#snippet of nothing

[tgmsunmontue]

  "Marry me..."

  "What?"

  "Marry me..." Jake repeats, happiness and joy dripping from every pore of his body, his body sliding against Bradley's. "We love each other, why shouldn't we get married?"

  "Uh... cause I'm already married?" Bradley states.

It stops him cold.

Ice in his veins.

Happiness and joy immediately turned to feelings of betrayal and hurt.

  "You're what?"

[swbumblebee]

Aww I forgot I wrote this and just re-read it!

Obi-Wan Kenobi is an introvert; though lucky enough to be surrounded by people he is always pleased to see he is, at his core, a private man who needs quiet solitude and to revel in his own space as regularly as possible to recharge after the long periods of constant company and communication life has forced him into.

He is also, a complete sucker for his Padawans.

Who did not get the memo.

---

General Obi-Wan Kenobi leant his head against the duratile of his small fresher shower and let the warmish water wash over him, over aching bones and dirty hair, dripping gently down his face washing the grime and pain of the battle down the drain.

It had been a hard one. A long, gruelling fight to save people who didn’t seem to realise they’d been saved.

What was the point? He just wanted to lie down and meditate and wait for tomorrow to start.

Thud.

He paused his rapidly spiralling thoughts and increasingly vigorous scrubbing at the shuffling and banging noises from his tiny cabin.

He rolled his eyes fondly. His former Padawan was not a quiet person.

“One minute, I’m in the shower!” He called, increasing the speed of his washing and reaching for the shampoo.

“Master?” he heard over the noise of the rapidly cooling water.

“I’m in the shower!” he called back, louder this time. Perhaps Anakin would put the kettle on whilst he waited? Or maybe even open a bottle of something-

“Hey Obi-Wan”

The Jedi Master was not particularly proud of the noise he made as the door swooshed open and he heard his former Padawan’s greeting much too close for comfort.

“GAAHNAKIN!” he all but shrieked, simultaneously dropping the sponge and banging his elbow on the wall. “Ow! Kark!” he yelped.

“Oh sorry” came the blasé response “Should’ve knocked” the young man admitted casually, and Obi-Wan heard the scrape of the fresher stool being moved over his thudding heartbeat.

“Anyway, was wondering if you might be up for a bit of sparring after dinner? I feel like Ahsok-“

“Anakin!” the irate Jedi Master barked, and finally popped his head tightly round the shower curtain, fixing his former student and former best friend with a furious glare through the suds slowly making their way into his eyes.

“What the blazes do you think you are doing?” he demanded. He looked down at the rest of the curtain, tightly held to the wall from his neck down. “I’m in the shower!” he said incredulously.

“Oh yeah but I just-“

“The shower!!” the composed Jedi Master all but shouted in disbelief, well aware his voice was getting slightly higher.

“Right…” the nonchalant young man was comfortably sitting on the stool, not a care for his poor Master’s dignity, or privacy.

For some reason baffling to Obi-Wan, he was looking at the irate older man with surprise.

“So do you want me to…?”

“GET. OUT.”

“Alright! Alright! Jeeze no need to be so touchy about it” Anakin straightened up, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Boundaries Padawan, for the love of Force, BOUNDARIES!”

The irritating, maddening Jedi Knight picked up the pace and opened the refresher door, barely managing to avoid the bar of soap aimed at his head as his Master punctuated his words with a projectile.

There was a beat of silence. Blessed silence. Until:

“So we’ll talk in a bit then?” Came through gloriously muffled through the door.

Obi-Wan once again rested his head on the wall, cursing himself, the Force and everything, as the water heater finally gave up and showered him with icy water.

“Yes, we’ll talk in a bit” he confirmed, sighing at the Universe and grabbing a towel.

---

“…Doing with your leave?”

Obi-Wan hadn’t realised he’d tuned his dear Commander out until he caught the end of his optimistic question.

“Oh I’m rather looking forward to a spot of relative peace and quiet I think” the tired Jedi Master replied, swinging his old canvas bag onto his shoulders and standing up as the transport docked at the Temple.

“Well you’ve earned it General” Woolley nodded at him with an encouraging smile.

Obi-Wan felt his smile turn just a touch more genuine and he turned to his men, waiting for him to depart.

“We all have” he said, as he turned to exit the transport.

The battle-weary Jedi closed his eyes, taking in the hustle and bustle of the Temple hanger, hanging back whilst the 501st transport docked behind him.

Sure enough, his smile was widening not five minutes later when Ahsoka bounced excitedly down the ramp, Anakin following behind with his characteristic confident smirk in place.

“Master Obi-Wan!”

His heart swelled as he suddenly found himself with the wind almost knocked out of him and a happy Torguta apparently trying to squeeze the life out of him.

“Hi Master”

Anakin waited patiently for Ahsoka to let the older man go, and when she turned her hug for her Grandmaster into a deep bow for a senior council member, Anakin leaned in and grasped his friends forearms in greeting, before doing the same.

Obi-Wan gave a shallower bow of his own to them both with a wide grin.

“It is so good to see you my Padawans” he said warmly, giving his Grandpadawan a wink as Anakin opened his mouth to give a familiar retort.

“Not your Pada-“

“Ahsoka dear please do stop growing, you’re making me feel old” he interrupted the traditional refrain from his former Padawan

“You are old” Anakin grinned at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on Snips, lets dump our stuff before de-brief.” He instructed, picking up his and his own Padawan’s packs and falling into step with his Master, heading towards the Temple main.

“Uh, Skyguy, you er…you know, remember about that thing?” Ahsoka asked slightly breathlessly as she strode next to the two older Jedi with a tilt of her head in reminder.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow. Since leaving their shared flat to embark on life as a Knight, and then moving Ahsoka in, the tales of Anakin’s living situation had periodically horrified or amused his old Master.

Anakin stopped in his tracks, grimacing.

“Oh kark”

“Language – What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asked, the reprimand automatically exiting his mouth almost subconsciously.

“Er…”

The Master’s eyes narrowed as the other man dithered sheepishly.

“Our flat’s being fumigated” Ahsoka chirped cheerfully, prompting a grimace from her Master.

Obi-Wan stared at them for a very long moment.

“I don’t think I want to know” he decided, turning around and continuing to walk down the corridor and away from his Padawan’s nonsense.

“So what’s the plan Skyguy?” he heard Ahsoka ask innocently as the pair again sprung into life and followed after him.

“Right just let me think”

“Hey, we can just stay with Master Obi-Wan!”

Master Obi-Wan ground to a screeching halt.

He hoped he managed to cover the mildly alarmed noise he inadvertently made. Turning back to them both he was greeted with enthusiastic nodding and a big grin from his energetic Grandpadawan, and large pleading eyes from his fully grown idiot best friend.

“Yeah c��mon it’ll be so much fun!” Ahsoka was clearly warming to the idea. “We can make Kenobi Surprise, and watch the racing, and play Sabacc!” she suggested excitedly.

“I..well…” Obi-Wan didn’t know quite what to say in the face of such delight.

“Would that be OK Obi-Wan? Just for a bit” Anakin met his eyes reluctantly, genuinely asking permission.

The tired and slightly battered Master took a deep breath in through his nose. There really was only one answer.

He smiled.

“Of course, I’d be delighted to have you both” he said, patting his friend on the arm and chuckling as Ahsoka punched the air.

“Aw yeah this is gonna be awesome!”

Peace and quiet was overrated anyway.

---

‘Conference room, ASAP.’

Obi-Wan looked up from his book and his tea when the chirp of the commlink disrupted his medic-mandated fifteen-minute break. He was now to take one every three hours and as much as he was loathe to admit it, they were doing wonders for his productivity and inner calm.

Except when he received emergency summons, obviously.

His stomach dropped as he read Anakin’s message again and scenarios instantly began filling his head.

New orders? An attack? He didn’t hear any sirens, so they weren’t being ambushed thank the Force. But really anything could be happening, and here he was ‘taking a break’!

Cursing he clumsily tugged on his boots, running fingers through his hair whilst simultaneously pulling on his belt.

He made it to the Negotiator’s conference room in record time, barely waiting for the doors to open before rushing inside.

Where he came to a sudden, confused stop.

“Oh hey Master”

“Hi Master Obi-Wan”

There in the main conference room, sat Anakin and Ahsoka. Both with their eyes fixed on a holoscreen showing some kind of learning module and sharing a bowl of Ahsoka’s favourite cured meat chunks. They would have made a rather cute scene under different circumstances.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered, the wind rapidly leaving his sails.  

This is not look like an emergency.

“Are you alright Master?” Ahsoka asked, eyes widening in concern her Grandmaster’s flustered and harried state.

“Anakin, you sent me a message?” he demanded, fixing his former student with a piercing look.

“Oh uh…yeah I mean, we were just talking about Force Theory. Thought you might have some ideas.” Anakin answered, wearily looking at his confused Master.

“Yeah do you think you’d use the Living Force or the Unifying Force to breathe in Space? Theoretically.” Ahsoka asked imploringly.

Obi-Wan stared at them both.

“What?” he asked again, less sharp and now genuinely baffled at the randomness of the question.

“Yeah it just seemed like something you would know about” Anakin answered casually, about to turn back to the holoscreen. Apparently “helping” Ahsoka with her Force Philosophy module.

“I don’t…”

The Jedi Master summoned the words, and the strength, for the conversation.

“You said it was urgent?” he said weakly, still rather discombobulated by the jarring change of pace.

Anakin looked at him surprised.

“Oh no I just meant you should come here when you can, you know, as soon as it’s possible.” He explained casually.

Obi-Wan stared at him, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair.

“You said ASAP!” he ground out.

“Yeah, ‘as soon as it’s possible’!” the young man said defensively “not like, right now!”

This time Obi-Wan did run a hand through his hair, taking a very long deep breath.

“Unbelievable! Anakin I just dropped everything, I was in the middle of-“ he faltered. “You can’t do that!” he snapped.

Ahsoka was now looking at him worriedly.

“Sorry Master Obi-Wan, we didn’t mean it.” She said contritely and seemed to dither in the face of her Grandmaster’s displeasure.

She pulled the chair beside her out from under the table.

“…you wanna join?” she asked, timidly.

“Yeah sorry Master, didn’t mean to make you panic” Anakin joined in, the tiniest of tiny smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t panic” Obi-Wan muttered, well aware how sulkily it sounded.

“C’mon Master, take a seat. You really need to relax” he instructed cockily.

Obi-Wan nearly hit him.

But he took the offered seat all the same. He was here now, after all.  

[cactikoi]

@th0rnback Aauhhhhh I felt so inspired by the little excerpt you wrote about my drawing I decided to finish it!! Thank you for inspiring me!

[straw-eri-chan]

What if Kon was the one who raised their clone baby instead of Tim?

“Oh.”

Kon stared at the baby in the test tube of green goo. The baby that had Tim’s little face but said very clearly on the screen was made of *his* DNA.

“Oh.” He repeated, and hesitated and all of thirty more seconds before punching the glass. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences. That was a baby in a test tube. A baby that would not be staying in a test tube any longer.

The second he picked the little thing up and held it in his arms, Kon honestly thought it had given him some sort of disease. His pulse was racing, his heart was full, and he felt so light he was *actually* floating. He knew if anything touched the baby in his arms to cause it harm he’d absolutely *destroy* them.

“Hi there.” He cooed, and seriously, *cooed?* That wasn’t a thing he normally did. He loved kids, loved them a lot, but even he didn’t normally *coo* at them. But there was something about this baby that made Kon feel something he’d never felt before. A kind of love so deep rooted and impossible to ignore it kind of hurt. “What’s your name?”

Like a normal baby, it—*he.* The baby was a boy. He was a he. Not an it. *He* didn’t respond to Kon’s question. Which, fair. He was so freaking *tiny!*

He didn’t need to know his name. Kon was already convinced this kid was *his.*

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[allgremlinyaps]

Jet and Zuko meet on the ferry is TIRED. Jet and Zuko meet after S2E7 "Zuko Alone" is WIRED

[bieddiediaz]

“I thought—” Eddie gasped, eyes fluttering shut and head banging against the wall, “—you said—” another twist, another shaky breath, “—you were celibate.”

The man in front of him huffed out a laugh. “You said you were straight.” He pressed Eddie even further into the wall, if that were possible. Eddie moaned as the hand around him tightened and a thumb ran over his cockhead, his own hands gripping onto shoulders for dear life.

“I think we established—ah!—that I’m not good at letting myself have things.”

“Well,” a kiss on his throat, a tongue moving down to his clavicle, a mouth sucking on his neck. “You can let yourself have this.”

Eddie moaned again, barely able to focus on anything other than the body pressed up against his and the hand on his cock. He ran his hand down his muscular back, down a spine, gripped his ass. Hips jerked into Eddie’s, and all Eddie could see was white.

“It’s okay, Eddie. You can let go.”

It felt like sacrilege and it felt like salvation as he came, and came, and came.

[ailithnight]

Howdy y'all. Have a snippet that is completely unconnected to anything else I am writing or will write. Feel free to do with it whatever you please.

But first, important warning! TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault of a Minor

Seriously, this actually might be a brand new kind of fucked up even for the Danny Phantom fandom.

"Oh. I don't think you need to worry about, uh… that stuff."

"Oh? Why not?"

"It's just. Um. Y'know. The, the scientist were always fascinated by, um, by my 'mimicry of bodily functions,' right? They wanted to test how far the, 'the mimicry' extended. If I'd 'mimic' things like, digestion and immune response and, and um, excitement."

"Excitement." Flat. Not really a question, but a question all the same.

"Yeah. You know…" Danny makes a couple hand gestures. Wiggles his pointer a couple times; then holding his hand in a loose fist and giving a couple jerky, twisting pulling motions. Kind of like… Oh. Oh god. He's just 15. It's such a painfully 15 thing to do, dancing around the topic like this. All awkward and nervous.

But also, god, he's so painfully 15. Jason is suddenly wishing he'd made a lot more bullet holes when they took those fuckers down. He would have if he'd known just how far their depravity sank. If he'd known they had-

"They sexually assaulted you?" Dick's voice is high and strained. Jason winces. Everyone knows, Dick hasn't told them, but they've all seen the signs, they know he has some personal traumas there.

Danny full body flinches, recoiling as if Dick had just slapped him.

"What? No! It wasn't. They didn't. It's not like they were, like, getting off to it or anything. They were just. Testing reactions. To, like, stimuli and stuff. Same as when they'd test how my body responded to different temperatures or lack of oxygen or various drugs. It wasn't. It was just an experiment." Danny looks down, fidgeting his hands in his lap and refusing to look up. It's practically textbook denial. Dick is probably fighting flashbacks right now. Jason would try to help him if he wasn't trapped somewhere between horror and rage.

After a long moment of silence and fidgeting, Danny sighs. Still refusing to look at anyone, he leans back and studies the cieling instead. "Anyway. It was just another expiriment, but it still kind of killed any interest in… that stuff." Young. Young. So painfully young. "So I don't think I really need the whole… y'know… talk."

[kumashhii]

Okay, so snippet I wrote based on a dream I had where Danny turned a giw agent to his side

"Y'know, anyone who is liminal is on their list right?"

"Yeah. Anyone who is ectocontaminated is taken in to custody so we can cleanse them and prevent it from happening again."

"..." Danny makes a strange face at the word cleanse.

A beat of silence passes between them

"You...uh you know how that sounds right?"

"What do you mean?" Nat looks confused.

"Cleanse. You know even if that's what they're really doing, they're killing them or at the very least injuring them, heavily. You can't be," Danny waves his hands, trying to find his words. "You, you cant just be *cleansed* of liminality! Once you're liminal, you're liminal! You're forever changed. Forcefully removing the ectoplasm can cause ...death by destabilization... It would be like trying to bleach the blood out of someone."

Nathaniel's face goes blank. "Oh ancients," Danny whispered in horror "How many people do they have contained? How many have they done this to??"

Danny looked at Nathaniel and nearly snaps at him for his lack of reaction, until he realized that Nathaniel's blank expression was one of dawning horror and panicked dissociation.

Danny reaches out his hand "Hey, are you-"

Nathaniel flinches back away from Danny. He was starting to hyperventilate .

"No no no no no!" You're lying! We didn't... I didn't.." Nathan curls in on himself, clutching at his hair. "I,I,I,I, I didn't....th, they,they told me we were helping people ." Nathan weakly shakes his head. Tears stream through his tightly shut eyelids.

The wave of emotions is truly overwhelming to Danny. The panic, fear, revulsion, pain, are all secondary to the sheer amount of guilt and betrayal the man is drowning in. Danny's core aches. He wants to help him, no, he needs to help him but he doesn't know how.

[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.

[tgmsunmontue]

Saw this post about a retired NHL goalie turning up for beer league games and then thought Hangster of course...

--------------------------------------------

                “Nah man, I put an add up on Facebook for a goalie…” Javy says and Jake rolls his eyes.

                “People still use Facebook?”

                “Oh my god, we’re going to end up with some dude in his fifties wanting to relive his glory days.”

                “We could get a woman.”

                “True true.” “Are you saying more woman use Facebook?” “Yes, of course.”

                “Any goalie is better than no goalie. A warm body in net will stop some goals.”

                Jake pulls a face, and he know as captain of their beer league team that he should have maybe been more onto it, but work has been absolutely crazy, Javy had offered to take care of it and Jake had trusted him. He’s starting to second guess that decision.

…            …            …

                However the game rolls around and Javy says he’s secured a goalie, one who also has all his own gear, which makes Jake hopefully that at least whoever it is knows what they’re doing in net. Sure enough, when he enters the locker room there is a guy he doesn’t recognise with has back to the room, arms stretched above him as he pulls a jersey over his pads. Then a name is stretched across the guy’s shoulders.

                “Bradshaw fan huh?” Jake asks, letting his own bag drop to the ground in front of his usual stall just two over from the goalie stall where Bob usually sits.

                “Yeah, something like that…” the guy says, then he’s turning to Jake and -

                “Oh holy shit. You’re actually Bradley Bradshaw.”

                “Yeah. Heard you needed a goalie.”

                Jake can’t say anything, his breath and heart have somehow merged into one mass caught in his throat. Need. Yeah. He needs.

                “Uh, you okay?”

                Jake nods frantically. Swallows roughly.

                “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just uh… wasn’t expecting you.”

                This makes Bradshaw frown and Jake immediately wants to fix that.

                “Javy didn’t tell you I was coming?”

                “Uh, he said he’d found a goalie. Not that you were that goalie.”

                “Oh. Uh. Do you want me to go?”

                “No! With you in net we might have a chance against the reigning champs. Holy shit… Vezina winner Bradley Bradshaw is going to be our goalie.”

                “Yeah. I mean, I’m a little early. Needed to warm up and was hoping someone could shoot a few pucks at me…”

                “Oh hell yes, I am totally up for that.”

                He can plot Javy’s demise later.

[sanerontheinside]

rando snippet woe, kenobi feels upon ye

At the last moment, as Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber before him and bowed his head, he felt a tug somewhere behind his ribs. His breath caught, lungs and stomach tightening. This was not, he thought, what letting go should feel like. This was very much not being let go of. 

Qui-Gon, he thought, a desperate regretful whisper. 

In the next moment he found himself standing, unrobed and disarmed, staring at the closing blast doors as Vader—oh Anakin, he thought—prodded at a brown heap of wool with booted foot. 

The rest was a blur. Solo was yelling; Luke was tugging at his elbow—it was his piercing cry that had drawn the attention of the stormtroopers and the hail of blasterfire in the first place. Obi-Wan, half in a stupor, allowed himself to be dragged up the boarding ramp of the Falcon, stumbling between them as Solo and Chewbacca returned fire. 

He was chivvied up into the ship and then left unmoored, standing sightless in the common area as the others dashed around him for the pilots’ seats and the guns. The shooting that followed, the fancy flying—none of it could touch him as he sagged against the common area’s dingy bench.

Bitter tears welled behind his eyes, burning to get free. Eventually everything quieted, and left only emptiness behind. 

Master, Obi-Wan thought, Qui-Gon, I’m so sorry. 

And turned to see the Princess staring at him, wide-eyed. Shaking. 

“You got old,” she said at last. 

Obi-Wan laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed so long and so hard that Luke and Han peered out of the cockpit and the gunport to eye him with intense concern. 

“And you got a blaster,” he managed, still snickering. 

Through her pallor and her tears, at last, Leia grinned. She leapt forward and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him so tight he let out a quietly pained ooff of breath. 

“You two… know each other.” Captain Solo, ever quick on the uptake, was watching them with the deepest distrust. 

An amused rumble from the cockpit had the captain’s eyebrows jumping up to his hairline. “You’re kidding,” he uttered over his shoulder, and received a self-satisfied chortle in response. 

Obi-Wan might’ve appreciated it more if he hadn’t been holding on to a quietly sobbing Princess, Alderaan’s last survivor. 

[shearingsheeps]

science team-tober day 8: misfire

(you can read the accompanying fic for today's prompt here!)

prompt list | science team-tober sideblog

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP Wednesday Whenever at-least-it's-not-fuckin' January-anymore

Thank you for tagging me @perotovar!

Everything writing has been a mess, but last week I finally made myself sit down and work on part II for Nothing That I Didn't Know, because I miss my three idiots (affectionate) so much. I've started that chapter from scratch more times than I can count over the past 14 months (wtf), because I've got such a specific vision of it in my mind, but it's finally shaping up!

Before Frankie has time to panic, your fingers brush over the back of his head - softly rubbing his scalp in soothing circles, then finding his curls to play with as you always do. His eyes close in pleasure, and as he’s trying to find some coherent words, he feels Santi’s hand in his hair move to meet yours, fingers entwining.  “Stop thinking, baby,” you whisper at him, because you know him so damn well. Just when he’s about to respond, your hold on his hair tightens, followed by Santi also gripping his curls closer. The seconds of anticipation make Frankie’s heart race as he holds his breath, his cock twitching hard in Santiago’s other hand. And then at last, when he’s almost not expecting it anymore, there’s that hard tug at his hair that he's longing for. Except unlike the many times before, it’s now two hands jerking his head back - one considerably stronger than the other.  The zap of painful pleasure makes his mind go blissfully blank, and he whimpers when Santi grabs his chin lightly - holding it in place as his lips brushing over Frankie’s throat, followed by the rougher texture of his beard. “Look at me, Francisco.”

NPT (sorry if you've already posted, time wasn't real in january so I've lost track of most people's WIP posts): @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @mountainsandmayhem @alltheglitterandtheroar

@magpiepills @arcanefox207 @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @oliveksmoked

@ohforficsake @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @nerdieforpedro @avastrasposts

@ghostofaboy @crowandmousewritingco @chronically-ghosted @covetyou @moonlitbirdie

@reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

& everybody else reading this!

[little-mouse-adventures]

Currently thinking about Artemis's will in the code at the bottom of TLG and how it really kinda shows how strained his relationship with his dad still is. Everyone else gets something they're interested in or that Arty thinks they'd like (sound system for Juliet, frozen chicken for Mulch, ethical investments for his mother, etc) and yet for his father he leaves only bearer bonds, despite Artemis I trying to move away from a money-focused enterprise and lifestyle as of TEC. Not to mention it's Butler who would know how to disengage all the booby traps protecting said bearer bonds, further highlighting the difference in trust & familiarity Artemis has with everyone but his father.

[albatris]

snippet sunday......

snippet sunday........

tw suicidal ideation

“Anyway.” Quinn moved the washcloth over Alex’s cheek, cupping its face lightly as they worked. “In an annoying turn of events, Lyra Finch has been very dead for several years now.”

Alex’s heart twinged for Nat. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah. I wanted to use her as some leverage over him, but without her to threaten he’s a bit of a wildcard,” Quinn said. Alex could hear the pout to their voice even without seeing their face.

Alex sighed. “Nat is a people pleaser, Quinn. As long as you’re nice to him, he’ll do whatever you ask.”

“Hm.”

They worked their way down Alex’s neck and chest, then tenderly took its hands to clean them, using the washcloth to get at the blood caked in between its fingers.

“You know, he talks about her like she’s still alive,” Quinn added. “It’s really weird.”

“Well, he’s not hurting anyone,” Alex said quietly. “It’s probably just his way of coping.”

Quinn said nothing. They continued to work at Alex, painstakingly cleaning its body of every speck of blood and dirt. Alex leaned in to their touch, feeling hurt and raw, and trying to give itself over to the softness of the washcloth and the tenderness of Quinn’s hands. Its mind in the quiet kept straying back towards the night’s earlier violence. It didn’t deserve this.

As if reading Alex’s thoughts, Quinn said, “You did a good thing tonight. You helped a lot of people.”

Alex’s jaw clenched, but Alex relaxed it, not wanting Quinn to see.

“I know you’re torn up about it,” Quinn said. “But if someone else had done it, that would have been fine, right? That would have been understandable.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Alex said. “But—it’s different. I should be better.”

“You can’t afford to be better,” Quinn said. “Remember how you were when we first met? You were half dead. And there’s only one way that ends.”

“Maybe I just shouldn’t exist at all.”

Alex believed it down to its core, but even the thought of it sent the Garble into a panic. Alex felt bone shifting under its gums and fought to keep its fangs under control. The last thing it needed was another round with those pliers. Outside, the sun was inching up, and the thought of that fiery death pressing in at the windows, the doors, made Alex’s breath hitch in its throat.

Quinn’s hands paused, then restarted their work. “Well—maybe no one else would have done it. And she would have just gone on making the world a worse place.”

Alex didn’t say anything.

“Promise me you’ll stay by my side tonight?” Quinn said. They were finished their cleaning now, and they cupped Alex’s cheek in their hand again. “I can’t bear to lose you.”

This Alex knew for a fact. It leaned in to their touch. “Of course,” it said. “You know I’m too much of a coward to actually try anything.”

“I don’t think you’re a coward.”

All vampires are cowards.

“I’ll go fetch you some fresh clothes,” Quinn said. “Then let’s put a movie on.”