, you wouldn’t mind?” 

The sudden hypothetical caught the Villain’s attention, making them flinch and glare at their sibling, dumbfounded. “What kind of question is that?!” Their voice slightly raised, though they didn’t mean to come off as harsh, the provoking question just irked them. Medic scoffed, a mocking smile playing on their lips as they brushed off their aggression. “Just answer it,” they urged. 

Villain bristled at the smug look on their face, weighing the consequences of knocking them out right now. “I don’t care who they see or don’t see, they’re not important to me.” They lied, the thought of it brought some discomfort to the Villain. After all, who has time for relationships when you’re busy fighting crime? Why would you not devote your utmost attention to your enemy? It’s absurd to think their the Hero would start to stop paying their attention to the Villain in favor of their spouse. The Villain had almost forgotten the fact that the question was a hypothetical.

“Okay,” Medic raised their hands in the air in a defeated gesture while averting their gaze. The corners of their lips twitching to hide a smile, undoubtedly. They leaned back in their chair again, quietly reaching out for the TV remote on the nearby desk. “You don’t believe me,” the words came out from the Villain’s mouth as more of a statement than a question. It wasn’t particularly hard to tell when Medic didn’t believe their half-assed lies. The derisive tone seemed to run in the family after all.

The TV screen lights up the dimly lit room, causing the Villain’s eye to twitch as they adjusted to the brightness. “I believe you, I’m not sure if you believe yourself,” Medic feigned indifference as they casually propped their feet on the bed. “Shut up,” Villain remarked. Kicking their feet away with a grumble, earning an annoyed scoff from Medic. 

“At least say thank you for patching you up,” they pressed the buttons on the remote, rapidly switching between channels while humming. The Villain slumped on their bed, stretching their bandaged arm carefully, almost forgetting the fact that their body hurt like hell. “No.”

Medic turned their head towards them and huffed out an annoyed breath. “Say thank you or I’m telling mum you ended up in the clinic again.”

“Why do you always pull that card?” Villain had the urge to throw them out of the room, but relented given their threat. Which they knew wasn’t a bluff. “Because it always works,” Medic shrugged as if it was a common fact. 

Villain groaned and leaned their head against the headboard, running their hands through their ruffled hair. “Thanks, happy now?” they gave in. Secretly fearing the wrath of a certain woman who they haven’t called in a month.

“Good enough,” Medic smiled smugly. Putting away the remote after settling on the news channel, one of the few that was interesting enough to capture their attention.

“Freak,” Villain muttered under their breath.

“Loser,” Medic replied.

The news flashed a clip of various heroes being awarded a few days ago, smiling and waving to the locals. Their hero inching closer to a certain rookie who hadn’t even been in the business for a year, hand in hand as they laughed softly together, lost in their own world. The Villain clenched their jaw.

part 2

[icantbotherwithusernames]

I made my own real, 3D Bill !!

there he is, in all of his thin, lanky glory. He also has movable limbs which is pretty cool.

More of this idiot under the cut--

such a Bill can do so much!

He can sit on your desk when you work!

He can lie on the floor and experience an existential crisis!

He can even watch you when you sleep!

Now the paper Bill on my wall (window) has a buddy - a creepier, 3D-er paper Bill!

Someone please help he won't leave my house

[brokenheartwithheartbreak]

Okay I don’t even go here and I’ve never done this before but I’m 10k deep into a post-finale probably AU platonic Thiam fic based on Theo trying to figure out his shit and function as a human being and DOUBTING my writing very hard rn so. What’s the consensus from anyone whose been in this fandom for longer than two months (see: anyone but me)

Excerpt:

Melissa bustles away before he can unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Liam watching her go with an oddly forlorn look, still draped over the desk, before those wide puppy-innocent eyes snap to Theo, still hopelessly open and unguarded even as he sighs, a heavy laborious thing, and shakes his head.

“She’s still mad at you.” He says by way of greeting. Theo frowns, has lost Melissa in the throng of people toing and froing in the hallways already, eyes cutting to Liam instead and attempting to dissect why he seems to think this matters.

“I killed her son.” He says flatly, when it becomes apparent Liam expects an answer, “He’s still pissed. Why wouldn’t she be?"

Liam’s gaze turns thoughtful, studying Theo as he stands there in his threadbare t-shirt and the same jeans he’d been wearing when Gabe’s blood was splattering on the tiles, four floors up, three weeks ago. They've been cleaned since - he managed to scrape together enough change for a trip to the laundromat last week - but being back here he can distinctly remember the specific scent of blood and fear and death, a little different for every dead body left in Monroe's wake, tinged with a slightly different mix of the same three things her teenage soldiers feel in their last moments.

Liam's still looking at him with those deceptively sharp eyes, blue like the sky, like a bottomless ocean. He has a skill for looking at people - at Theo - and giving off the impression that he's looking deeper, peeling back the guarded layers and taking a look at the exposed damage underneath, poking at that damage and seeing how much it takes to make him jump, not in a malicious way, though, in a 'testing boundaries' sort of way, in a 'how far can I push you before you snap back' kind of way that Theo respects more than he resents, because he's the same, in a way. He gets the feeling Liam is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Theo to slip and the carefully crafted master plan to crack and splinter and shatter down around him all over again, gets the feeling this pushing and prodding is a reflexive, knee jerk reaction to how easily he'd slipped into their ranks and earned their trust last time around. While the rest of the pack seem to have decided the best policy is just to keep him at arm's length until they need to pull him in for a human shield, Liam seems to have gone for the opposite; tugging Theo closer so he can peer into the cracks and crevices Tara clawed into his armour and decide whether the things he does and the words he says are genuine or just another misdirection.

Theo really doesn't have the energy for misdirection anymore - what's the point? All these people have already seen the worst of him, have seen him rip them apart to take what he wanted, seen him rip apart his own pack to take their power, there is nothing he could say or do now to wipe that slate clean and make them forget, that much has been made quite obviously clear. And, somewhere along the line of those four months that felt like four years, four decades, too much time and not enough and how do you reconcile losing that much of your life when it felt like repeating the same five minutes over and over and over again, somewhere along the line the parts of him that were so well trained, so carefully schooled he could control his heartbeat and his chemosignals and his every minuscule emotion like his own body was his puppet, those parts died, ripped out of him a thousand times over alongside Tara's heart and left to rot on that cold hospital floor.

He thinks, privately, in some dark corner of his mind, that Liam might be the only one of them that's actually maybe worthy of being an Alpha. He's explosive and angry, yes, but when the anger drains out he's quiet and clever, stubborn and selfless and so quick to forgive. He's rushing headfirst into danger to give his friends a fighting chance, he's pounding fists against stone until his knuckles break to stop himself hurting a kid who honestly deserved it, he's a heart skipping traitorously over 'I'm not dying for you either.' He's the only one Theo might delude himself into believing has possibly come close to forgiving him, despite it all, despite Theo manipulating him into attacking his own Alpha, despite Theo taunting him and goading him at every opportunity because once, Before Skinwalker Prison Theo thought it was kind of funny to see how many buttons he could press before Scott's favourite blew a fuse.

All that, and he's still the top contact in Theo's pitifully empty phone, he's still the one who came looking that night after the hospital, after Gabe, limping on his own bullet wound, to find Theo sprawled in the back of his truck, rolling the crumpled slug he pulled from his sluggishly bleeding shoulder across the scratched plastic of the tray and trying to erase the feeling of death creeping through his veins as Gabe's heart gave out, pain free. He doesn't know where he stands with a lot of the pack these days, other than understanding the general air of discontent and distrust whenever he happens to be in the same room, but with Liam, at least, their relationship is relatively clear, cut and dried. They're not friends, probably never will be, but they went through something together, survived something together, and that simple act has tied some sort of invisible string between them that has Theo gravitating towards Liam like he's a sharp metal blade and Liam a magnet.

Maybe he's lonely, left behind by everything he's known, cracked open by Tara's hand in his chest, left exposed in the aftermath in such a way he doesn't know how to put the mask back on and pretend anymore. Maybe Liam doesn't look at him like a monster, just a puzzle, not ugly-messy-killer boy but beaten-tired-trying boy. It's not much but it's enough for him to think maybe one person in this fucked up town doesn't completely hate his guts, and that breadcrumb of hope is enough to stir the dead thing in his chest into some sort of continued existence every morning.

None of that stops him from feeling a little like a bug under a microscope, now, trapped in this moment that seems to last hours and seconds at the same time, caught in the arcing swing of the pendulum on a grandfather clock, caught under Liam's gaze that sees too much and not enough at the same time. He fights the urge to let his hands curl into fists, tries instead to remember what it felt like to break Liam’s nose - four weeks ago, five, it doesn’t matter - last time so he doesn’t give in to the urge to do it again, bloody and broken, right here in front of all these hospital staff, these Normal people who might not be so Normal after all. Half of them were here, were working when Monroe’s hunters took over the hospital, when they threw guns into the hands of children and told them to go to war against their classmates, told them that murdering a teenager for being Something Else would net them a win in some sort of moral war as well as the actual, bloody, violent one.

He wonders if any of them recognise him and Liam, two teenagers lingering in a hospital hallway, two Others making themselves easy targets.

“What?” He snaps, surprises himself a little with the sharp tone, but Liam hasn’t moved, hasn’t stopped pinning him with that piercing look, and that’s supposed to be Theo’s job, reading him like an open book, putting together all the little invisible tells and figuring out exactly which buttons to press to get the reaction he wants, the fallout he wants, writing the script and having Liam-Scott-Stiles, all, follow along without ever even realising it. He’s not so good at that anymore, lost that skill somewhere around the three hundredth time Tara ripped her heart out of his chest.

Liam has the grace to look bashful, peeling himself off the desk in a way that looks vaguely like tearing apart Velcro, wobbling to his feet in a way that speaks of long days and longer nights, exhaustion drifting off him like cologne. “Sorry, you just…seem different.”

The apology rolls of his tongue so easily, so simply, like Theo can’t count on just his fingers how many times someone has offered him any sort of apology, and it’s about nothing, about accidentally staring in a fatigued sort of way, but it’s about so much more than that in his head and Liam’s simple-easy camaraderie makes something in his chest ache even fiercer.

‘You seem different’ Liam says, and Theo thinks about his belt being two holes tighter, shirts hanging a little looser, hard ridges of bone hidden beneath. He thinks about long, uncomfortable nights, broken up into sections of haunted sleep and a constant, thick exhaustion he wears like a second skin. He thinks about the sandwich he wolfed down at the last pack meeting to discuss the Hunters, two days ago, that barely made a dent in the gnawing, empty feeling of his insides. It’s fine, he’s managing, he’s still alive; call it another test, perhaps. How long can The Subject sustain itself with no resources?

He wonders how much of that Liam can see, wonders if ‘different’ means ‘thin’ or ‘tired’ or ‘a facsimile of who you were before’.

Theo chooses to ignore the comment entirely, stuffs his hands a little deeper in his pockets, shakes around the boxes of himself in his mind to find some semblance of his usual cold, calculating snark. His lips curl into an expression that is all fangs without ever baring his teeth, one eyebrow lifted in challenge. “You call me here just to stare, Dunbar?”

[birchbow]

==> Snaketroll: snag hot older girlfriend and get absolutely topped

Yeah alright. Done and done, apparently.

Your name is VERATO UDERAK, and you're pretty sure you've just been successfully SEDUCED. You definitely always assumed that your WEALTH OF SECRETS AND INTRIGUE would keep you from ever being taken by surprise and lead to you being the primarily guiding party in whatever PALE RELATIONSHIP you eventually managed to establish, but instead you just got absolutely cold-cocked by a STONE-COLD BADASS. Emotionally-speaking.

Her name is Chayal Rishet, and she's a PROFESSIONAL LAUGHSASSIN of impressive renown. She's compelled you through several weeks of dedicated SECRET-SNIFFING and RUMOR-MONGERY just to learn the name and sign to her face, and when you proved yourself a CAPABLE CONTORTURENIST and tracked those things down she showed up at your door and made it clear she thinks you're PRETTY MOTHERFUCKING PITIFUL. In a HOT WAY.

So, anyway, now you're pinned to your couch.

Verato: Assesssss the situation :oY

==> Her body and bearing ==> Her face and affect ==> Her history and reputation

[stygiansauce]

🦃 morning / afternoon / evening!

Scarian is the classic <3 ive only written them once for a friend and it took me… months… got stuck on one scene and avoided it for ages (and then got into taurtis x grian but that’s another story)

Cub and Scar being brotherly and inseparable is soo <3333 everything to me. Have you read “closer to another shore”? Oh my god. Changed my life. And scar and Cub within that book… absolute peak. Devoured it twice over and once more on top of that. Very much recommend if you want to tear your own heart out and crush grian like a bug!

ooo! I'll have to give that one a lookie!

I have this whole scale AU for Scarian that I'll write one day. it's bound to be my hardst work yet (yeah including the historial research and mapping nightmare that is Dealing Despair), because Splinter is one of those fics you have to plan every single scene out to make it all come together in the end.

My goal with Splinter) whenever I get around to writing it, it is to have like a fraction of coolness Birrdie's as above, so below has?? It's still one of my favorite fics of all time and I strive to write an AU like that one day. Splinter isnt the same thing? it's like a past life kind of thing, but the part im trying to emulate from aasb is the "oh something is happening here...I am scared of it" vibe.

Eitherway, if you want a good Grian fic (with some Scarian) THATS the fic. This is the fic I give to all my friends new to the fandom/to fanfiction. I shove aasb and Dirges in the Dark at them because those are the two fanfics I want on my shelf YESTERDAY. Like physical copies. (I am working on that actually....)

OKAY I'VE YAPPED ENOUGH! Time to clock in for the writing shift today <3

[emero0]

In relation to my “how dare project sekai have shows within a game that i wish were real” post i have decided to do the same thing lmaoo

And by that i mean ive had this cinematic universe in my head for a fic i need to write and part if it involves leo/need writing songs for the musical movie (think like how mary poppins has songs in it—old disney movies to reference something more popular)

Which has led me to wanting to write a song for the movie in my fic—

This is what my multifaceted brain gets me—multi media projects woooo

[lizardkingeliot]

the moment i allowed myself to think "could this rockstar lestat/photographer louis fic be a multi-chapter thing tho" i doomed myself to it not only absolutely being a multi-chapter thing, but one of those multi-chapter things that starts exploding in my head to the point i need a notes doc to keep track of the vibes and the yearning and the scenes that force their way into my head while i'm just trying to live my life and do my lil tasks...

[lennsart]

Most of the wips I write these days can be summarized by "Legend gets hurt in fucked-up ways, and then he gets hugs" :)

(I'm fine shhh)

But I had this sitting in my drafts, and it's like the comfort part to a hurt/comfort, except I didn't like the hurt part, so posting this probably doesn't make sense, but.. I just wanted the boys to hug

Context + snippet under the cut !

Basically, Legend has been abducted for ransom (I think it was inspired by a whumptober prompt) and he didn't have a stellar time there. The rest of the chain rescues him, but they're worried he'll wake up confused at night, so they decide to watch over him. And they're supposed to take turn, but they all kinda end up sleeping next to him :)

Have this little Four POV that I quite like and feels like it can be posted without context :

Four expected to see two people in the room. One awake, that he would be about to replace, and the other asleep, that he would watch.

He hadn't expected three sleeping dudes.

He had to pause and go back to the hallway to laugh, muffling his chuckles in his sleeve. Of course Sky would have wanted to hug Legend and would have fallen asleep. Of course Hyrule would have let them, and promptly fallen asleep as well.

When he came back in and carefully closed behind him, he noticed with fondness that Legend, at least, looked perfectly content. He was sleeping on his back, Sky hugging his right arm, and he held Hyrule's hand with his left.

The traveler was mostly on the ground, head and arms on the mattress. Four winced ; that couldn't be comfortable.

Alright, he gave up (as if he hadn't as soon as he noticed them). He'd watch them three sleep, if only to gush about how cute they were tomorrow.

(He hoped Wind would bring his pictobox for his turn of watch in the morning.)

He got on Hyrule's side, and gently nudged him. This one hummed sleepily.

" - Shh, don't wake them up. " Four whispered. " Hop in.

- What...? " the traveler asked in confusion.

Four bit back a laugh at how asleep he sounded.

" - Get in the bed. " he ordered.

Hyrule may not really understand what was happening, but he didn't need to be told twice. He climbed in, wincing when he moved his legs, and abandoned Legend's hand to hug his waist, resting his head on his stomach.

The veteran softly hummed, but didn't fully wake up.

Four sat on one of the scarce empty spots of the bed, giggling to himself. He was happy that this watch had taken such a sweet turn ; he had expected to get lost in his own mind, trying to understand how they could have let one member of their group go through that. 

...

Instead, he had three sleepyheads cuddling, and he would trade for nothing in the world.

The last free spot on the mattress, above Hyrule and next to Lege, was probably too small for someone to sleep there.

...Well. He was small too, and mostly slept curled up anyway.

But, no ! He had decided he'd stay awake. No matter how comfortable those three looked, no matter how much he'd like to hug the vet, too, he would fulfill his mission.

Legend's hand opened and closed in his sleep, and he extended it further. Four blinked, and reached with his left hand. 

In a second, he was trapped, Legend satisfied with the hand he found and holding tight onto it.

...

Alright, that wouldn't be comfortable to stay sitting in this condition. Plus Legend looked like he wanted the smith to stay, and his goal had always been to watch for him, right ?

He curled up in the little free spot, his hand still in Legend’s, and definitely did not fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

[d-esmond]

; wip wednesday

i was tagged by @full---ofstarlight and u know what its been a while. writing time.

so crypsis side project, working title Old Man Reminiscing. a lot of introspective character moments from hesham’s pov that don’t really have a place in the main story but i couldnt stop writing stuff about this. yay

————

Praying was the safe haven I turned to. The motions and words of a personally crafted ritual to affirm that I trust and honor anything He will give me. As a child, it was my only safe haven. For all his faults, my father did insist I learned to pray. Unknowingly, he gifted me the only escape from home I had.

Rashid found it odd. I didn’t understand why.

“I just think you’re a bit young.”

“My father said we should start from when we’re seven.”

Rashid made the expression he saved specifically for when my father was mentioned. I didn’t mind. It was how he showed he cared without speaking ill, although I knew he wanted nothing more. He had no qualms speaking ill of his own father either.

Members of the Aziz household rarely prayed. “The creed teaches us anything we need in life,” Faisal spoke solemnly, and that was that. When his back was turned, Rashid would add, “If there was a way he could declare to be mightier than God himself, he would do it.”

I never knew what to say to that. I didn’t agree. Faisal was a good man, but arguing with Rashid was a battle rarely won. So I shrugged. I have prayed alone ever since.

tagging:

@adelaidedrubman @auricfog @carlosoliveiraa @cetra @cptcassian

@confidentandgood @elvves @famewolf @florbelles @imogenkol

@jackiesarch @johnnystorm @lavampira @leviiackrman @loriane-elmuerto

@pricemarshfield @raresvtm @risingsh0t @roberthouse69 @shellibisshe

@statichvm @thedeadthree @tommyarashikage @travellingseal @tuseranita

@viktorgf @unholymilf

[averycutesalamander]

NO!! SNAKE BITE BOOTHILL I'LL FOREVER WAIT FOR YOI...... MY BELOVED

Silliness apart I 100% understand. I'll love anything you write. Can you give a taste of what ur writing right now? The 18k draft? I'm curious.....

by the way, do you think boothill would like whiskey? With 2 ice cubes?

-Snake Bite anon

edit: i wrote most of this like right when i got the ask (like two months ago i am SO sorry 💀) and meant to finish it immediately after but uhhh obviously that didnt happen. and in retrospect it is extremely funny how nervous i was to talk about this considering how bad my newest newest draft is. anyway here you go

-

oh god anon the can of worms youve just opened.. 😭 im sort of nervous talking about it but. im too obsessed with it to not finish and post it eventually so i guess i should just rip off the bandaid now.

cw pseudoincest under the cut but HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

ok so for the record this is NOT MY FAULT. i was talking with (redacted) about how sad it is that one of my favorite writers sees him as an uncle. like, it's a familial thing. and we were joking like "well that wouldnt stop me lmao am i right guys" and it was all in good fun.

and then i started. Thinking About It. and entirely against my will my brain formed a plot. and at first i was just gonna write like a drabble or something to get it out of my system but uh. well.

yeah. so. yeah. so. ok. i know this looks bad but HEAR ME OUT. also spoilers for the first uhhhhh maybe half of the fic ?? two thirds of the fic???

ok so. this initially takes place before the IPC arrival. the reader gets adopted by one of his sisters when she's 5 because she was alone in the desert. she cant talk, and by the time she can, she doesnt remember what happened, so whatever. she meets boothill (who i am presently calling ahiga because i literally could not dodge around the name for that long) when she's 7 and LET ME EMPHASIZE THAT IT IS COMPLETELY PLATONIC AT THAT POINT. 100% PLATONIC. THERE IS NO GROOMING IN THIS FIC. OR UNDERAGE. ZERO. ZIP. ZILCH.

so reader is like.. cripplingly lonely with some major attachment issues. her mama's farm is pretty far from everyone else and there aren't many kids her age in the family, so she doesn't have many connections when she's younger. and she's a quiet kid, so she doesnt get much attention from the rest of her relatives. boothill can kinda see this to some degree, and i think hes sort of acquainted with loneliness (although his is largely self-inflicted at this point) so he kinda goes out of his way to include her in stuff and be nice to her. NOT in a creepy way, just in a regular cool uncle way. he teaches her how to ride horses, gives her sweets when mama isnt looking, that kind of thing. they don't see each other all that often but it's enough that they have a pretty solid, positive relationship.

so when shes like 16 she forms a teeny tiny itty bitty crush on him. just like. a little thing. and shes VERY aware that that's fucked up and she should cut that out immediately, but the thoughts kind of linger. but like.. presumably that'll just.. iron itself out eventually. with time. it's fine.

and almost immediately after that the IPC shows up and shit goes down. she and mama get kicked off their ranch and have to go shelter with nick and graey, and in the next week or so many other relatives follow. boothill ends up dropping off his daughter (who im calling manaba in this fic for the sake of naming consistency) to join the rebellion. reader helps out with the war effort, does supply runs, that kinda thing. when the ipc finally gives the kill order, shes between towns, and since they're targeting population centers, she escapes the direct blasts and shelters in a river to avoid the ensuing wildfires.

not everyone is so lucky, obviously. no one in her family (that she knows of) survives. some shit happens, but she ends up getting picked up by a group of survivors. skipping the details, several years go by. she doesnt really make any new friends, and the loneliness sinks its teeth into her - so she relies on the past to keep her grounded. the memories of her mom feel too painful, but her memories of her uncle feel.. safer. kinder, in a way. and in the back of her head, that tiny crush starts to fester. subconsciously, she starts to feed it, because the loneliness is ripping her apart, and this weird fucked up little fantasy feels like the safest way for her to keep it at bay. it's not a conscious thing, though. she's actively disgusted and disturbed by it every time it crosses her mind. it just kind of.. stews in the background.

she starts sleeping around to sate that loneliness. "There's a void in you that you haven't managed to fill. Something about having someone's hands on you makes the ache a little quieter, a little more manageable, but not by much." it's not born out of love, or any kind of affection - just a feral sort of desperation.

she never really feels like her partners fit her. when she finally realizes that shes chasing people with features that remind her of her dead fucking uncle, she promptly declares herself a freak forever and sentences herself to celibacy until she can figure out whatever the fuck is wrong with her brain.

she ends up leaving the planet, because staying is too painful. im a little foggy on the details here, but tldr she finds a mentor and gets into the tech scene, then the hacking scene, then starts doing what she can do fuck with the ipc wherever possible, etc etc. somehow, experiencing the impossible vastness of the universe, being surrounded by a functionally infinite amount of people, feels more lonely than ever. she's just kind of adrift in the world - sending money back home to help people make end's meet, generally just trying to find a reason to live beyond fear. there's a storm of emotions brewing inside of her - the hatred and the terror and the grief. she does all she can to spite the IPC, but it never feels like enough. it never feels like it does any good.

and then, years after the massacre, she's at a bar meeting with a client, and she sees him, and he sees her. and she's thinking "holy fucking shit that's my dead uncle" and he's thinking "holy fucking shit that's my dead niece" and they reunite and stuff. very heartwarming, very sweet, lots of tears (well. from her at least. he can't partake obviously 💀) and they start catching up over drinks.

and that's when he tells her his mission - that he knows who pulled the trigger, and who was behind the slaughter of their people. and she latches onto that HARD, because now she has a specific target for her emotional turmoil instead of the vague, amorphous concept of "the company." etc etc etc they agree to team up because he could use someone to help with behind-the-scenes stuff. and also because it's really nice to have someone around from home. so they exchange contact info and stuff, yay yay yippee

so they chat more, and they drink more, and reader maaaaaybe kinda sorta drinks a little too much. more than a little, actually. more than enough that her hold on her inner monologue slips and she starts thinking about how pretty he is. and suddenly that dormant little harmless crush that she was subconsciously feeding is swinging back around with a vengeance, because now it's real, and he's here, and he's ALIVE, and god did his lips always look that soft or-

and. well. eventually she uh. she might maybe kinda sorta ask if she can kiss him. and then processes the words that just came out of her mouth and starts CRYING because what the FUCK is wrong with her. and he like.. never addresses it directly. he just calms her down and makes sure she gets back to her hotel room and fucking DIPS.

BUT THE THING IS. THE THING IS. SHE WAKES UP THE NEXT MORNING. AND DOESN'T REMEMBER DOING IT. SO NOW HE KNOWS!! BUT SHE DOESN'T KNOW THAT HE KNOWS!!!! AND THEY HAVE TO ACT NORMAL!!!!!!!!!!!!

so the next bit is kinda loose and im probably gonna tweak some things. but. but. they have to go on a mission together. and.

yeah. im. yeah. they have to go to a bdsm club. together. and im sure you can guess. where im going with that. theres a particular section from the club scene that has been absolutely CONSUMING ME but idk if i should share that yet jawhbdjahwdbjawbajd unless somebody asks nicely ig. but jesus christtttttttttt it makes me feel insane. this whole fic makes me feel insane. the ending makes me want to chew my hands off but we'll get there when we get there. fucking pray for me because im not seeing the gates of heaven with this one

[thestarfishface]

Something a little different, but I've been toying around with prose recently and wrote a little short story about Verity's old crew!

What's currently posted is the first half of a rough chapter idea I have planned- I gotta hash out exactly what I wanna do for the back half, but I think the first part stands okay on its own! Look out for a continuation in the future, though :>

[takofukkatsumi]

1. Be me

2. Play (watch bf play) a game

3. Show bestie some screenshots

4. Tell bestie about characters

5. ?????

6. Wake up to a 2k words of John of Liechtenstein x Samuel fic written in your DMs at *checks timestamp* 6am

@sirshio, you completely insane bastard, I love you

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath

After waking up from a ten year stasis, Gordon finds himself back in the ruins of Black Mesa.

Notes: Hi half life fandom this is my first fic posted for HL. Also this is the first reveal of my HL au: Aftermath! So thats pretty neato, anyway hope you enjoy this short little prologue thing

Blackness was all he saw; darkness for miles, with pure nothingness filling the gaps. He couldn’t feel, see, or hear, and even trying to think of a single thing was proving to be a greater challenge than he’d expect. His thoughts blurred together into a sludge of meaningless ramblings, leaving him unable to process where he was, or how he got here. He had vague memories flashing in his mind, glimpses of concrete corridors and alien fauna. It was maddeningly barren, with the silence being enough to drive a man mad. How much time has passed since he arrived here? Has it been seconds? Days?  Time itself felt nonexistent at that very moment, simply a construct that meant nothing in this place. It felt as if he was in a dream, trapped in his own head as he traversed his own subconsciousness, floating in a vague void, unable to act or react to anything that could possibly be in there. He all but gave up hope of escaping this dark Hell he had found himself in, until he felt himself being pulled by an invisible force, and abruptly, there was light.

Gordon’s senses came back to him as fast as a train crash, the feeling of barely healed fractures and lacerations coming back to him as his nerves fired. Ringing flooded his hearing, with the HEV’s computer voice, an artificial voice he came to despise, sounding muffled and making it hard to process any of the words being said to him. He couldn’t move, his limbs feeling as if they were being pinned down by a massive weight, as if he was on the bottom of the ocean. The numbing pain shot up his legs and arms, though despite his wishes, there was no way he could even scream, with his throat tight and his vocal cords useless. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, with the weakness draped across his body making even that menial action nearly impossible. He began to wonder if the infinite void he was in before would be better than reality, with the idea of feeling nothing rather than feeling everything to a painful degree seeming like a better option than what he was forced to bear.

As he laid on the rubble, he began to hear something new past the waning ringing; footsteps approaching him. Gordon desperately wanted to move, to protect himself from the new danger, yet as much as he tried, his limbs refused to budge. Soon he realized it was multiple sets of footfall coming near, and soon, he began to make out a voice.

The words slurred together in his mind, making the message hard to decipher, but a few words cut clearer than others:

“Breathing. Freeman. Alive. Help. Out.”

Gordon felt his limp body being moved, raised from the ground by someone, or something, being dragged across the concrete floor to somewhere else. Despite his foggy mind, Gordon couldn’t help but consider the worst; Xen creatures dragging him elsewhere to slaughter him as he did to them, and Military personnel taking him somewhere to question, torture, or even execute him were among the possibilities his short-circuting mind had come up with. However, before he could even do anything to try and prevent whatever fate might befall him, he felt himself drifting off, falling unconscious yet again.

He slowly stirred awake once again to hear the sound of an engine running and tires rolling across a gravel road. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, yet when he gained the strength to do so, his eyelids opened and he took a brief glimpse around. Through his blurred vision, he saw he was in the backseat of some sort of vehicle, laid across the seats. His metal HEV pressed against his body awkwardly, making any movement he could make uncomfortable. His head was supported with a wadded-up hoodie, and his body was covered by a thin blanket that had been thrown onto him. It was strange to see simple kindness extended to him, though he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trick to make him let his guard down. He glanced towards the front seats, seeing the back of the drivers head, but not who was in the passenger seat. They were speaking to one another, but yet again the words fell out of Gordon’s grasp. He felt himself beginning to drift off again, and despite his wishes to stay awake, he grew limp as he fell unconscious yet again.

When Gordon next woke up, he was greeted with cold air around him. As he was pulled out of unconsciousness, he began to hear rhythmic beeping beside him; something he immediately recognized as a heart monitor. Gordon felt as if a weight was taken off of him, and when he gained the strength to open his eyes again, he saw the reason why. His HEV suit was missing, and he was instead wearing a pale blue hospital gown from what he could gather. He was laying in a bed, with its stiff mattress, albeit uncomfortable, feeling like heaven compared to laying on the cold concrete floors of Black Mesa. He saw bandages covering parts of his body, old blood seeping into them. Past his bed however, he could barely make out anything, with everything being blurry and hard to make out. He must have lost his glasses somewhere, but it was the least of his worries as the pain began to seep in. 

All his limbs felt sore, making it hard to move a single finger. His leg had a throbbing pain in his knee, and he felt as if he was being slashed with knives whenever he attempted to move his arms. His heart felt heavy and his lungs stinged with every breath. When was the last time he took a break to breathe? It felt like the days worth of fighting for his life hit him all at once, making him feel nearly paralyzed, and too tired to do anything to fight it. He began to wonder if it was best to be asleep; at least he wouldn’t have to think or feel. He began to wonder how he got here, racking his brain to try and bring up any clue of what had happened. The last thing he remembered before he woke up was being knee-deep in what he could assume was blood, staring up at something…he couldn’t even begin to describe. He killed the thing keeping the portal between earth and the border world open, so why did he feel so…empty? It felt as though his accomplishment meant nothing, as if he was missing something deep inside. He closed his eyes, attempting to fetch his blotted out memories for a shred of explanation, all before he shot his eyes open, a single image returning to his consciousness.

The man.

Gordon’s memories became clear as day when he remembered the man in the dull, navy blue suit. He remembered its unnaturally piercing eyes, staring deep into Gordon’s very being as if it was examining his very soul and regrets. He remembered its face, with it looking aged, yet it felt ageless at the same time. He remembered the unnatural way it stood, as if it was being held up with strings. He recalled the way it spoke to him as if it never spoke in its entire life before that very moment. He never got its name or its motivations, but something about remembering the man and its almost human facade caused his heart to skip a beat. Paranoia crept up in his mind, and the feeling of being watched began to be overwhelming. Something wasn’t right, as if something he didn’t see was coming after him. He needed to get out of here before it arrived.

Gordon forced his arms to move as he sat up in his bed, wincing before he turned to step out of bed, clasping the side of it with one of his shaking hands. As soon as he put weight on his leg, however, he collapsed onto the linoleum floor, ripping his IV out of his arm in the process. He let out a small squeak; the closest he physically could get to a scream, a pathetic noise that reminded him just how helpless he truly was at this moment. He pushed himself up as much as he could, arms shaking at the exertion, but he couldn’t get back onto his feet. As he tried to get off of the floor in vain, the door to the room opened, and a person appeared in the doorway. It was a nurse, coming into the room only to be greeted by Gordon unsuccessfully escaping his bed. She appeared surprised, immediately approaching him to help with getting him back onto the bed, despite his best tries to escape her grasp. She said a few things to try and comfort him, but Gordon couldn’t process the words before she quickly left the room, coming back with another doctor, presumably for help.

Gordon hated the fact he was back in the bed, with a new IV being attached and bandages being replaced. He wasn’t sure when the next threat would rear its head, and he needed to be prepared for when it did. Yet, he was all but incapable of doing anything of use, and he had to accept it. He could barely even move, less shoot a gun or swing a weapon at anything. 

“Dr. Freeman?”

Gordon was surprised to finally make out what someone was saying, looking up at the doctor who had just finished reattaching his IV. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” He stated, almost smiling slightly. It was unclear if it was to try and make light of the situation or if it was relief. “Even more lucky to be awake right now. Though please, don’t try getting up again, alright? You might reopen stitches.”

Gordon stared at the doctor’s face blankly before leaning back and staring at the ceiling as the doctor continued talking.

“A couple of scavengers found you back at the ruins of Black Mesa, or, at least that's their story. You’ll have to speak with the police about the entire situation.” the doctor continued, “The Vortigaunt said you were lucky to be found in there, apparently had to drag you out of there.”

Gordon’s brows furrowed, not recognizing the word “Vortigaunt” despite the doctor bringing it up so casually. He looked back at the doctor with a puzzled look on his face. 

“I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you’re alive,” The doctor chuckled, trying to make light of the situation despite Gordon not reciprocating the cheerful atmosphere. “You’ve been gone for a long time, so a lot of us thought you would never return.”

Gordon’s puzzled expression turned to a look of borderline anger, wanting to ask so many questions but being unable to; he didn’t even know if the doctor knew sign language, and he didn’t have paper to write on, that is if he had the strength to hold a pencil.

“You look…upset,” The doctor said, his smile fading, “I can understand why, but if it brings you any comfort, you have hundreds of thousands of people who were wishing for your return. You’re a hero, you know.”

Gordon doubted that sentiment.

“We…believe you were in a coma, sir,” The doctor glanced at his nurse, as if he wanted help breaking the news, “...one that lasted ten years, so you're...lucky to be alive at all.”

The doctor continued to explain the situation, claiming that Gordon was lucky to have his brain still functioning despite being asleep for that long, but the words went through one ear and out the other. Gordon didn’t process the doctor trying to speak to him, only staring into the wall behind him as he leaned back in his bed. He didn’t even blink once as reality seemed to become meaningless, dissociating as his brain wouldn’t even allow him to process the time lost. To him, he was gone for a few mere moments, but an entire decade had passed in the time it took him to escape the void he was in for a brief, yet agonizing time. He wondered if his friends had forgotten about him, if they were even alive after the Resonance Cascade; they almost certainly believed he was dead at the very least. Gordon had been dead to the world for so long, he felt surprised anyone came to rescue him at all. After all, who would rescue the man who caused so much death in the span of a few days? Was he supposed to go back into normal society after everything? Was he supposed to be praised as a hero, despite the fact he was just a lowly scientist who just wanted to survive?

Gordon wished to go back to sleep. Being awake felt more agonizing than the temporary stasis ever did.

[thinkof-england]

Several Sentence Sunday

Thank you to @kiwiana-writes, @duchessdepolignaca03, @tailsbeth-writes, and @eusuntgratie for the tags today!

Alright so it's been A MINUTE since I've posted anything from my @aroyallybigbangrwrb fic "Kiss Me, Just Once (for luck)", so this is what we're going with today! Reminder, it's loosely based off of the Idea of You (LARGE EMPHASIS ON LOOSELY), Alex is in a boyband, Henry is 39 and father to a 16-year-old, Amelia. Enjoy some dad!Henry and too smart for her own good Amelia!

“Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Think about the implications of this, I’m your parent and I’m also in charge of your two friends. All three of you are underage and all four of those boys, those men, are all over 21. What kind of parent would I be if I let my teenage daughter and her teenage friends galavant around with rockstars?”  “Okay, first of all, they aren’t rockstars, they’re just regular guys, remember?” Amelia gave him a look, calling back to their earlier conversation, and he wanted to smack himself silly for setting himself up for that. “And second, who cares about the implications? You’re our chaperone, right? And you’re also invited? We won’t leave your sight, we won’t try to drink or leave with anyone. And if there are any drugs, we’ll come get you immediately and we’ll leave.” Amelia looked back at Ruby and Brent to confirm and they both started nodding so hard Henry worried they’d get whiplash.

No pressure tags below the cut!

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @agame-writes @blueeyedgrlwrites

@bitbybitwrites @bigassbowlingballhead @caterpills @captainjunglegym @cha-melodius

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@miss-minnelli @notspecialbabe @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @onthewaytosomewhere

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