#|| just figured answering asks like this may make it easier to continue?

[gyofukuki]

@astarablaze sent: ' humans are made up of violent, miserable fools - but so are we, so are we. ' / roy & tia

Roy scoffed lightly at her words, but at the same time, a small smile already tugged at the corner of his lips, betraying affinity despite the disapproval of her words or, maybe, (how unfortunate!) enhanced by it. With hands buried deep inside his coat pockets, he paced the floor in silence, before reaching the window. "Some of us, for sure. Not all of us." he looked closely at his own reflection, melting into the view outside, rain droplets hitting the glass, making his own features a little harder to recognise. He had little doubt these days if he qualified for her definition of humanity, however scathing. He could live with that, but-- "not all of you, either."

[beelmons]

...uh oh. i may need to politely request this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/beelmons/727110653210394624/i-feel-this-i-feel-like-spencer-would-only-use

spencer always calls reid by her name and reader is worried that means he doesnt like her as much as she likes him. and poor spencer is just oblivious as to was this matters 😭

It's fine, it's fine.

That's what you kept telling yourself. It's fine that Hotch calls his wife "honey". It's fine that Jennifer gets to be "sweetheart". It's fine that Penelope becomes "baby girl" despite not having any sort of relationship to Morgan whatsoever.

You don't need a pet name from your boyfriend, of course not. No "baby", that's weird, or "angel", that's cringe.

As you were sitting on the couch, sulking about the fact that it clearly annoyed you that Spencer would call you by your name instead of a cutesy petname made up by the two of you, you heard him call from the kitchen.

Once more, using your goddamn name.

"Okay, enough!" you finally blurted out, much to his utter surprise.

"Wha-" he tried to question in an attempt to get to the bottom of your sudden outburst.

"Don't call me by my name anymore, Spencer!" as you were yelling, you had to stand up and walk to the kitchen, where the poor man was holding a milk carton and looking astounded.

It had been a rather domestic day. Cleaning in your underwear, chilling by the couch. He had gotten up from your spot to grab some milk and cookies as an afternoon snack, and had called up on you when he couldn't find said cookies.

Now he was standing in the middle of his kitchen area, trousers and simple startrek t-shirt on, milk in hand, and a yelling girlfriend on his face.

"What's wrong with your name?" he asked with genuine curiosity

"Nothing is wrong with it, but that's not something to call your girlfriend of two years!" you yelled, your tone clearly getting higher.

"Is it not?" he asked once more. Despite his obliviousness seeming feigned to you, it was real to his core.

"I- You're-" you tried to fight back the need to strangle him, figure of speech, of course. Instead, you grunted and pushed on your temples.

However dreamy and kind, your boyfriend was, nonetheless, a man.

Exhasperation took over you over the lack of understanding on the severity of the situation and you knew better than to let yourself talk to him in that state. A resumé of fights and disputes being created by that same reason throughout the time you'd been together. You stomped your way back to the couch, where you simply decided to sit angrily with your arms over your chest.

The silence dragged out for quite a bit while the wheels in his head turned for a way out of this situation. Man, catching a killer was easier than walking through the eggshells you sometimes put out.

"Cinnamon." he simply said. You didn't answer, thinking that he was reciting to himself what he needed now. "That's what your name tastes like on my tongue." he added.

Finally, he earned a look back from you.

Spencer opened the fridge and put back the milk, an object that had lost several degrees of importance in the past few minutes, and walked over to you, taking a seat beside you on the couch and holding one of your hands into his. His touch was gentle, featherlight and quite fearful.

"I think it's due to the fact that I was tasting Penelope's coffee order when you were introduced to me." he continued "I'm sorry if I've come off as insensitive for not calling you a pet name but I had never felt the need for it. I love your name, I think it's a wonderful sound to emit."

It was now time for dialogue, no matter how uncomfortable it made you.

"Well, to me, it feels like you're calling out a friend. Someone who isn't special or remarkable in your life." you explained, your initial defense lowered, thus permiting you to express your insecurities fully.

You saw him make that stupid, adorable confusion face that he usually made. When he was trying hard to find the words to express a feeling he had never experienced before.

"I'm sorry." he simply put out for a second, hence igniting back a bit of your anger "But you see, it's not only the way it feels on my tongue. My heart, it races to levels I don't think are healthy whenever I hear it. My skin, it crawls with anticipation when it appears on my phone screen." he added "Your name is unique no matter how many people on this earth share it with you, and I could probably tell you how many exactly are there but I doubt you want to hear it right now." he had to clear his throat for a second "To me your name holds no other meaning but the one of pure love and happiness, so, to you it might appear I'm calling on to someone random but to me..." Spencer had to pause to put his head in order "...feels like I'm calling home."

You didn't realize your grip had tightened on his hand. Your eyes locked as he spoke had grown a couple of tears along the way. You were pulled, tentatively, into your boyfriend's arms, and there you remained for more minutes than you could have counted.

It's fine. Just your name is fine, as long as it's from his lips.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #61 Part 5

There were two new arrivals to the dining room. Both with black hair but one of them had an odd white stripe, the stripe reminded him of his hair in ghost form. 

The one without the stripe sat next to Tim and the other one sat next to Danny. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said they looked identical,” the guy without the stripe said, “Names Richard Greyson, but you can call me Dick”

Dick had a bright smile on his face, it was clear he was a morning person. 

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise at his introduction. 

The guy with the stripe in his hair grunted in agreement before holding out a coffee mug for Alfred, who was already standing next to him ready to pour. He took a swig before speaking, “Names Jason, you may look alike but seeing Damian eat meat, even from an alternate universe is weird.”

Danny took a bite of his bacon and swallowed like he was making a point before speaking, “I go by Danny, I faked my death years ago, as far as I’m concerned we were all strangers in my world.” He started, he took a moment to think about exactly how’d he explain everything. He knew it wasn’t exactly a pretty story but he also knew from the stories Talia told him when he was younger that Bruce was all about planning ahead, so keeping information from  him might not be the best way to go about all of this. 

He took another bite and swallowed before speaking again, “My foster family is fine though, I have a roof over my head and food. They spend most of their time in their lab working. They study Ectology, or the study of ghosts.” Jason raised an eyebrow at this but didn’t say anything. Danny continued, “They actually succeeded in building a portal to their realm, the realm of ghosts, or Infinite Realm as we call it.”

“We? You say that like you're one of the ghosts” Tim asked laughing a little bit.

He quickly got silent when Danny wasn’t laughing with him.

Damian made another ‘Tt’ noise before speaking, “Clearly this imposter has lost it, ghosts don’t exist and all of this nonsense is just that nonsense.” He glared at Danny.

Danny smiled at him and it caused Damian to falter a little before he glared at Danny again.

“Yes, Ghosts are real,” Danny sighed before continuing, “Trust me, it sounds crazy but I’ve seen some crazy things in my world. Although now I’m wondering if just showing you guys would be easier… Alright I’ll show you all but know that no one except my sister knows. Secret identity and all.”

“Wait,” Dick interrupted, “Does Robin not exist in your world?”

“Robin existed but there hasn’t been a Robin since Joker murdered the last one.” Danny answered. 

Everyone fell silent at that and the atmosphere got heavy. Everyone, especially Jason was giving each other knowing glances.

Danny cleared his throat before continuing, “Anyways, yes ghosts exist, unfortunately the portal in this world probably doesn’t work like my own world. It’s been about a year since I turned it on and since I was here in Gotham when they tried it in this world there’s no telling what they did after it didn’t work. Actually now that I think about it, I wonder if they exist here,” he thought about the GIW in his world and it occurred to him. If ghosts weren’t running rampant in Amity Park, they probably didn’t exist here.

He brought out his phone from his pocket and looked it up. His eyes lit up a bit at the information he found. Or more accurately the information he didn’t find. Searching GIW in this world brought zero results, so great he wouldn’t be hunted for existing here. 

He let out a sigh of relief at this. He turned to everyone and they were watching him closely. He gave them a small smile, “It’s been a while since I had a moment where I didn’t have to worry about being hunted for existing.” He explained. He figured he might as well get the conversation out of the way no matter how difficult it was. 

Everyone at the table was silent as they waited for him to continue. The tension was thick in the air however, you could tell that even though Danny had just arrived everyone was ready to jump to defend him, even if he wasn’t their Damian he was still part of the family even if he had just arrived into their lives. It cemented Danny’s determination to tell them the truth.

He took a deep breath and then spoke again, “The portal didn’t work at first when they tried it, I of course wanted to help so when they were away I went in to see if I could figure out the problem… Long story short, it helps to build the on switch on the outside of the portal. I’m not proud to admit that even with all of my training, there were just too many cords that even I tripped.” He didn’t have to say much else about that as their faces told him they understood what happened. He gave a dark chuckle and continued, “Yeah hurt like hell but I don’t have to worry about losing anything anymore.” He then took his phone and phased it into his chest.

The room went silent again for a moment, but it was broken by Jason who started cackling. 

He wheezed for a moment before he got out, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready for not Damian to make a fucking pun!”

Meanwhile everyone else was still too stunned to speak. Finally Damian surprisingly spoke, “What else can you do?”

Danny smiled, this was going to be fun.

Master Post:

Last:

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Here For (younger sister version)

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you help Dean through a couple different kinds of pain. (I did a big sister and little sister version of it. You can find the big sister version here)

Dean hissed in pain as he poured antiseptic onto his wound, before leaning over to reach for the bandages. He struggled to wrap the bandage around the gash on his arm with only one hand.

“Ow-ie,” Dean looked up suddenly when he heard your small voice from the doorway. You were staring at his arm, intent on the wound. “That looks like it hurts.”

Dean tried valiantly to smile, not wanting to scare his six-year-old sister.

“It’s not so bad.”

“I wanna help,” she insisted, padding over and climbing up on the wall of the tub so she could reach. Dean was about to protest before she grabbed onto one end of the bandage, holding it in place. He realized that with that end in place, it would be infinitely easier to start wrapping with the other end, so he stayed silent and got to work. When he was finished, you helped him tie off the end, and he smiled down at you.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, and started to pull his arm away.

“Wait, wait!” You cried out, reaching your little hands out and grabbing onto his arm. “I’m not done yet!”

“Oh yeah?” Dean lowered his arm again, watching you carefully.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the bandage.

“There. Now it’s all better!”

Dean laughed softly.

“Yeah, just like magic. Thanks baby.”

You grinned, and repeated a phrase that you’d heard Sam say before (tweaking it a little of course).

“That’s what little sisters are for!”

…

Dean reached into the fridge for another beer—his third? Fourth? He figured he may as well stop counting. He wasn’t even sure why he was still drinking, other than the fact that John wasn’t here right now to stop him.

“Dean?”

Dean lifted his head to see you making your way over to him, and he forced himself to keep both the slur and the tired grumpiness out of his voice when he spoke.

“You should be in bed.”

“I can’t sleep,” you insisted as you climbed into his lap.

He bit back his instinctive retort—try harder—and instead tried for a softer one.

“Why don’t you read for a bit then?”

“Tried that,” you yawned, leaning against him. “I want you to come with me.”

“You want me to put you to bed?”

“No, you huffed dramatically “I want you to come to sleep with me. I don’t wanna sleep alone, please?” You looked up at him with those puppy eyes—darn it Sam—and he felt torn. He looked down at the beer in his hand, desperately wanting more time to himself. But one more look into your wide, pleading eyes, and he was a goner.

He put down his beer with a sigh and lifted you into his arms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck as he stood.

“Alright, baby,” he said softly. “Let’s get to bed.”

…

“You look sad.”

Dean cursed himself for not locking his door when you slipped in and made your presence known.

“I’m not,” he lied, running a hand over his face before lifting it to look at you. Ignoring this, you walked over to where he was seated on his bed and lifted your hands up, indicating that you wanted to be picked up. He obliged, pulling you into his lap.

“What hurts?” You asked.

“Nothing, I’m good,” he insisted.

“No you’re not,” you argued, frowning. “You’re sad.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Silly,” you scoffed, and Dean bit back a small smile at your antics. “Because I know your face. And this is your sad face,” you reached up and touched his cheek. “So why are you sad?”

Dean reached up and held your little hand in his, not answering.

“Is it because of Sammy?”

Dean sighed, “Baby, I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

“That’s ok,” you decided after a moment. “I’m gonna fix it.”

“Fix it?” Dean squirmed in surprise when he felt you start to poke his sides. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to fix you!” You frowned in concentration as you continued to poke at him. “You’re supposed to laugh now.”

“Laugh?” Dean grinned suddenly. “Are you trying to tickle me?”

You huffed, finally giving up.

“It didn’t work. I saw you do it to Sammy once when he had a grumpy face, and daddy does it sometimes when I’m sad. Why didn’t it work for you?”

Dean smiled, pulling you closer into his arms.

“I’m not ticklish, honey, but I think it did work.”

“It did?” You pulled away suddenly, looking up at his face before grinning. “It did! You don’t have your sad face anymore!”

Dean laughed softly, once again pulling you against his chest.

“Yeah, you did it baby. Just like magic.”

You cuddled into his side contentedly.

“That’s what little sisters are here for.”

[crackedhrglass]

i got this ask on my strawpage and was gonna type it up in my notes app and post it to twitter, but i really couldn't figure out a way to say it concisely, so i'm answering it here bc it's prob gonna be long lol.

do i think stancest is actually canon? simply put, no. despite how often i'm like "STANCEST IS CANON!!" i truly don't think that AH and the writers intended stan & ford's relationship to be seen through an incestuous lens.

their relationship is def the heart of the show, second only to dipper & mabel's own bond. they are the center of each other's worlds, their story & character arcs revolve almost entirely around each other, and their happy ending is literally the two of them sailing off into the sunset to spend "the rest of their days" together (ford says this almost word-for-word in journal 3).

but i still don't think all of that was meant to be taken romantically.

in my opinion, where things start to get a little weird is, surprisingly enough, ford's relationship with bill.

the rest is under a cut bc HOLY SHIT this got longer than i expected.

there's no denying that bill was written to deliberately parallel stan in a number of ways, from his mannerisms, to his conman status, to the fact that he calls ford the same name stan did when they were kids.

he's written in a very intentional way that makes him serve as both stan's parallel and his foil, especially in their respective relationships to ford (bill feeds into ford's ego and encourages him to aspire for greatness alone, stan has always been a direct obstacle & challenge to ford's ego, accidentally ruining his chances at WCT & encouraging him to live out their childhood dream together; bill valued infinite power over his own family and destroyed his dimension as a result, stan valued his family over everything, and saved ford and his dimension as a result).

normally, this wouldn't be that big of a deal to a stancest shipper like myself. but as the book of bill & the accompanying website all but confirmed in big, flashing neon lights, ford & bill have a romantic history and are exes.

having the two people closest to ford be compared to one another is one thing. having ford be drawn to bill because of how similar he is to the brother he secretly misses is one thing.

having ford be romantically involved with said character is what makes me raise an eyebrow lol.

again, do i think ford is literally a brocon who's got repressed sexual/romantic feelings for stan?

no.

i do, however, think he has unresolved Brother Issues that led him to subconsciously find comfort in a romantic partner that reminded him of stan (right down to bill calling him stan's nickname for him) in much the same way a person with "daddy issues" may seek out affection & intimacy from someone who reminds them of their father (or is just "fatherly" in general).

that much, i believe, was actually intentional. it's just too blatant to not be lol. it'd be a completely different story if either

bill & stan were nothing alike (untrue) or

ford & bill's relationship was strictly platonic and didn't have any romantic implications (also untrue)

i've said this before, but this isn't just a case of "oh, ford fell in love with someone who just coincidentally reminds him of his brother." bill's use of the nickname "sixer" during their first encounter was a deliberate attempt at appealing to a part of ford that was repressed, vulnerable, and aching, in order to get ford's guard down and make it easier for ford to trust him, and it worked.

billford is a ship that, to put it bluntly, would not exist without ford's buried feelings for stan, even disregarding shipping/incest/etc. ford's desire to be close to stan even platonically is what allowed bill to needle his way into ford's heart in the first place.

and all of this wouldn't be that weird if, again, bill hadn't continued to feed into ford's longing for stan even after they'd established a romantic relationship, by still calling him "sixer" and trying to permanently sever the relationship he had with stan specifically, once he and ford broke up (the phone call he tried to make while in ford's body that was described in tbob).

to put it another way, imagine if wendy was basically an older, taller mabel, or if any of mabel's crushes were eerily similar to dipper. people in the fandom would def take notice and view it as a little strange. so i don't get how people can look at ford dating someone so blatantly and intentionally similar to stan and think to themselves "ah yes, this is normal. ford is completely Normal and definitely doesn't have any underlying issues whatsoever" lmao

to conclude: no, i don't think ford & stan's relationship is actually canonically romantic, nor do i think ford falling in love with bill was incestuous, necessarily.

but i do think that he had a desperate longing to reconcile with stan buried DEEEEEEP down, and it manifested itself in the form of being attracted to bill, which is probably why he never bothered correcting bill's use of the nickname "sixer" since their very first meeting, or ever expressed that it made him uncomfortable.

[aurumacadicus]

A concept:

Tony has mostly learned not to ask too many questions when he's around teenagers. He doesn't understand most things, and quite frankly, it's just easier to claim ignorance than confusion at this point. (Peter has explained "skibidi" to him three times now and he still doesn't get it.) He just tries to provide a safe place for him and his friends. Sometimes that means he's bewildered, but it's better that way. He figures it's just a rite of passage. He still remembers how flabbergasted Jarvis looked when he described something as 'tubular.'

He's just grateful that there weren't so many cameras when he was a kid. It seems like they're everywhere, and there are so many video trends it makes him tired. Luckily, Peter and his friends seem to at least be aware that the internet is forever, so they're not doing stupid shit like doing drugs or throwing slurs around. Mostly they just post pranks. Most recently, he's pretty sure MJ and Ned duct-taped Peter to a door so he'd startle anyone who opened it. Which seems. Harmless? Whatever.

But his practiced chill all seems to backfire when he walks in on them in his kitchen "because the lighting's better here than in a conference room" with pictures taped to sticks being stuck in cake. "What is this?" he asks tiredly, because he knows it's too late to pretend he didn't see them.

"It's a hear-me-out cake, Mr. Stark," MJ answers in that way of hers that is somehow both flat and mischievous.

Tony blinks at her slowly, trying to figure out what reaction would please her least, then gives up. "Why are you doing it in my house."

"Because I don't want Aunt May to see I've put Doc Hudson from Cars on a hear-me-out cake," Peter answers.

Tony squints at the pictures already on the cake. "You've got a lot of nerve to put a picture of Timothee Chalamet on a cake and say 'hear me out' about it," he finally says.

"It's specifically Timothee Chalamet in Wonka," Ned defends immediately.

"And Doc Hudson is just a good-looking classic car, it's not weird," Tony continues, ignoring him. "I have a Hudson Hornet. I'll take you kids out for a ride when the weather gets better."

MJ holds up one of her pictures while Ned and Peter gape at him wordlessly. "I have Lady Tremaine from Cinderella."

Tony leans closer, putting his hands on his hips and huffing in offense. "You chose a picture of Cate Blanchett instead of the original cartoon. You guys. You can't say 'hear me out' about conventionally attractive people, no matter how mean they are in their roles."

"Oh yeah?" Peter asks defensively. "Then who's your hear-me-out, Mr. Stark?"

"Hexxus from Ferngully," Tony retorts, and then, "At least bring me a piece of cake when you're done." Then he grabs his coffee and heads back for the workshop.

He only realizes what a mistake that might have been when JARVIS tells him that his Twitter is blowing up but he only really understands when he sees that Tim Curry himself has responded to the video Peter posted of him with "The highest of compliments, surely."

"Pepper is going to be so mad at me," Tony breathes when he sees people are already drawing fan art of it.

[dira333]

The Cat and the Human - Kenma Kozume x Reader

I will never willingly admit that Kenma's my favorite even though everyone knows I really really really really really really really really really love him... So.... have this fun piece instead. Also, @notsochillnerd this is kind of an excerpt of "Young Love" that I came up with today. Have fun with it knowing what you do.

“The story goes like this:  The most wanted woman in town has announced that she’ll only marry the one who can open her front door with the key around her cat’s neck. Many men try to hunt the cat down, chase and trap it, but to no avail, the cat is simply too quick, smart and clever, and always finds a way to evade and avoid them.

You are the first one to figure out the obvious: Do not chase the cat. The cat is befriendable. Get the cat to trust you, to genuinely enjoy your company, and you can hang out with the cat. You may eventually be allowed to touch the cat. The cat will freely let you take the key. 

Plot twist: The woman is a shapeshifter. She is the cat.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kenma asks, engrossed in his hand-held game. He’s taken his perch in the comfy chair next to the Couch you’re lying on, his seating position weird enough to give everyone back cramps but him.

“I thought it was obvious,” you say, pick up your book again, and continue reading.

It’s a good book, really. One you’ve been trying to finish for weeks now.

It’s just a little hard to focus when Kenma’s sitting there, perfectly disheveled hair falling into his eyes, the gold in his hair glinting in the sunlight.

But you prevail, your eyes returning to the page.

And it gets easier, a little bit at least, to get sucked into the narrative.

Only to be pulled out of it quite harshly.

“Want to cuddle?” Kenma asks, pointy knees digging into your side as he climbs onto you without waiting for an answer.

“Do I have a choice?” 

“No.”

-

Kenma is like a cat.

It’s a common inside joke by now, one that’s already a little grey around the edges, but he keeps it alive with all his adorable quirks.

Kenma hates water - do not take him swimming - and he’s usually more active during the night. He can sleep for hours on end, his body seemingly consisting of nothing but liquid, curled into the oddest shapes.

More than once you checked his pulse because you thought he fell down the stairs and died only to find out he just couldn’t be bothered to make it to bed before snoozing off.

Those things are all old news though, commented on time and time again by his friends. 

You wonder how many of them know just how cat-like he reacts to attention.

-

It’s the way he shies away from the spotlight, hides whenever someone’s trying to get him to do something - even things he would have ordinarily liked doing - only to come out just when no one’s paying him any attention anymore.

Maybe it’s because you’ve always had a thing for cats.

You like the differences in their characters, how they can force you to abide to their consent. If a cat doesn’t want you to pet them, they’ll just bite you.

Still, you can’t help but think sometimes that Kenma chose you first.

-

“Hey,” you look up from your Laptop to see him standing in the doorway of your room, hair tied up in a messy bun and the hem of his hoodie going almost past his knees - it must be one of Kuroo’s then.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

“Creating a training regime for the team, why?”

“Can I stay with you? I’ve got some free time and I’m kinda bored.”

“Sure,” you nod, turn back to your screen to let him figure out where he wants to sit. So far that’s always been the best way to go about this, and you’re not that surprised when his knees soon dig into your back as he climbs into the tiny space between your back and the backrest of your chair.

“Comfy?” You ask as his head sinks heavy onto your shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Time passes slowly. You move as slowly as you can, trying not to upset his balance, your heart sloshing in your chest to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Maybe it’s because you’ve always had a thing for cats.

Maybe you’ve just always been dreaming about him. 

“Do you mind spending time with me?” His voice comes out a bit muffled, but the words are clear.

“Never.”

“Why?”

“I like sending time with you.”

“How much?”

You accidentally click a wrong button and the big flashing sign asking if you really want to delete the document is screaming the truth in your face.

Kenma’s breathe ghosts ove your neck and you know, you just know, that he’s seen it all. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him, not even your own feelings.

“A lot.”

“More than Kuroo.”

“Hm.”

“More than Akaashi?”

“Akaashi’s my cousin.”

“Still.”

You sigh. 

“Don’t tell him,” you ask, “but yeah.”

Kenma’s quiet for a while.

“More than Bokuto?” He finally asks, his voice tiny now.

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely more than a sigh, an admission of things you’ve probably always known, but never dared to be real.

And maybe you’re imagining it - though you doubt it, with how hotwired your senses are right now - but it almost feels like Kenma’s lips are moving against the back of your neck, pressing the tiniest of kisses against warm skin.

Some cats are vocal. Others show their love in a different way.

-

“How’d you get him to agree?” Hinata asks, breathless with excitement.

People stop and stare. Even without the flaming orange hair he’s breathtaking, his smile a second sun.

You’ve long grown immune to it, looking for a different sunshine in the crowd.

“That’s a secret,” you tell him off, messing up his hair like the big sister/Senpai you are to him. “Not telling.”

“I’ll just ask Kuroo for it.”

“Good luck, he wants to know too,” you pull back when you spot him, knowing full well that next to him-

“Hey,” you can barely hide the smile that’s always overtaking you at his sight.

“Hey,” Kenma sounds way less enthused, shuffling into your side. If you’d try to read his mind he’d probably be thinking “Too hot, too loud, too many people” in cycles, so you take his hand and squeeze it, a little surprised when he squeezes back.

“You owe me for this,” he reminds you before he has to leave again, playing as a setter for Hinata’s team in a charity Beach-Volleyball event.

And you do.

-

“Thank you,” you mutter into his sunkissed skin later that day, his body stretched out alongside yours, too tired to move, too tired to care, too tired to do anything other than press into you.

“We didn’t even win,” he grumbles back, never too tired to point out the obvious.

“Still,” you curl a lock of his hair around your finger, press a kiss against the underside of his chin, “I like watching you.”

“Stalker.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t pose for me,” you tease him, giggling when he squirms.

-

Kenma’s like a cat.

It’s the quiet affections that please him and the lack of attention that spurs him on.

If anyone would ask you if you feel guilty for using that against him, you’d have to say no.

After all, he knows your weaknesses just as well. And he’s not afraid of using them against you too.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Hi! Firstly, thank you for creating this blog and helping all of us out! Secondly, and sorry if this is such a silly question, but how do you write an engaging summary?

I find my own fic summaries are so… lackluster… and not even I’m interested in reading it — so how I can I expect others to be? Even if I like my story, when I write the summary in the start of my fic/in my masterlist, I’m like “Wow… this is not even remotely interesting! 😭”

So yeah, I was wondering if you had any tips/advice for that? 😭 Totally fine if not, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks and have a great day/night! 😘

HOW TO WRITE AN ENGAGING FIC SUMMARY THAT WILL DRAW IN AUDIENCES

Summaries are the bane of many writers’ existences, including my own. It’s already hard enough to get the words down on paper for the actual story, and now people want you to convince them to read it with something more than “I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT PLEASE IT’S GOOD I PROMISE!!!!”

Squishing a ton of context into a small blurb seems impossible, but I promise it can be done!

Obviously everyone goes about things differently, and a lot of these tips may not work for everyone, but nevertheless, here are some tricks on how to write an engaging summary!

Here’s a simple template I like to use, which will be the focus of this post:

Hook (Draw the reader in!)

Context (What are the core elements of your story?)

Cliffhanger (Introduce a question/scenario that the reader will want to click to know more about!)

1. Start With a Hook

Just like with the first sentence of a story, the first sentence of your summary should immediately spark the reader’s interest.

A bold statement! A good (short) quote from your fic! A shocking discovery! A cool word definition/the definition of your title!

I always like to put the hook of the story on its own line/paragraph, just to emphasize it.

Examples of a hook (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "It all started when Character A puked on their Uber driver." - "War was inevitable." - "Character A would be dead by sunrise. That’s what Character B vowed." - "By the time they got to the city, it was too late."

Your hook is probably the most important part of your summary; someone will know within milliseconds whether or not they will continue reading.

Once you’re past that initial hump, it’ll be easier to convince a potential reader to skim the rest of the summary. Giving something that jumps out at them will set your story apart from others and ensure it gets that click you deserve!

2. Give Some Context

For shorter one-shots, sometimes a single hook is enough! But if your fic is longer, with a bit more moving parts, you might want to choose a few highlights. Get the essence of your story on paper.

This can be super hard, so don’t feel discouraged if you feel like you’re not getting it. I’d suggest keeping your context to about 1-3 sentences depending on the length of your story, so make sure they count.

Buzzwords are a key factor in getting the main points across. Use ones that relate to your main plot to your advantage! 

For example, if I were to make a short summary of Game of Thrones for someone who has never watched it before, I would definitely include some of these buzzwords: - Dragons - Conquest - Succession - Revenge - Slaughter - Betrayal

Using powerful words (i.e. slaughtered instead of killed) can help draw in your audience!

I can't dictate exactly how you should write your context, since every fic is different and shouldn't be brought under an umbrella of the same rules, so it might help to find inspiration from other people’s summaries.

3. Pose a Question the Reader Will Want the Answer To

The biggest point of a summary is the “so what?” factor. You have all of these tags, but how does the fic make use of them?

A summary shouldn’t be giving all of the answers, but it should still leave crumbs for the reader’s imagination! This doesn’t mean that you literally need to put a question in the summary, but rather pose an unresolved scenario/problem that the reader will want to click to know the solution to.

Here are some example sentence templates that pose an indirect question, often put at the end of a summary to spark interest (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "Everything changes the moment Character A makes a choice they can't take back." (What is that choice? How does it affect the other characters?) - "As the truth comes to light, nothing will ever be the same." (What is the truth? How does it change things?) - "A dangerous game begins, and only one can emerge unscathed." (Who will be that person?) - “It’s the first time they meet, but it won’t be the last” (What will be these next instances? How do their worlds collide?)

4. Some General Advice

If you don't think the above format works well with your fic, here's just some general advice that can help you out!

DON'T MAKE IT TOO LONG

The biggest mistake I see writers making when posting their work is having a giant four-paragraph summary for their story that takes up half of the feed.

Unfortunately, in an age of fast swiping and instant gratification, a reader may skip over a super long summary simply because they don’t feel like reading all of it.

(The reason why long summaries work for books is because people are more patient when they intend on paying to read something; they’ll take more time considering investments than they would with a free read, since they want to make sure it's worth their money. It’s not fair, but that’s kind of how it goes.)

In my opinion, a fic summary should be no more than one short paragraph, two or three sentences max for a one-shot and maybe five sentences for a long fic.

This isn't exact. It really depends on the length and complexity of the sentence, because no matter the how many you use, if there are enough words to make folks comprehend it as a big block of text, then they’re going to be more likely to skip it.

People looking for long fics will be more patient (since they’re making an investment with their time, rather than money) but if you want to appeal to a wider audience that may be casually browsing and stumble across your fic, definitely consider a more brief route.

PROOFREADING MATTERS!

Because summaries are often an afterthought, many writers don’t put as much effort into it as they would the rest of their story.

I wouldn’t recommend this; people are basing their ENTIRE initial opinion of your fic on this small blurb.

If you rush it and make spelling or grammar errors, people will assume that the rest of your fic is also riddled with errors and scroll past!

Make sure to proofread!

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

[scriberye]

A Secret Held Tight (2/?)

────────── DEMETRIAN TITUS x F!READER x CATO SICARIUS ⚠️ Pregnant!Reader, Emotional Distress Weeks after a night of celebrations, you find yourself pregnant and ready to run, only to have your plans thwarted by Titus who vows to keep you safe. Now you must navigate the complexities of falling in love, and the scrutiny of Captain Cato Sicarius. a/n: He's your knight in shining blue ceramite armor! He's Titus! 👏

The days that follow are arduous at best, as if they weren’t tedious enough before the celebration. Each morning, you wake queasy and unsteady and you forgo breakfast in favor of hugging a pot as you heave the contents of your stomach into it. Still, you press on. You dismiss the minor aches and pains, and the unusually strong lingering odors as remnants of the celebration.

Yet as days turn into weeks, you continue to brush it off. You convince yourself that it’s just a passing sickness. Everyone gets sick at some point, you reason. It can’t be anything more.

But you can’t deny the truth for long. You find yourself one day sitting on your bed in the dormitory, half-asleep, a piece of thoroughly chewed bread in your mouth. The other serfs have noticed your behavior, and their concerned murmurs go completely unnoticed by you.

“Are you alright?” someone asks, their voice cutting through the fog that had settled over you. You blink, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Oh, it’s one of the older serfs, a woman who took on a matronly role. She’s seen many things in her long years, yet her eyes and mind remain sharp as ever.

“I’m fine,” you lie, forcing a smile. “Just a little sick.”

“You are not fine,” she scoffs. “And you are a poor liar, child. Who is the father?”

You hesitate, taking a deep breath before answering in a hushed voice, “One of the marines. Don’t ask which one for honestly I can’t remember.”

“Let’s hope it’s not one of the insufferable ones, like Captain Sicarius,” a serf mumbles to another. It makes your stomach churn at the thought.

“He’d never. If anything, he would easier to deal with if he got a little action. Even his personal serfs say he’s a headache.” Another adds.

The matron tsks and snaps her fingers at the gaggle of serfs standing nearby. “If you have the mind to stand there and gossip, you can get over here and help.”

They move closer, sheepishly casting apologetic glances in your direction, to which you offer a courteous smile in return. No hard feelings.

“Now, we must make plans,” the matron says firmly. “You may not recognize the father, but he certainly will recognize you. Your best chances are to get to the city, I know people there who can help hide you and the child.”

She pauses, her gaze falling firmly on yours. “You must be brave.”

You nod. She begins to outline her plan to you and the other serfs. The matron speaks with such confidence and assurance, assigning roles and detailing each step that it fills you with confidence.

The night you make your escape, your heart hammers in your chest as you navigate the fortress’ darkened corridors clutching a satchel of supplies. Thanks to the other serfs, your path is clear. Anyone and everyone who could be patrolling are busy and distracted.

You creep through the corridors, pressing close to the cold, stone walls, and peeking around corners before moving on. You grow more confident the closer you get to your goal, but then you see it — a flicker of movement, a figure disappearing around a corner.

Your heart seizes. Every muscle tenses, coiling, ready to spring into action. The shadow moves again, and you can hear it now — the clanking, pounding of ceramite on stone. There’s a marine. Here. Now. He shouldn’t be here. No one is supposed to be here. You checked and double-checked.

The tight corridor suddenly feels suffocating. You retreat back the way you came and dart down a different hallway, trying to remember the layout of the fortress. Maybe you can get around him and avoid a confrontation.

The satchel of supplies in your arms feels like a lead weight. But you can’t let get caught — not now. You navigate the corridors until you find something familiar, a mark on the wall signaling a path out of the fortress. You’re so close now.

The end is in sight, but so is the marine. He’s been following you. He knew you were there before you could even think to hide. His imposing shadow looms over you and the world slows to a crawl.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps.

Thunk. Thunk.

Closer. He’s right behind you.

A heavy gauntlet hand closes over your shoulder.

“Breathe,” he says.

You do, but it comes out as ragged gasps. All those plans you made, the efforts of everyone involved, have been in vain. Tears well up in your eyes.

He squeezes your shoulder. It’s not a command, but a gentle urging for you to turn around and face him. And what else can you do? You obey and look up at him. You recognize him right away. It’s Titus. He’s always been a favorite among the serfs for his kindness.

The usual stern expression softens with concern when he takes in the clearly troubled look on your face. Yet, his hand remains firm on your shoulder, steadying and grounding you.

“Breathe,” he says again. “And tell me what is happening here.”

“Please,” you whisper and squeeze your eyes shut, feeling a hot tear run down your cheek. There’s no sense lying or trying to make excuses now. “I can’t stay here… I’m pregnant, my lord.”

Titus inhales sharply, his hand on your shoulder lifting but never leaving. “So you thought to flee.”

You nod, and the follow that follows is heavy with the weight of it all. Titus’ mind races, no doubt, mulling the situation over in his head, trying to find answers in the codes and regulations, and a way through. He brings the other hand up and squeezes your shoulders.

“Listen,” he begins. “You are not alone, and if you will permit me, I wish to support you.”

You blink in surprise, lifting your head to look up at him, a fragile blend of fear and hoping twisting inside of you. “Wh— how?”

“You wouldn’t just run without a good reason. I suspect the father is not another serf, and it is this that drives you to take such drastic action.”

“I’m scared,” you confess quietly, as tears stream down your cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. What if he takes the baby from me…”

Titus’ hands tighten on your shoulders, effectively drawing your attention back to him. “I understand and, on my honor, I will do my duty to protect you,” he vows. “Become my personal serf and I can shield you, and if need be I will claim your child as my own.”

“But my lord! Your reputation! Why would you do that?” you gasp.

“I have weathered worse blows to my reputation,” Titus replies, shaking his head. He looks down at you with the faintest of smiles, a faint hint of something more… warm. “And this is the right thing to do. You deserve to feel safe.”

“Come,” he says, letting go of your shoulders. He gently takes the satchel of supplies from your trembling hands. “There is a room near my cell you can settle into, and once you’re calm we can discuss this further.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, following him as he leads you back into the fortress. With each step, you feel hope bloom in your heart, swelling and filling the gaps left by fear.

[writing-house-of-m]

The Rescue

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre: Fluff (mostly hurt/comfort)

Warnings: Talks of torture and hurting Wanda, nightmares, yelling at Steve, Civil War drama

Word count: 2446

Summary: You rescue Wanda from the Raft

A/N: This was supposed to just be rescuing Wanda from the Raft but I didn't know where to end it so it's a little bit more than that and very fluffy in my opinion 😌 Inspired by this post. Have fun reading and let me know what you think!

When you found out what happened after the announcement of the accords, to say you were angry was an understatement.

You had to leave before even getting to say your bit on why you wouldn't be signing any paper that had to do with the new contract. Through some gossip from a random agent on the mission you were a part of you found out about how out of control the whole situation had gotten.

As soon as you heard about the splitting of the team and that half of them were imprisoned on the Raft you left your post. You were thankful it was only the debrief left that you would miss, making it easier to approve your own dismissal, not caring how frowned upon it may be seen by your superiors.

It took many hours over several nights to calm Wanda down after the events of Lagos, convincing her she wasn't the bad guy. Even when you tried to explain to her, if it wasn't for her the blast would have been even more deadly and that Steve shouldn't have gotten distracted, she still blamed herself and the lack of control she had over her powers.

"Where is she?" You demand impatiently. After not getting an answer from Sam, you didn't care if he didn't know, you were beyond pissed at him too, you asked Clint, ignoring the new guy, who's name you learned was Scott.

When Clint tells you about his suspicions that Wanda was two floors below your current location you waste no time in getting down there.

You know why she was separated and put on a different floor from the others but it is still infuriating to you. The moment you find out whose decision it was to keep her isolated you would break some skulls. Right now you need to find her and you need to get her safe.

Speeding past empty cell after empty cell, you almost miss her.

Seeing her back facing the glass window separating you makes your heart break, more so when you can see she has been restrained. That, along with the collar around her neck does nothing to calm the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Using the badge you acquired from a guard you knocked out when you first entered the prison, you easily gain access to the unit.

Wanda doesn't move an inch, making you afraid of what kind of state she is in. Slowly, you approach her, "Wanda?" Even when rounding her body, she still doesn't move. Her eyes are staring at a single spot on the ground.

Your eyebrows furrow in anguish seeing Wanda look so broken. Her sunken eyes and the red marks around her neck from the metal collar has you thinking of a million ways to torture the person who put her here.

Moving in front of her, you crouch down to meet her eye level, but she is frozen in place and your worry for her deepens.

You speak quietly, calmly, "Wanda, I'm going to unbuckle you. Starting with your arms, okay?" You are met with more silence.

Keeping your movements slow you continue to undo the restraints from her body. Seeing her like this makes you want to cry for the empty looking figure before you.

It was bad enough Wanda lost the innocence of her childhood to war, her adolescence and young adult life to regretful decisions and now, she continues to pay the price for the people around her.

You hear rushed footsteps coming from the direction you came. When you look up to the entrance of the cell you see Natasha and Steve. Stretching out your arm, you put your hand up and shake your head to stop them from coming any closer.

Steve taps the watch on his wrist, indicating you need to quicken your pace. The Raft's backup must be on its way. Despite knowing this the action still makes you want to wring Steve's throat, Wanda is here because he got her involved in his fight, shouting at him when you finally found him wasn't enough in your eyes.

There is no time for that now though, you are on your final task and need to concentrate on removing the metal ring from Wanda's neck.

The duo stay at the door keeping an eye out for any movement, letting you give your full attention to the broken woman in front of you.

Just as you have been doing so far, you dictate to Wanda your next move, trying to find a way to unlatch the collar. As your hands get closer to her face it is as if she finally snaps out of her trance grabbing your wrist out of reflex. Her eyes glaze over as if she is seeing you for the first time since you arrived.

"Y/n?" She asks, confused. Flicking between both your eyes trying to figure out if this is real or not.

"It's me, darling." Her grip loosens on you, allowing you to place a palm to her cheek. She leans into the touch a tear escaping her eye as you kiss her forehead, "I need to get this off so we can get you out of here," you whisper to her, afraid that if you talk too loud it may trigger her to panic.

"It hurts," Wanda whimpers, frowning. You feel the burn of tears that want to fill your eyes as well as a twinge in your chest indicating your heart breaking all over again for her.

"I know baby, I know. But we need to be quick, okay?"

She nods her head sluggishly and allows you to lower your hands to the device. The marks peeking out from behind the collar make you screw your face as if you can feel the soreness on your own skin.

You hear Natasha call your name, the urgency is evident in her voice so you quicken your pace while remaining careful.

As you make contact Wanda flinches and her breath hitches. You pause your movements, "It's okay, it's been disabled already. I just need to remove it," you say calmly. Wanda nods and keeps her eyes on you, trying to distract her thoughts about the possibility of getting shocked. She looks at your face full of concentration, two lines between your eyebrows where if it was any other situation she would rub them away.

When you get the collar off you see Wanda's shoulders lower as she releases a breath, "We really need to get out of here, love. Can you stand?" You ask, helping her from the ground.

She stands on shaky legs while you get her to lean her weight on you. Once she is up, you realise Wanda will not be able to make the run to the jet. In one swift movement you pick her up and begin your trek out of there.

With Steve leading the way and Natasha trailing you, the four of you rush towards the quinjet. There are sounds of guards trying to gain entry coming from behind you but you keep your eyes forward. You have every faith in Natasha's abilities to watch your back, the only thing on your mind is getting Wanda to safety.

You hear Natasha fire some shots from her gun when the sounds of a few soldiers make it through but you are already stepping onto the quinjet to even think about turning around to look.

All your attention is on Wanda, sitting her down you kneel in front of her while everyone around you is doing their best in defending and getting the jet ready for flight.

The front of your uniform is damp with her tears from when you carried her and even as the jet flies off Wanda's tears don't stop. Your arms are wrapped securely around her telling her she is okay now and that you will never leave her side ever again.

…

It is weeks later. Her dark circles have faded, her neck is almost back to its original color but the scars to her mental health will take longer to heal.

Wanda wasn't able to sleep the first few nights. Afraid a guard would wake her up with a shock from their electric baton or maybe banging on the glass not allowing her to sleep. For them it was some fun while working. You are glad you showed no mercy when you took down every one of those guards.

Ever since you arrived at the safe house you were currently in, somewhere in the countryside of Spain, you have been doting on Wanda hand and foot, making sure she was getting better.

As soon as you got the chance you yelled at Steve for including Wanda in his little disagreement with Tony and for not getting her out of that prison cell sooner.

When Natasha tried to stop you from lashing out, you lost it even more, 'No! He needs to hear this!' You shouted in Natasha's direction.

You laid into Steve about the fact that Bucky was safe now but at the cost of his teammates, the people who you considered were a family, but with the way this had all been handled this 'family' was in fact just a ticking time bomb.

It didn't stop there, you told Steve how selfish he acted, putting Clint and Scott under pressure with their families and how they were now dealing with the consequences while he runs off playing a hero. Putting Natasha and Sam on the most wanted list, it didn't matter to you that Nat made the decision on her own because it shouldn't have been something to make in the first place.

'And don't get me started on Tony and his ego!' You finished your rant. If it were possible, steam would have been pouring from your ears.

Since that day they have left the two of you alone. Mostly because you won't let Steve near Wanda. What you did allow was Natasha checking in on you both occasionally.

After about a week there you moved to an isolated house in the fields of Hungary where you have been residing until today.

Steve approaches you in the morning with an envelope, Natasha by his side while you and Wanda are eating cereal. New identities and tickets to get to Norway along with keys to your accommodation are all found in the brown packet.

You nod your head as Steve explains his plan, that is until he continues, "-and when things have settled down or when we need you again, we'll come to get you."

Swallowing the chewed cereal in your mouth harshly, your face is stern, "No." You snarl, teeth pressing together tightly.

Steve is taken aback by your response, a little confused, "What-"

Before he can start again you cut him off, "No, you won't come for us when you need us," you retort. "Wanda and I are done. After a little time in Norway, you won't find us," you conclude, telling them your plan to disappear ambiguously.

Having to watch Wanda suffer through nightmares and flinching at the slightest of noises, you voiced your idea to her. She told you that the thought had crossed her mind but she didn't want to take you away from the job you spent your whole life training for. But for you, Wanda was worth more and meant more than anything else you had ever prepared yourself for in the past.

It was a decision you and Wanda finalised days ago, sick of getting your hands dirty for other people. It was time you thought of yourselves and the life you wanted to build together.

Steve sighs and looks down, you know he would do the same if he could. He looks over the two of you and nods his head, understandingly.

The rest of the day passes by with you all packing your things ready to leave before nightfall. You have butterflies in your stomach when you realise this will be your toughest mission yet; trying to live a normal life. Your nerves are settled whenever you look over at Wanda doing minor tasks, a soft smile gracing her face when she catches your eyes lingering, reminding yourself that everything you have done has led you to her and she is the best thing to have ever happened to you. Despite your rocky start when she warped your mind.

As you hug Steve and Natasha goodbye everything feels very real, saying goodbye to the two people who you consider your closest family after practically growing up with them. There would never be any hard feelings against them, just tough decisions to make.

The nervous feeling is back in your stomach until Wanda takes hold of your hand while you wait for the jet to land. You wave one last time to the people you are leaving behind and take your first steps on the vehicle into your new life.

…

Two years. That is how long you and Wanda have been moving from place to place. From Denmark and Poland to Cyprus and Egypt, you were making your way around.

Now, you have settled in a little town in Edinburgh which, if you were being honest with yourself, you could see yourself raising a family here.

It is cold compared to some of the places you have been in the time you two have been separated from the Avengers but it is cosy and because of the rain you have found yourself inside snoozing the day away.

Your head is resting in Wanda's lap as she reads a book. When you wake up and see Wanda still reading you smile lazily as you stretch. Noticing your movements Wanda puts down the book on the coffee table with her other hand still on your head.

Her fingers thread through your hair and you hum in content, "Morning sleepyhead," Wanda mumbles into your forehead before she deposits a kiss there, making you scoff.

"I feel so lazy, we should have done something today," you say, groggily, your voice heavy with sleep.

"Maybe after dinner we can walk through the town. It's supposed to be a full moon tonight," Wanda strokes your hair back making your eyes droop and close from the calming action.

"Yeah, that will be nice," you reply with a silly smile on your face, "it already sounds beautiful."

What you didn't know was taking that stroll in the evening would have you back into the life you let go two years ago. With an alien searching for powerful stones you didn't know existed and a catastrophic outcome no one could have predicted.

[my-pjo-stuff]

AU where sometime between TTC and BotL Annabeth get's sent out on a separate quest to retrieve some random McGuffin before Luke together with his forces can get to it, and through weird magic shenanigans ends up de-aged to seven years old.

Annabeth is reasonably scared of course. She only has the memories of her seven year old self, last thing she remembers is crying herself to sleep in Luke's arms after Thalia got turned into a tree. The poor girl has no idea what happened or what's going on.

Luke in the meantime was busy fighting through to the McGuffin while having some complications, which caused him to arrive relatively late compared to Annabeth. He has no idea what he's even looking at when he finally reaches his destination, and sees a crying seven year old Annabeth with the McGuffin laying next to her. Part of Luke thinks he's hallucinating, or that this is some sort of trick.

It isn't a trick. When Annabeth notices Luke in the room she immediately recognizes him as who he is- despite him so different from how she last saw him. Something in her just knows that this is Luke.

She all but throws herself into the older's arms. It happens so fast that Luke doesn't even have time to truly comprehend what's going on before he instinctively wraps his arms around the crying Annabeth clinging to his waist.

It takes time, but after a while Luke finally manages to work through the collective confusion, calm Annabeth down and figure out what even happened. And oh man, Luke ain't happy. He has no idea how to deal with this! It's not like he could leave Annabeth around here like that, that's a sure-fire way for her to die. But taking her to the Princess Andromeda with him isn't a perfect solution either- even if you ignore all the monsters and the general situation overall, that just no place for a seven year old little girl. Not to mention all the questions Annabeth is already asking which Luke isn't exactly keen on answering.

In the end he has little choice. He reasons to Kronos and the rest of the army that he's capturing Annabeth as a hostage while she's at her weakest while grabbing the McGuffin and getting back to base. In reality, Luke has no actual intentions to keep Annabeth hostage of course. Trying to undo the de-aging would be futile- he has no idea how it happened in the first place of if he can even undo it- which means the best way to help Annabeth is to get her back to Camp as fast as possible. Which is obviously easier said than done, considering that Luke is Camp's Nr.1 enemy while also having Kronos breathing down his neck 90% of the time. And that isn't even mentioning the fact that he now also has Annabeth with him to take care off. Annabeth in the meantime immediately notices something fishy of course. Luke explained to her that she was de-aged, and this is the "future". But he refuses any other question, telling her not to worry about it and that it would all make sense soon enough. She spends her time locked in her brother's room on the ship to protect her from "monsters" (why is Luke handing around with monsters? in the first place?) while Luke goes about trying to figure out how to "get her to safety". She may not fully understand what's going on here, but Annabeth sure as hell won't leave Luke behind like that. Even if she doesn't know what happened or why the older looks and acts like that, that's still Luke. Something is wrong, and Annabeth isn't about to allow that wrongness to continue. She'll return to camp, and she'll have Luke return with her.

[book-place]

Story of Tonight

Warnings: weapons, tmr spoilers, cursing, violence, mentions of death, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Gladers x reader platonic

*not my gif*

Summary: Your chaotic order is suddenly disturbed by the arrival of the newest greenie

A/N: Welcome to book places one year event!!

Inspired by: The Story of Tonight by We the Kings

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

I may not live to see our glory

“Hey, greenie!” You called as you strolled over to the poor boy who had been whipping around, looking at the Glade in complete fear.

Alby grinned, clapping the boy on the back in a way that made him stumble forward in his already unbalanced state, “And this is Y/n.” The leader introduced while you gave a friendly wave to the boy, “And she might be the only girl here, but messing with her might be the last thing you ever do.”

You laughed, playfully shoving the boy aside, “Quit scaring the guy, Alby. You’ll make him go running off again.”

The boy's cheeks flushed at your words, “I didn’t know what was going on.” He defended weakly.

A nod of understanding came from you, “I know, I get it. We were all like that when we first got here. No matter what the other kids will tell you, not a single one of us handled it any better than you did.”

Alby began backing up with his hands in his pockets and a rare wide smile, “I’ll let n/n take it from here, but I’m serious, greenie! No flirting! If she doesn’t end you for it, I guarantee any one of the others- including myself- will!”

You scoffed and flipped him off, leaving the boy cackling as he went off to his other duties and you began steering away the new kid, who looked downright petrified.

“Don’t listen to him,” You sighed softly, “That’s just Alby being Alby. He learned over time that he had to be like that after getting the first and only girl thrown into the mix with everything.”

The boy gulped from beside you, “I wasn’t going to try and flirt-“

“I know.” You smiled kindly, bumping your shoulder with his slightly, “You don’t seem the type.”

“Have-have the others actually done things to people who’ve flirted with you?” He asked.

You grinned teasingly, “Nah, they’ve got pretty close, though.” You looked around and waved at a couple nearby boys fondly, “We’re all like a family here. And family looks out for one another, which is what they’re just trying to do.”

He nodded beside you in understanding, but then asked, “Is it normal that I don’t remember my name?”

It was so innocently asked, but his eyes were wide with fear in a way that made you chuckle slightly and swing an arm around his shoulder, “It’s your first day, greenie. You’ll remember eventually, I promise.”

You continued showing the boy around, something that had quickly become your second job around here after Alby and Newt figured out that you had more of a welcoming personality than any of the others. That alone quickly made you climb up to almost third in command around the Glade, a job often playfully fought over between you and Minho.

“What is this place?”

You faltered in your steps. After so many times of showing new greenies around, you had become used to the recurring question, but that didn’t mean it was any easier for you to talk about each time.

With a clearing of your throat, you turned to look at the small cemetery that had been set up, “These are places to rest for those we’ve lost.” It was an answer that you had been able to generate over time.

“Oh,” He breathed out, dropping his head slightly as if saddened by the loss of those he hadn’t even known, surprising you slightly. You decided that you liked this boy, “Are there many of them?”

“I believe that every loss is a great one,” You said, “So, to me, yes. But to others,” You shrugged, “Maybe not.”

“I think it is.” He whispered.

You smiled softly at his words and gently began steering him away, “I’m glad you think so.”

“But… do they die often?” The nervousness in his tone hinted at what he was trying to insinuate with the question.

“You’re going to be fine,” You reassured him, “If so many of us have made it this far, then you have lots of good people to look out for you.”

But I will gladly join the fight

“New greenie today?” Minho asked, chest still heaving up and down slightly as he leaned his forearms against the table in the map room.

You hummed, crossing your arms and leaning back against the wall, resting your head against it, “Just left him to Chuck.”

The boy grinned, “Poor kid, Chuky’ll talk his ear off.”

A small laugh left your lips, “I don’t know, the new guy asks a million questions, I think Chuck’ll be the one getting fed up.”

“Hey, sorry we’re late.” Newt's british accent rang out through the room as he and Alby stepped through the door, closing it securely behind them.

“Any new progress?” Alby got straight to business, standing over the table with cross arms.

Minho shook his head, expression dropping from the relaxed, joking one he held as the two of you conversed only seconds ago.

The leader sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “We lessen our odds of getting out of here every day that passes.” He admitted in a small whisper.

You and the other two boys exchanged a worried look, he almost never talked like that- not in front of others at least- he liked to keep hope held up for as long as he could.

With a sympathetic smile, you walked over and clapped the boy on the shoulder, making him peek over his hands to look at you.

“Take a break, Alby,” You said softly, “Relax for the rest of the night, we have the greenie bonfire still. Enjoy it.”

He reached up and placed his hand over yours, squeezing it appreciatively before nodding once to the other two and slipping out.

“Here, I’ll clean this stuff up, guys.” You picked up the papers Minho had been drawing on to showcase the map of the trails he had just run, “Save me a plate of Fry's food, will you?”

“You got it,” Minho mockingly saluted before exiting with an amused Newt right on his heels.

As soon as the door softly shut behind him, you dropped all the belongings with a tired sigh, letting your head fall into your hands.

You had to try to keep a brave face on for them- for everyone. Because even though Alby and Newt outranked you, you felt as though you were responsible for keeping their hope alive- all of the gladers hope.

You would never admit it out loud to anyone, but you had lost hope a long time ago that you were all going to get out of there. But you would fight- you would keep fighting until you had nothing left in you if only to try and give the others a chance of getting out of this place.

And when our children tell our story

“Smile, greenie,” You joked, swinging your arm around the new kids shoulders, “We’re here to celebrate you tonight.”

The boy looked over at you hesitantly, “I’m not so sure I like that idea.”

You threw your head back with a laugh, leading him towards the festivities centered around the large bonfire, “I like you, greenie, you’ve got a humor on you.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny…” He mumbled, slowly taking the glass you held out for him, “What’s this?”

You shrugged, taking a sip out of your own glass, “Gallys famous Moonshine.”

He stared down at it suspiciously, “But what’s in it?” Clearly he had met the creator of the drink already, or he most likely wouldn’t be having this much problems with it.

Your grin only widened, “That’s the thing, nobody knows. He won’t tell us.”

Hesitantly, after watching you take another swig of the mystery drink, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a slip. Less than a second later, he was bent over, sputtering and coughing.

Newt strode by just in time to see that, and laughed loudly while clapping the greenie on the back, “You get used to it after a while.” He promised with a snicker.

The boy grimaced, “I don’t know if I want to.”

“Ah, so this is the famed new greenie I’ve heard so much about,” Minho then came over, wearing a grin you knew meant he was in the mood to mess with the new boy, “Gunning to be a runner on your first day, are ya?”

A blush crept up onto his cheeks and he quickly shook his head. This caused you to scowl at Minho and swing an arm around the boy's shoulders, “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to get you all worked up.”

You and the other two laughed slightly while the greenie just stood there, looking uncomfortable.

Noticing this, you shifted the conversation and glanced around, “Where’s Alby?” You frowned slightly.

Newt glanced back towards the Homestead, “Already retired for the night, poor bloke could barely keep his eyes open.”

Your lips twitched into a slight frown at the news, but quickly replaced it with a wide grin when you noticed the others watching you, “Good, he deserves to get some rest.”

With that, your small group slowly dispersed, you and Minho plopping down onto some nearby logs and chatting while Newt led the greenie away to show him around a bit.

Shortly after, your attention was pulled from the boy beside you and towards where a group of gladers were huddled near the fire, cheering in a way you knew could only mean that there was a fight.

Letting loose a small sigh from your nose, you pushed yourself to your feet, ready to break up the brawl.

You surged through the crowd, the couple boys that saw you moving out of your way, already knowing that you would be mad at them for encouraging it in the first place, and wisely decided on not making it worse for themselves.

A surprising surge of anger coursed through you when you reached the front and came face to face with the sight of Gallys stupid smirk as he advanced on the greenie, who stumbled backwards in fear.

You barely knew the boy, but you already really liked him.

“Hey!” You called, marching forward and shoving Gally backwards by the chest.

Gallys eyes widened and he didn’t resist your push, everyone all around quieting as well, watching the scene before them unfold.

“Alright, ya shanks!” Minho's voice boomed behind you, “Show’s over!” Normally he didn’t get involved with the fights, but he must have followed you.

Slowly, the crowd disbanded and spread out, giving you some space, muttering amongst themselves all the while.

You turned to the boy, “Are you alright, greenie?”

“Thomas.” He mumbled, looking slightly disoriented.

“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“My name- it’s Thomas.” His eyes finally lifted to meet yours.

You shot him a small, amused grin, “Funny time to remember something like that.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Thomas mumbled, shuffling his feet.

With that, you rounded on your heel to face Gally, who was being blocked from running away by Minho, who stood like a solid wall in front of him with his arms crossed.

“And you,” You seethed, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I-he-“ Gally sputtered out.

You held a hand up to silence him, “Actually, I don’t want to hear it.”

Minho let out a low whistle of amusement once Gally scampered off, “Damn, greenie, some first day you’re having.”

“Tell me about it,” Thomas muttered.

You forced yourself to let out a laugh, trying to make it sound as real as you could.

They'll tell the story of tonight

Your lips were pulled into a thin, grim line as you stood over Ben with crossed arms, your ears long since having begun ringing from his screams.

He was going through the changing and you and the others could do nothing but painfully sit around and wait for it to be completed.

Alby sat in a chair to the other side of the bed, head resting in his hands as his forehead creased with worry and contemplation.

It was beginning to get to the point where you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get out of that room.

You turned on your heel and quickly exited, feeling a bit guilty for the sigh of relief that slipped past your lips, even though the noise of his screams were only muffled the tiniest bit through the thin door.

“Y/n.”

Subconsciously, you started with slight surprise at the sudden voice to your left, and your head whipped to the side to face Gally, who almost looked as if he had been waiting for you.

You scowled slightly, still upset with him about what happened with Thomas the night before.

“What do you want, you shank?” You grumbled, already beginning to stomp down the stairs to leave the Homestead.

“I don’t trust him.” He kept up with your quick pace with ease.

The bluntness of his tone paired with the suddenness of his words made you falter in your step slightly and you shot him a sideways gaze, “Who?” Your curiosity got the better of you.

“Thomas.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and quickening your steps in hopes of getting away from the boy.

A gentle hand grabbed your arm and pulled you to a stop. You were forced to look into Gallys eyes that held such seriousness and urgency that you didn’t even try to wretch your arm from his grip, “I saw him during the changing. I don’t know how or why, but I don’t trust him.”

“You saw him?” You hesitated.

He nodded his head, “Clear as day.”

You swallowed thickly, averting your eyes to the other side of the Glade, where Newt was showing Thomas the ropes of everything.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Was the only thing you said before slipping away.

Let's have another round tonight

She’s the last one. Ever.

Of course, you should have known. The first time there’s ever another girl in the Glade, she comes with an ominous note that shoots fear through everyone’s hearts, including your own.

Your first thought was if she was the last greenie to come up, then would the Box itself never come up again either? Would you be able to still get supplies?

The girl was quick to pass out almost as quickly as she had woken up, and you could tell right away that Thomas seemed off, as if her arrival had triggered something from within him.

Unconsciously, your mind drifted to Gallys words from earlier, the ones about seeing Thomas while he was going through the changing. Maybe this as connected to it.

You hadn’t questioned it though, or voiced your opinions, too busy working with Newt to keep everyone’s panic at bay, even when your own was rising more and more by the second.

Alby looked at you, and you picked up on a hint of duress that only those closest to him would be able to see. It was never a good sign when the leader of the Glade was worried and practically showing it.

Let's have another round tonight

A loud scream pierced through the air, immediately ripping your attention away from Newt, who was talking in front of you, and your head snapped over to the source of the noise so fast that you could have sworn you almost got whiplash.

Without a second thought, you took off as fast as your legs would carry you into the general direction, eyes zoning in on where Thomas was making a beeline out of the trees, seemingly aimlessly.

Right on his heels was Ben, who you were certain was still supposed to be on bed rest. The boy was chasing after the greenie with a murderous glint in his eyes that made your stomach churn.

Gladers all around quickly gathered close to the two boys, watching with parted lips and eyes wide with shock as Ben tackled Thomas to the ground.

“Hey-“ You yelled, moving to dove forward and push him off the boy, only for another hand to hold you back.

Your head whipped around to where Newt was shaking his head, nodding in the direction of Alby, who wore a deadly calm look and held a bow that was pointed directly at Ben’s head.

“Get off of him, Ben,” Alby demanded authoritatively.

The boy made sounds of protest, refusing to release him.

Your eyes worriedly flickered down to where Thomas lay, staring up in horror as he used all his strength to try and keep the crazed boy at bay.

“This is your last warning.”

Newts hand was still gently but firmly placed around yours to keep you from impulsively interfering and possibly getting hurt.

Ben let out a scream, arm reeling back with a sharp object grasped tightly in his fist, as if to stab Thomas, but was swiftly thrown off the boy by the force of an arrow hitting him in the side of his face.

Thomas immediately scampered up, stumbling away from the boy. Only then did Newt let go of you, and you quickly rushed to him while a bunch of the Gladers moved to secure Ben.

“Hey, are you okay?” You asked anxiously, eyes traveling over his face for any sign of damage.

He huffed out a large breath of air, muscles still tense from the chase, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Dusk quickly approached after that, seconds ticking by until the Keepers were to get together to push Ben into the maze just in time for the doors to close. Locking him in there for the night.

You knew he deserved it- he tried to murder Thomas- but in the end, you couldn’t bring yourself to go and watch.

It was honestly sick, pushing a kid to his death, even after he tried to take another’s life.

Let's have another round tonight

It was one bad thing right after the next.

You felt like you barely ever had time to breathe, tragedy just kept striking again and again.

Now, you paced back and forth at the west door entrance of the maze that Minho and Alby were supposed to come back through hours ago. The two of them went out to explore a dead grievers body that the runner had supposedly seen, and had not been back since.

Every couple of seconds, you would glance up at the ever setting sun and your heart would just sink lower and lower into your chest.

You had resorted to worriedly biting on your thumb nail, ignoring the way all the Gladers around you were muttering amongst themselves in their own panic.

“They’ll be alright.”

Though you knew the british boy was trying to comfort you, the slight waver in his tone at the end of his sentence gave him away to only putting his confidence on for show.

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to manage a nod, urgency and worry eating up inside of you. It was getting so bad that it felt as if your chest was contracting.

You didn’t know what to do.

All of a sudden, two figures emerged from around the corner. Well, one figure was stumbling while dragging another limp figure at their side.

Minho was dragging Alby along.

Minho was dragging Alby along, and the doors were beginning to shut.

Your mouth went dry and your throat began closing up.

“Come on!”

“Hurry!”

“Leave him!”

“Run, Minho, run!”

Desperate cries broke out from all around you as everyone tried to urge the pair on. But you already knew, somewhere deep down, that there was no chance of them making it.

They were too far away and the doors were closing far too quickly.

From the corner of your eye, you barely even registered Thomas’s body moving forward until it was too late. Until Newt's arm was hanging uselessly to the side after trying to grab the boy and yank him back.

Until Thomas had slipped through the maze doors just in time for them to close with a deafening thud.

Raise our glass to freedom

Not once during any of the hours of the night had you moved from your spot.

Your feet were planted firmly into the ground right in the very center of the west door and that’s where they stayed. Your eyes didn’t close for longer than the occasional blink, and you wordlessly waved away any of your worried friends who had tried to coax you to bed.

Nothing could have moved you from that spot. Not when three of your closest friends were trapped in the horrid maze for the night.

Somewhere deep down, you knew that no matter what you did, no matter how long you waited, nothing would bring them back. It was impossible to survive a night in the maze.

“Love,” Though you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, you didn’t tear your eyes away from the bland concrete in front of you, “The doors are gonna open soon, and I don’t think we should be here when they do.”

You knew he was just trying to spare you the heartbreak of the doors opening without any one of them being there, but you couldn’t will yourself away.

“I can’t,” Your voice was slightly hoarse from non use.

“Y/n…” Chuck was there too, the poor boy was also worried about you, “Fry said we can go get some breakfast from him before any of the others get up. That means we get first dibs on everything.”

Your feet remained firmly planted on the ground.

The all too familiar groan of the doors easing open drew more Gladers near, no other sound but the quiet murmurs that slipped past their lips.

You knew that the emptiness waiting for you would be too much to bear, but you couldn’t will your feet to move, to pull you away from the scene that would leave you devastated.

But as the doors inched open, you sucked in a sharp breath and you felt as if your heart froze.

There stood Alby, Minho, and Thomas.

All very much alive- despite the fact that Alby looked seconds away from passing out.

A sob escaped from the back of your throat and you threw yourself forward before any of the other Gladers even reacted, hugging the closest of the boys, which just so happened to be Minho.

Despite being the one to be trapped in the maze all night, Minho caught you with ease and hugged you back with a tightness that you could only assume meant he needed it just as much as you did.

“Come on,” You pulled away after a moment once Newt started speaking, “Let’s get you to the med-jacks. Then we can talk about how the bloody hell you shanks managed to survive.”

Something they can never take away

“Heya, greenie.” You grinned, striding over to the slammer.

Thomas peaked his head towards one of the openings, “Hey,” He replied back.

“I come bearing good news,” You began rifling through your pocket to pull out a key, which you slotted into the lock on the jail door and turned, letting it fall open, “You’re free to go.”

Thomas quickly scrambled out, letting loose a breath of relief, making you chuckle slightly.

“Here,” You handed him a plate of lunch you had been carrying for him, “Eat it on the way, Alby wants to talk to you.”

A mixture of surprise and relief flooded onto the boy's face, “He’s awake?”

You nodded, “The first thing he did was demand that he talked to you. Alone.”

A bit of nervousness grew on his face as the two of you walked side by side towards the Homestead, “Any idea what it’s about?”

You shook your head, “Nah… but, hey, I’ll be right outside the room if you need anything, alright?”

He nodded, shooting you a grateful smile as you arrived at the room Alby was in before he carefully crept in and closed the door behind him.

You did as promised, leaning across the wall opposite to the door as you waited for Thomas to emerge from the room again, only to be alerted a couple moments later by the sound of struggling coming from within the room.

Quickly, you burst in to see what all the ruckus was about, only to find Newt- who was surprisingly in the room as well- restraining Albys hands and Thomas backing away, eyes wide with fright. Alby himself was sputtering and seemingly trying to regain control of his breathing.

He turned his head to face you and Newt, who were now standing side by side, “Be careful with the girl, and protect the maps.” Was all he told you before his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

You knew he was talking about the strange girl that arrived the other day, but his directions were eerie to you. And sudden. You didn’t know what was happening- you were no doubt missing some pieces to the story- but you were beginning to freak out.

No matter what they tell you

No, no, no, no-

This couldn’t be happening. You must have been dreaming.

But as you whipped around in circles with your head tilted back to stare with wide, unbelieving eyes, you knew that it was true, if only by the similar reactions from the other Gladers.

The sky was gray and the sun had disappeared.

Scientifically, you knew this wasn’t possible. But you also knew that scientifically, having no sun meant no crops could grow- the things keeping you all alive. So you figured that the reality of the situation was more important than how it actually came to be.

First the girl. Then the note saying the box would bring anymore supplies. Ben going insane. Then Thomas, Alby, and Minho getting trapped in the maze. And Albys weird instructions-

Sure, being stuck, helpless, in the Glade was never ideal to begin with, but you all made due. There was order to all of the chaos, but it seemed like ever since Thomas’s arrival, everything had come tumbling down, crushing you in the process.

It was all too much. You could hardly breathe.

But you couldn’t worry about that at the moment, not when so many of the Gladers were thrown into a panic that only you and the few others in charge could even have a small hope of curing.

“Hey! Alright, listen up!” Your voice boomed over the open space, effectively gaining the attention of everyone around and silencing them, “Until we know what’s going on, everyone head to the Homestead.”

Only a few quiet murmurs escaped from the lips of all the boys, but they all did as you said without question, trusting you.

All you could do was hope that their trust wasn’t misplaced.

“Y/n,” Newt came up beside you, “We have a problem.”

“You don’t say.” You deadpanned.

The blond boy shook his head, “It’s not just the sky… the doors to the maze aren’t closing… nothing's happening.”

Your throat tightened, “What the hell do you mean?”

He gestured towards the entrances, “They should have closed by now.”

Your eyes widened and you glanced towards a couple of stragglers nearby who were yet to make it into the Homestead.

“Come on, people! Move it!” You snapped, worry seeping into your tone.

They exchanged glances, but didn’t question it, just doing as you said and changing their paces to a small jog.

Once you and Newt did a sweep to make sure that nobody was left outside, you yourselves went in and assisted in barricading all of the doors and windows to hopefully keep the horrible grievers out.

Raise our glass to the four of us

“The grievers will kill one of us each night until all of us are dead!”

As if the crazed- slightly animalistic- look in his eyes weren’t enough to make you uneasy, his words threw you as well as everyone else within the Homestead into a full on panic.

Gally had burst in with disheveled hair and clothes to announce that to all of you, but you honestly had no idea how he knew or why he was telling everyone, he knew well enough that it would just shoot fear into everyone’s hearts.

Before anyone could so much as speak, the boy had already flung himself across the room just as one of the grievers that had been trying to penetrate the place broke in.

A shrill scream left your lips along with others as you all stumbled backwards.

But instead of charging at the rest of you, the griever followed along with Gallys words and simply disappeared after he had taken the boy.

A sob raked through your body when the boy who you never considered a friend nor foe disappeared along with the creatures into the night.

Thomas pulled you into a sideways hug, his chest falling up and down rapidly as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“They’re gonna come for one of us each night,” You muttered, finally comprehending the server weight of that fact.

“The maps!” Alby burst out suddenly, leaping ungraciously to his feet and sprinting out of the room before any of you could so much as blink at his words.

Tomorrow there'll be more of us

“What the hell are you doing?” You cried, rushing towards the map room where Alby stood, torch in hand.

He released it, feeding it to the ever growing fire.

You received no response in return, it was silent as you stared at him with betrayal-filled eyes. He was destroying years of research- possibly the only chance any of you ever had of getting out of this place.

Minho came to a stop beside you, mouth slightly agape as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing- you barely could either.

“No!” You snapped out of your trance and lunged forward, as if to dive into the flames and save the maps.

“Hey, hey-“ Minho quickly caught you around the waist and pulled you back, “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

“Does this look alright to you?” Newt snapped, he and Thomas finally having made their way over to the three of you.

“I already moved the maps,” Minho explained calmly, “They’re safe.”

For the first time that day, you sagged in relief and quit fighting against your friends hold.

Telling the story of tonight

It was a code.

Of course it was, how could you have been so stupid to not notice before?

The girl- Teresa- had proven to be helpful after you let her out of the slammer and she was able to decipher the maps as different codes when all put together.

All you needed to figure out was how to use them.

“I can’t believe it,” You ranted excitedly to Newt, “After all this time, the answers have been right in front of us.”

The boy smiled softly when he heard something in your voice that he hadn’t heard in years.

Hope. Genuine hope.

As much as you had tried to fool the others that you still believed in your chances of getting out of there, he never fell for it. Not once.

“Y/n! Newt!” Minho was breathless as he came running over to the two of you, falling forwards with his hands on his knees when he reached you.

“What is it?” You noticed the worried look on his face.

“Thomas- the shucking idiot- he got stung by a griever. On purpose.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

As fast as you could, you sprinted to the Homestead, throwing open the door and crowding the bed that Thomas laid on.

Almost as if waiting for your arrival, his eyes fluttered open when you came to a stop in front of him.

“I have a plan.” Were the first words he uttered.

The story of tonight

It was a miracle that the Keepers- that anybody- had agreed to the reckless- and undoubtedly stupid- plan, and you honestly had no idea how Thomas did it. But now, you, and the rest of the Gladers that decided against staying, were gearing up with weapons to storm the maze and make your escape.

Minho shot you an encouraging smile- the best one he could muster- as he handed you a makeshift spear to defend yourself and others.

You tuned everything out as Thomas went over the plan once again with everyone, but you already had it down. All you had to do was keep telling yourself that it was achievable- that it was actually happening. That you weren’t just dreaming. That there was actually a chance of getting out of this place.

So when everyone charged forward with a loud battle cry, you joined in with them, falling into step with Minho and Thomas, who were leading the way through the maze.

At every twist and turn, there was a new griever lurking about, deadly weapons at the ready and deafening shrieks going.

You lost track quickly of how many of them you had stabbed, how many had tried swiping at you, only for you to duck at the last moment.

“Come on!” Thomas shouted above the chaos, rushing over and grabbing your wrist to drag you over to the edge of the cliff as the other Gladers held the beasts off.

Your wide eyes snapped over to him, “What? This wasn’t part of the plan-“

“I need you down there.” There was a sort of urgency in his voice as he spoke, and it reflected through his eyes as well, “Please, I can’t do this without you.”

You hesitated before slowly nodding. You came to the realization that you were the first person in the glade to show him kindness, and even if you only knew each other for a short amount of time, you were close friends. And he needed you, so you would be there for him.

“I’ll go first.” He called, giving you one last nod before jumping off the edge of the cliff, disappearing right where he said he would.

Your eyes flitted back to Newt and Minho, both of the boys sending your hurried nods to tell you to go along, that they would be alright and would keep everyone else safe.

So with that, you followed after Thomas, jumping off the cliff and into the abyss.

Bloody Shanks 🧪- @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @etanordoesbullsh1t @kiyomi-uchiha777

[imsiriuslyreading]

Here’s the thing. Growing up, there was always a reason someone didn’t like you. They said it was because you were too loud, or not actually that funny. Or maybe there was just something about you. But actually, it was because your features were a little different to theirs. Or your skin was a slightly darker shade, or your surname didn’t sound the way theirs did, so they refused to spell it properly.

You thought that by the time you were a grown up, that would’ve disappeared. But it didnt, and people are still treating you differently to how they treat people doing the exact same thing you are. The difference is, they all look alike, or talk the same. Their surnames are easier to say and their features are similar. The difference is that now, they put on performative shows of allyship, but one on one, they haven’t changed. If anything, they’re worse.

Sometimes, being in a small communities or pockets of people, it feels like you’re not allowed to stretch out and take up space. Like, no matter what you do, there will always be someone waiting there to put you back in your place. To remind you that, actually, you may share the same friends or even the same interests and hobbies. But that you’ll never quite fit in the way that they do.

It’s easy to let that make you want to shrink yourself. To stop laughing so loudly, to stop sharing your thoughts. To not use your voice or show your face.

But those are the people you need to raise your voice to, actually. They’re the ones you need to smile and wave at, while they watch you wondering why their words and their vitriol aren’t breaking you. Because they’d break, if it was the other way around. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

You, though. You’re made of stronger stuff. You were born with resilience in your bones and confidence in your skin. You figured out who you are eons before they did, and you quickly learned that the fire that fuelled a thousand uprisings runs in your blood.

Let them call you too loud, too annoying, too much.

Because, actually, you’re the perfect amount. You could stand to be louder, if you feel brave enough.

Smile like you know the answer to all the questions they don’t even know to ask yet.

Because you do.

And the secret of it all is that they want to know what yours is. Why you hold your head so high, and talk like you know who you are. They can steal the recipe but the sauce won’t taste the same, i promise.

That’s why the sun hits you differently and the moon shines its brightest for you. That’s why the stars follow your every footstep.

Because you’re the magic of it all. You were here long before they were. And you’ll continue after they go.

This is your place.

And they can learn to spell your fucking surname.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Self-Sacrificial

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You like Street as more than a friend, but think he will never feel the same. When you nearly lose him, you accuse him of not caring about you or anyone else because you can't see the truth.

Warnings: quick joke about being dead, angst to fluff, arguments, Street gets hit by a car, fluffy comfort

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“What are you doing?” Street asks from above you. He taps your leg with his foot as he continues, “You dead or something? You’ll be hard to replace.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you answer. “You’re late.”

As you open your eyes, Street shakes his head and offers a hand. You accept his help and allow him to pull you from the concrete beside the S.W.A.T. HQ entrance. Street leads you inside, but before you can greet the rest of your team, Lynch calls you into her office.

“If I get fired for waiting for you, I’ll be very mad,” you mumble as you pass Street.

“I need to talk to you as a woman, not as a lieutenant,” Lynch explains as you close her office door.

“Okay,” you murmur slowly. “As long as I’m not in trouble.”

“No,” she assures with a smile. “It’s about your relationship with Street.”

“Relationship?” you repeat. “We’re not-“

Lynch raises her hand to stop you. “I know, I’ve heard it. You’re friends, that’s all. If that’s what you’re sticking with, fine. But… you and Street are special.”

“You’re still talking as my accidental mother figure, right?”

Lynch rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue with your terminology. From the moment you began working with her, she took an unexpected role in your career and in your life.

“Just be careful, okay. Lie to yourself if you need to, but don’t let the blinders you keep on get in the way of everything else,” she concludes. “And if you decide to take those blinders off, let me know and we’ll get ahead of IA.”

“Blinders,” you whisper. “Sure thing. Thanks for the talk.”

Hondo knocks before he opens Lynch’s door. “We’re rolling.”

You nod at Lynch and then rush out after Hondo to join your team. Those blinders she mentioned are a topic you’d rather ignore. They’re important to you because the moment you look at Street the way you want to – as more than a teammate and friend – you’ll be exposed to the harsh truth that Street will never see you the same way. The only mirror image in this situation is the heartbreak you’ll see looking back at you.

As you climb into Black Betty, Tan and Luca are discussing a new restaurant opening this weekend. You should be used to their oddly timed topics by now, you think.

“I’d be happy to test it out for you,” Street offers. “Give me a few hours to get a date and then you can have a full review by tomorrow.”

Your jaw clenches. Street is your best friend, but that doesn’t make this any easier. Whenever he says or does something that reminds you of his ability and desire to date women who aren’t you, you take a step back. The teasing, the competition, and incredible bond you have with him strains when you do this, and he suffers because of your buried feelings, but losing him may be better than learning you can never have him.

“What do you think?” Street asks you.

You shrug and keep your attention on your helmet.

“C’mon,” he presses. “Everybody has an opinion on good restaurants.”

“You certainly do,” you mumble.

“What does that mean?”

Deacon and Hondo share a look that goes unnoticed by both you and Street. With your eyes down, and Street’s locked on you, it’s incredible to the rest of your team that you can’t actually see what is right in front of you.

“I’m sure it’s a great place for dates,” you agree.

“And?” Street questions.

“And what?”

“What is wrong with you?”

You shrug again and Hondo cuts Street off to explain the plan for the raid. He puts you and Street on opposite sides of the house, which is probably in your best interest.

“You can’t just ignore me,” Street whispers harshly as you exit Black Betty.

“We’re working,” you remind him.

“If you can keep working without getting exhausted from the back and forth of being my friend and ignoring me because you’re jealous about my date or something, I can do my job and ask a question.”

You take a deep breath, willing yourself not to respond to his low jab. “Let’s just finish the raid, Street, and if you want to make up more stupid ideas about why I don’t want to talk to you sometimes later, I’ll try my best to listen.”

Street reaches for your arm, but you step away quickly to join Deacon.

“You’re not just hurting him, you know?” Deacon murmurs.

You don’t answer, but as you follow Deacon to the west side of the house, you find yourself thinking about Street again. The feelings that stir within you every time you see Street hurt you far worse than they will ever hurt him. If you can survive his lack of feelings, he can deal with you getting some space.

“22-David, in position on 3 side,” Luca radios.

“30-David, ready on 4,” Deacon adds.

“26-David, go for 2,” Street says.

“20-David, breach on my mark,” Hondo commands. “3, 2, go, go, go.”

You follow Deacon into a side door and through a tight hallway. As you enter the kitchen in the back corner of the house, there’s no sign of the resident.

“Eyes on one suspect,” Street alerts. “He’s running east; 26-David in pursuit.”

“One in custody,” Luca calls.

Deacon gestures back toward the door you entered and tells your team that you’re assisting Street. As you run back into the yard, you navigate around the house and toward the road quickly.

“LAPD!” Street yells ahead of you. “Stop!”

The suspect turns off of the sidewalk suddenly and sprints across the road. You speed up as Street turns to follow him. A car engine rumbles around the curve, and you know they won’t be able to see anyone in the path until it’s too late.

“Street!” you yell.

The engine grows louder, and your lungs seem to constrict as you watch the driver round the corner. They appear to be going the speed limit, but that doesn’t make what happens next any less painful. As the suspect reaches the sidewalk on the other side, you only watch Street. The approaching car slides to a stop, but it’s not fast enough.

“Street!” you yell again.

The bumper knocks his legs out from under him, and his helmet dents the hood before he rolls back onto the asphalt. As you reach him, you rip your helmet off to see him better.

“Go get him,” Street implores, holding his stomach.

“No, Street,” you argue.

“Get him. I’m fine.”

Street groans and you know he isn’t fine, but you need that suspect in custody today. You leave your helmet beside Street and run faster than you ever have before. Without thinking, you tackle the suspect to the concrete and cuff him as he moans in pain.

“Hondo, Street’s down. Suspect in custody,” you radio.

“R/A’s en route,” Hondo replies.

Luca runs toward you as Deacon and Hondo approach Street. The driver is standing by his door and rubbing his hand over his face nervously. Everything in you wants to run back to Street and help him, tell him that he’s special to you and you need him, but that’s not your job right now. Maybe Lynch was right about those blinders, you think. Then, as you remember what Deacon said, you realize that the burning in your chest has nothing to do with how hard you ran, and everything to do with the fact that you may lose Street anyway, and he will never know that you see him as so much more than your best friend.

“Let’s go,” Luca says as he pulls the suspect to his feet. “You alright?” he asks you.

You swallow quickly and nod. The ambulance arrives as you and Luca meet the responding patrol officers, and you miss your chance to go with Street.

“He’s going to St. Stephen’s,” Deacon tells you after everything silences. “He was still conscious, so that’s a good sign.”

“Deacon,” you begin. “I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

“He needs you,” Deacon adds. “Luca’s gonna drop you off on the way back to HQ.”

You nod. Everything numbs as you follow Deacon to Black Betty. There’s nothing you can think of or say that will make this go away, not without telling Street everything. As Luca drives to the hospital and your team talks – it’s nothing more than muffled background noise as you stare at the empty seat before you – your emotions shift. You almost lost Street because he didn’t listen, because he got caught up in the chase and didn’t think about how his decision would affect him or anyone else.

“Thanks, Luca,” you mumble as you exit the double doors.

The rest of your team pulls away as you walk into the hospital. With your uniform still on, you don’t even have to ask anyone for help before you’re led to Street’s side.

“Hey!” he calls when he sees you. “Oh, ow,” he mumbles as he lays back.

Your plan to tell him the truth disappears when you see the smile on his face. He still doesn’t realize just how stupid he was.

“Glad you’re okay,” you say. “Though I’m sure that’s just luck. You- Street, that was so reckless. If you want to throw away your safety, do it on your time!”

“I-“

“No; whatever excuse you’re coming up with, just save it. You’re self-sacrificial and today proved why. You don’t care about anyone else, and you don’t seem to realize or care that I- that people care about you! When you pull that hero act, you’re showing how blind and how stupid you are.”

You release a breath as you finish. Part of you whispers that you’re being a hypocrite; Street isn’t the only blind and stupid one in this hospital room. He’s not the only one sacrificing parts of himself because he thinks being selfish and secretive is the only way to stay happy and avoid rejection. So, you decide to listen to the part that is mad at Street for risking his life and not caring how it affected you. And the rest of your team, of course.

Street’s brows furrow as you rant. After you fall silent, he asks, “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“I’m fine,” Street argues. “You seem very upset, and I’m sorry about that, but it’s a minor injury, and I-“

You weren’t expecting Street to argue with you, to find a way to make you seem wrong for caring about him. And when he says minor injury as if he wasn’t hit by a car, you know you can’t stay. Without a word, you turn and exit his room as you ignore his calls for you.

“Hey,” Hicks calls.

You look up and see him walking through the hall, likely to see Street.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s… he’s still Street,” you say.

“And you?”

You shrug and answer, “I didn’t get hit by a car. I’m heading back to HQ.”

Hicks nods and taps your shoulder kindly as you leave. You need to blow off some steam and get Street off your mind for a while, and HQ is the perfect place to do that.

As you call Deacon to come get you, Hicks enters Street’s room and closes the door.

“How you managed to not break your leg is a mystery for the ages,” Hicks says.

“Well, apparently I’m just lucky,” Street murmurs. “And blind, and stupid.”

Hicks nods as he takes a seat. “What’d you do to make her so angry?”

“Nothing! She’s mad because I’m ‘self-sacrificial’ and it was a misguided ‘hero act.’ Her words.”

“You think she’s wrong? No self-sacrificial motivations?”

Street looks away from Hicks as he considers why he ran after that suspect without looking and why he ignored you when you yelled his name.

“We got into an argument before we got there,” Street admits.

“I didn’t realize you two were already together.”

“We’re not. She, uh, she’d never.”

“Right,” Hicks agrees sarcastically. “Because that woman who just came in here and yelled at you for getting hurt doesn’t feel anything for you. Surely you can see, despite your track record, that she cares that you got hurt. She’s mad because she could have lost you.”

“She can’t lose something she doesn’t want.”

“Street, open your eyes. No one yells at someone they’re indifferent to. But someone you’re scared to lose? They’re worth getting mad about.”

Street replays your words in his mind. You don’t care about anyone else, and you don’t seem to realize or care that I- that people care about you! You almost said it, Street realizes. You almost admitted the very thing Street has thought for longer than he remembers.

“When can I leave?” Street asks.

“Easy,” Hicks answers. “They’ve got to observe you for a while and make sure you don’t have any internal damage.”

“Is the driver okay?”

Hicks stands and buttons his jacket as he says, “You’re not that strong, kid.”

As Street gets advice from Hicks, you try to avoid Lynch. It doesn’t go well, however, because the moment your fist makes impact with the punching bag, she appears.

“We need to talk,” she says.

“Can it wait?” you ask between a jab and a cross.

“No. I know you’re worried about Street, where that anger is coming from. But the question I have is, do you know why you’re so upset?”

“Because he could’ve gotten himself killed and he doesn’t care!” you exclaim.

“He doesn’t care that he could have died, or he doesn’t care that he would’ve been taken away from you?” Lynch challenges.

You drop your hands and exhale. “What does that mean?”

“You tell me. Is the anger because you care about him and need him or because he went against protocol? For me, I would be mad about the paperwork I had to do, but you…”

“So, what you’re telling me is that I got angry with him because I don’t want to lose him. The one man in the world that I have absolutely no chance of ever having. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe not. Or it could be that the idea you can’t have him is just that – your idea. If you never give him the chance to answer, you’ll never know.”

“But I could lose him anyway,” you say softly.

“Or you could lose the chance to have him. Just… think about it, figure out why it bothers you so much, and then do something about it. Whether that’s telling him the truth or just being a supportive team member.”

You watch Lynch leave, then turn away from the bag.

“Ready?” Deacon asks.

“What?” you reply.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for a ride back to Street.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Mr. I-know-my-teammates-well-and-have-scary-good-intuition.”

“It’s a wonder I even have a license to drive you with a last name like that,” Deacon teases as he leads you to the parking area.

Outside Street’s room, you stop and take a deep breath. After you knock, you step through the open door and stop at the foot of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” you begin. “I thought-“

“I care about you,” Street interrupts. “I like you. I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t remember life without you.”

Your eyes widen with Street’s confession. Even if he’s exaggerating, hearing that you’ve had an effect like that on Jim Street gives you hope. He’s everything you want and more, but you never expected to hear anything like this from him.

“I like you, too,” you confess. “That’s why I got so mad. I didn’t want to lose you, but I shouldn’t have said all of that about you. I’m sorry.”

“I was self-sacrificial. I couldn’t see that you cared, so I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Of course it matters, Street. You matter,” you insist as you walk to his side.

You take Street’s hand, and he smiles at you. There’s still a pain in you, a sympathetic, emotional hurt for Street and what you both went through.

“I guess it’s a good thing I was stupid and blind enough to get run over by an innocent bystander,” Street jokes.

“You’re insufferable,” you respond.

Your smile betrays you, and Street knows you don’t mean that. You meant everything before. Though you think it’s too early for him to be joking about his accident and the injuries he’ll certainly feel tomorrow, you appreciate his sense of humor and the way he holds your hand. He can be insufferable, but now that you’re finally accepting the truth that Jim Street likes you too, it’s different and it always will be.

[idleray-av]

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This is me - Carl or Ray! And I REALLY need to move out of my place of residence as soon as possible. The reason of the emergency is that I need to get out of a toxic environment ASAP The big problem is my mother, who is NOT mentally stable. She treats me very ambivalently: at first good, then suddenly horrible. She threatens me with violence, and plays on my emotions and mental health. She is often transphobic towards me, doesn't value my opinion at all, and if I don't agree with her, she starts a scandal and threatens me.

She doesn't care that I'm haunted by suicidal thoughts, saying that it's my own fault and that I would finally LEAVE THE WORLD, and then she abruptly changes her position, deceiving me with words, saying that:

"I just ACCIDENTALLY said it, it wasn't what I meant"

And then again it loops in a circle: scandals, threats and, that I just misunderstood it all and that it was my own fault. She is trying her best to keep me in her house, telling me I can't go anywhere because I'm not capable of doing anything.

My mom said herself that despite the psychologist's recommendation to go to sessions too, she says she doesn't have time and she's old, she just has such nerves and it's NOT a bad thing.

She's not a very b*stard. I live in a warm place and have everything, but her mentally is not stable. Accusations, threats of violence that she will start the same way she did when she was a child and verbal abuse towards me. All her negativity towards me, I am not going to take it anymore, I have enough frayed nerves and tears as it is. I don't feel safe in this house. I don't want it to continue..

…. It hurts to be around her anymore, so I need your help to move out of this place.

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I draw:

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[whatwooshkai]

Fav number 15 since it is May for the smoke and mirrors ask!

"What are we looking for, again?" Heatwave asks for what must be the hundredth time.

Quickshadow takes a deep vent and adjusts her sunglasses. "Plates, cups, napkins. Then we can go home."

"Seriously, why do we need any of this?" Heatwave continues, running a hand through his hair. "It's not like we'll be using any of it!"

"I know," Quickshadow snaps through gritted dentae. "Boulder and Graham are handling the ones for us. And I know you know that, so shut your mouth-"

"I'll shut your mouth-" Heatwave snarls and lunges forward, but there's an unmistakable beat of excitement that escapes through his field.

So he wants a spar. In the middle of a Party City.

"Not happening," Quickshadow says, attempting to push him away from her, just for Heatwave to shut his tangibility off and make her stumble through him. "Don't do that in public!" she snaps. "What if someone saw you?"

Heatwave doesn't answer, just sticks out his glossa at her.

"You're such a sparkling," she mutters, turning back to the shelf.

"And you're a bitch," Heatwave snaps back. Great. Now he's using human words.

Quickshadow takes another deep vent and tries to ignore him.

Of course they stuck her with him. Heatwave, on a good day, is a great sparring partner and makes good conversation. But on a bad day, especially when he's bored, he's about as mature as a newforge.

The other rescue bots must've planned this. Even Kade jumped at the assignment to distract Blades while the rest of them split up to go shopping for his forge-day surprise party. She should've known something was up.

Alas, there is nothing she can do now but deal with it.

"You really shouldn't talk to your mother like that," a shrill voice chides, and Quickshadow's battle protocols nearly click on.

She needs to remove both of them from this situation right now before Heatwave causes a scene and gets them both kicked out.

The offending voice comes from a human woman, with silvery blond hair tied up what she assumes is uncomfortably tight in a bun, with her stature just as taut as her hairdo.

Heatwave opens his mouth, and before Quickshadow can stop him, he blurts, "That's my dad."

Oh, Primus. The worst part is is that he seems genuine. Like he thinks that's the actual term that should be in use here.

Quickshadow swoops in behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and steering him towards the other end of the aisle. "Go find the orange napkins, will you?" she asks sweetly, but sends urgency pulsing through her field. "I'll handle this."

By some divine act of Primus, Heatwave doesn't fight her, instead walking off in the direction she's pointed him in with only a shrug.

"I'm sorry about that," Quickshadow says to the woman, who's giving her a suspicious look. Oh Primus, how do I fix this... "He's adopted," she starts, wracking her processor for a believable way to continue this story. "He had a really bad home life, you know, and a lot of trauma with his mom... it's just easier for him to call me Dad, and he tends to get a little defensive about it. You know how teens can be," she says, drawing upon all her knowledge of human terms and things she's seen in Blades' favorite soap operas.

And it works. The woman's glare drops immediately and she holds her hands out placatingly. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she says quickly, waving her hands a little. "I didn't- I shouldn't have assumed, I'm sorry. Have a wonderful day, you two." And with that, she's rushing out of the aisle.

Quickshadow heaves a full body sigh, dragging her hands down her face. "The things I do for you," she mumbles, before turning back to Heatwave, who seems to still be attempting to figure out what a napkin is. "What were you even thinking?"

"Parental figures on Earth are 'dads'," Heatwave says matter-of-factly, making an educated guess and guessing wrong, but they are plates, so Quickshadow doesn't correct him. "I was just correcting her for our story."

"Only male ones are 'dads'," Quickshadow tells him. She pulls the napkins off the shelf and the cups, knocking them into the cart. "Female ones are 'moms'. You should know that."

Heatwave rolls his optics. "There are no female creators on Earth. That's only in movies and stuff."

Quickshadow takes a second to process the information given, before suddenly it clicks. Neither the Chief or Doc Greene have wives. No wonder he'd think that. "Well, there are. So next time someone says it, just going along with it. Or better yet, let me do the talking."

Heatwave grumbles something unintelligible, something about Kade being a liar, then fixes his optics back on her. "Are we done yet? Blades is blowing up my comm, he knows something's happening behind his back."

Quickshadow sighs again. "Yes, we're done."