#( i was writing before reading what the wound prompt was and i was like oop )

[callsign-rogueone]

questions

Ridoc Gamlyn x reader (sweetheart!) Part three of Ridoc and Sweetheart's story words: 2.9k 🏷: no real book spoilers, this will make more sense if you've read Resson (Garrick's version) but it's not required, set a week or two into Iron Flame, this is a sweetheart chapter so warning for intrusive / self-deprecating thoughts and anxiety spirals, I made a bunch of stuff up about Ridoc's life because RY never told us anything, Rhith being a cool mom, this hasn't been proofread, oops. gonna go have a bagel now byeeee

Rhith had told you that Ridoc would meet you at the gates at eleven — so naturally you’ve been standing there since 10:45, rocking back and forth on your heels and peeling your cuticles.

Why did you agree to do this? Actually, this was your idea — why did you bring it up? What if he’s not going to show up, and you’re just going to stand here for an hour like an idiot?

“Hey! Am I late?” he asks, startling you out of your thoughts. He’s a little out of breath, like he’d ran here, but he offers you a wide smile nonetheless.

You open your mouth to speak just as the bells chime. 

“Guess not,” he laughs when they’re done. “You ready to go?”

You nod, stuffing your hands into your pockets so he can’t see the state of your fingers. Thankfully it’s not too hot to wear your flight jacket. This is your first venture into town, and you don’t want to have your relic on display when you’re in a new place — just going is scary enough.

He leads the way — of course he knows where you’re going. He probably goes out every weekend with his friends; another way you’re completely different.

“I figured we could play twenty questions,” he offers. “Get to know each other a little more. You can go first, if you want.”

You take a second to remember how to speak again. “Alright, um… do you have any hobbies?”

“Coming up with jokes is pretty time consuming.”

“And here I thought they were all completely spontaneous,” you say, shaking your head. “Do you write them all down in that fabled diary of yours?”

He laughs. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t actually have one?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering it. “Only because I don’t see you spending your free time sitting down, writing.” 

“You wound me, sweetheart. I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of writing complete sentences.”

“I never said you weren’t. I just said that I didn’t see you doing it.”

“Fair. Tell me about your book,” he prompts. “The one you’re always carrying around.”

“That’s not a question.”

He gives you a sly smile. “Well played. I’ll rephrase, then. What’s the book about? Do you like it?”

“That’s two questions.”

He laughs, warm and full. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”

“Three.”

“Okay, okay. The first one, then — what's it about?”

“The main character is a trained assassin who is called before the king to join a contest to become his hitman, basically. But the contestants keep getting murdered in the night by some creature that they can’t track down.  It’s part of a series, but I’ve never seen the other volumes anywhere. I like to imagine a different ending every time I read it.”

“You’ve read it more than once?”

You ignore the fact that that’s yet another question, answering it without protest. “Yeah. I know that’s dumb, but it was the book I was in the middle of when my life went to shit. It’s technically property of the library in Aretia, but it was burnt to the ground, so I never gave it back.”

Your heart beats a little faster at the mention of your hometown, and you immediately regret bringing it up, but thankfully Ridoc seems none the wiser. 

“There’s nothing dumb about it if it makes you happy.”

You’ve just stepped into the tiny restaurant when a man that you guess is the owner sees Ridoc and pulls him into a tight hug. “I was wondering when you’d bring your girlfriend!”

Your cheeks warm, but you don’t correct him — that would be too awkward.

Ridoc doesn’t correct him either. “I set up Ezra here with ice that never melts,” he explains with a smile.

“It’s been a blessing. Keeps everything fresh longer, so I don’t have to waste it. You two sit — I’ll make you something special, on the house.” He disappears into the tiny kitchen in the back, leaving the two of you alone in the nearly-empty dining room. 

Ridoc gestures to a table in the corner, away from the door, and you settle into the chair silently. You can’t help but run through Garrick’s mental checklist — your back is to the wall, and you have clear sight of the two exits. You have a knife in your right boot and one in your left sleeve — plus the blunt one laid on the table in front of you. The fork would probably do more damage, though.

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Hm? Oh. Right.” You take a moment to look at him. “Why are you here?”

He gives you a stupid grin. “Because you asked me on a date.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I mean, why Basgiath? Why the rider’s quadrant?”

“Oh, I know. I just wanted to remind you that this whole thing was your idea. But really… probably because I’m an adrenaline junkie who feels like he has to prove to the world that he’s not an idiot. And I’ve always admired the riders and their magic. We can do some pretty cool shit.” 

There’s a pause, and his voice softens as he continues. “I know you didn’t want to be here, so I probably sound super ignorant saying all that. I do think it’s fucked up that you didn’t get a choice — and the way that they handled all of it.”

“I respect your answer. It was honest.”

His turn for a question. “How do you feel about it, really, being here? Not here as in here,” he clarifies, tapping the table, “but at Basgiath.”

You look at him for a second. “Is that your question, or…”

“It can be. But if you don’t want to talk about it, we can go back to the dumb ones.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say quietly, thinking for a second. “I’ve accepted it, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.”

He’s quiet, giving you space to elaborate — the same way Garrick does; not prying, but silently offering to let you tell him what you’re thinking, if you want to.

“Challenges are the one thing here that doesn’t scare me, because I don’t have to think about it anymore. I know what to do if someone takes a swing at me, and I know how to disarm someone, because Garrick made me practice hundreds of times. But everything else…” 

“Is uncertain and unfamiliar, and therefore scary,” he finishes for you. 

You’re a little surprised by the gentle tone of his voice, the lack of judgment in his words. “That pretty much sums it up.”

Another pause.

“I’ve had an anxiety disorder pretty much my whole life,” you admit. “I was that kid in school that everyone thought couldn’t speak, because I never talked to anyone, except my siblings. Liam was my first real friend who was my age. He didn’t mind the quiet. We would just sit together, and he’d do his wood carvings while I read my books. That was good enough for both of us.”

“Where are they now? Your siblings, I mean.”

You’re silent for a moment, looking down at the tablecloth and the barely distinguishable pattern of flowers woven into it. 

“I know that’s two in a row for me,” he says, backpedaling. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I had a brother and a sister. They were eight and ten years older than me, but they were my best friends. I think they knew that I didn’t have anyone my age, so they always let me tag along for everything until they left for Basgiath.”

“They went here?”

You nod. “As infantry. When they graduated, they joined Fen Riorson’s movement, and a few years later, they were executed along with my parents.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Something compels you to keep talking, to push past the awkwardness and condolences. “I don’t mind talking about them. It’s hard, but they were an important part of my life, and they deserve to be remembered. Losing them was devastating, but Garrick and my foster sister helped fill that void.”

You trace a fingernail over one of the tiny flowers. “I think… I think that’s why I kept pushing you away, and why I haven’t really made any friends here. Being marked doesn’t help, but I can never let myself get close to anyone, because everyone I’ve ever been close to has left me, one way or another.”

You can’t bring yourself to say “died” — and that wouldn’t be quite correct, either. Garrick is very much alive, last you’d heard, but he’s at least a twelve hour flight away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I only met her twice, but she was always kind to me and everyone she met.”

It takes you a second to realize that he means your foster sister — as far as Ridoc and the rest of the school know, she’d died at Resson along with Liam and Soleil.

“She was,” you say softly. 

It feels weird speaking about her in the past tense. You know she’s not dead, that she’s safe with Brennan and the elders, but the last time you saw her, she might as well have been — she’d felt so cold, and looked so drained, unable to respond to you or even open her eyes. 

She has to be awake by now, starting to recover. She has to push through, if for no reason other than that it would absolutely shatter both you and Garrick if she didn’t. 

Ridoc exhales, choosing his next words carefully. “I really am sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through any of that, especially so young. But for what it’s worth, which probably isn’t a lot — I think you’re handling it all incredibly well, and you’re really brave for it.”

You, handling anything well? and being brave? Yeah, right. You take a sip of water to cover the look of dry disbelief on your face, but he sees it anyway. 

“I mean it. Bravery isn’t “never being scared”, it’s “being scared but doing the scary thing anyway”, and you’ve been doing that every day for the last year — for your whole life, honestly. I think that’s admirable.”

You blink at him for a moment, surprised. 

“It’s true,” Rhith says gently. 

“Thank you,” you say softly — to both of them. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

He offers you a soft smile. “I think that’s enough deep questions for now. Thank you for telling me all of that, though. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you agree. “But I feel… lighter.”

“Lighter is good.”

Ezra arrives at the perfect time, holding a tray with two plates of steaming noodles and two glasses of water, placing them in front of you and making a quick exit.

Ridoc brushes a hand against his glass, and you watch the pattern of frost crawl over the edges as it chills itself near instantly. “Want me to do yours?”

You blink, realizing he’s speaking to you. “Sure. Thank you.”

He pushes the cold glass toward you, taking the other and chilling it for himself.

The question comes out before you can think. “How long did it take you to get used to the cold?”

He looks up at you, surprised. “Not long. A week, maybe. I run hot, so sometimes it’s kinda nice.”

You nod in understanding. He’d been warm to the touch when he’d wrapped his arms around you, and you’d melted right into him. That was a first. But so is this, and it seems to be going okay.

You both eat without further discussion, every minute of quiet a little more comfortable than the last. The food is good — better than anything they serve at Basgiath. 

“So, where’s home for you?” you ask after a while.

“Deaconshire,” he answers. “My dad’s still out there. It’s been just me and him for a while.”

“Not too far, then,” you comment, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he hadn’t mentioned his mother. 

“Yeah. I’ve thought about going AWOL for an afternoon, just to see him for an hour or two. But at least the letters will arrive fast.”

“Right,” you say softly, pushing the last piece of pasta around your plate idly. 

It hadn’t really sunk in yet that you can write letters now, as a second year. You could write to Garrick, but it would be too dangerous to send anything to Aretia, with the professors reading everything to make sure there’s no classified information being spread. You might be able to write to the Duke, and hope he passes it on to the right people, but that would still be deemed suspicious. 

Maybe Bodhi could help you.

“Where’d Garrick get stationed?” he asks.

“Samara,” you answer quietly. 

He winces, knowing that’s right on the front between Navarre and Poromiel, but he recovers quickly. “He’s with Xaden, right? They’ll take care of each other.”

“Yeah.”

“They’ll be fine,” he reassures. “They were the two biggest, most intimidating dudes in fourth wing. Nobody’s going to mess with them — but if anyone’s dumb enough to try, they’ll get what’s coming to them. And they can definitely kick ass in the air, too.”

He’s right — they’ll be fine.

Probably.

“Yeah,” you say again, hoping it sounds convincing. “They can definitely hold their own.” But against wyvern… what if what happened to Deigh happens to Chradh or Sgaeyl, and there’s nothing they can do? 

You force the thought out of your head before the universe can hear it and make it come true. 

“You ready to head back?” he asks gently.

You nod in affirmation, and he gets up, finding Ezra. The owner bids him a cheerful goodbye that includes a hearty pat on the back, while you stand by the table and offer him a weak wave and a soft thank you.

The walk back to the school is quiet, only the crunching of gravel under your boots, but this time the silence isn’t as loud.

You’ve already said everything you needed to say, laid all your cards face up on the table and shown them to the other — almost all of them, you think with a little flare of guilt, but there are some things you just can’t tell anyone, for the sake of Tyrrendor in its entirety.

“This one’s mine,” you say quietly, stopping in front of your door. 

You call it yours, but it doesn’t feel that way. Just because you sleep here and your stuff is piled up in the corner, yet to be unpacked, doesn’t make it feel like yours, and doesn’t make it feel safe, despite the ward that Garrick had helped you put up before he left for Samara with Xaden.

Ridoc offers you a warm smile. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I’d really like to see you again, if you want.”

“I’d like that too.”

He lingers, and for a moment you’re worried that he’s expecting something of you, but he remains a few steps away, his hands in his pockets.

“Thank you,” you add. “For today. And for finding me yesterday.”

“Of course, sweetheart. And next time you start to feel that way, you can have Rhith tell Aotrom to get me, okay? You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”

“Okay,” you say softly. 

He gives you another knee-weakening smile before he heads off, disappearing into a room that must be his — eight doors down, on the other side of the hall.

You make it inside just as the bells strike twelve thirty. The afternoon is still young.

You decide to unpack — starting by shoving the box of your sister’s things into the bottom of the armoire. You’d burned most of her stuff, to maintain the appearance that she’s actually dead, but you and Garrick had both taken some for yourselves. Malek couldn’t get mad about that, right?

You don’t know if you should worry what he thinks or not — you despise him for taking everyone away from you, but you need to remain in his good graces if you want to keep the few people you have left. But you aren’t sure how — it remains unclear what you did, or didn’t do, to deserve that. 

“It was nothing you did,” Rhith says gently, startling you. “And you didn’t deserve it.”

“Sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to project that to you.”

“We’ve talked about the apologies, sweet one,” she prods. “They’re never necessary.”

“Sor—” you stop yourself before you can finish the word. “I’ll work on that.”

She changes the subject for you. “I’m proud of what you did today. I know that was difficult for you.”

“It’s easier with him,” you say quietly. “I don’t know why, but it is.”

“Many things don’t require explanation. It is enough to simply appreciate them.” 

Spoken like a true green. “I wish I could be as logical as you,” you sigh. 

“There is value in both logic and emotion, but there is a balance to be found between them.”

You sit with the statement for a moment as you start to fold the laundry you’d shoved into a bag and dragged up the stairs when you’d moved, trying to smooth out the wrinkles to no avail.

“What do you think?” you ask. “about him, I mean.”

“I think he has a good heart. He genuinely cares for you, but it is your decision whether to trust him or not. And even if you do, there are some things that he can never know.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

“I’m proud of you, my girl.”

You’re a little bit proud of yourself too.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 14th: Roomates | Come As You Are - Nirvana | Impulsive a/n: oops, this got smutty. (lex writing smut without 50k words first? what?!) steddie, bathtubs, handjobs, getting together, they're so in love it makes me sick <333 read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

Eddie’s body aches. 

Not just today, not just because it’s rainy and damp. He hasn’t hurt himself recently, and he’s not recovering from a stage-diving related injury. His body aches because some days, it just does. 

No one leaves the Upside Down unscathed, least of all Eddie. Months of beeping machines and hourly checks in the intensive care unit turned into less frequent interruptions in the main floor. Slowly, this turned into home care at Wayne’s new trailer and, eventually, moving into a small apartment with quite possibly the most consistent surprise since that week from Hell began: Steve Harrington. 

It’s been strange, having Steve around so much. They work as roommates, knowing one another as well as they do. They’re never in the other’s way, maybe because they’re rarely ever apart when they’re in the apartment anyways. Besides, Eddie’s never hated the guy, just what he once stood for and maybe some of the company he’d kept but they’d never been friends either. Eddie’s not even sure if they’re friends now, truthfully. Most of his friendships have come about based on shared interests, not trauma or monsters. 

And definitely not shared baths. 

Eddie’s body aches, so Steve does what he’s done since he started helping Wayne care for Eddie in the earliest days of his recovery. He draws him a bath, and sits with him in lavender-scented warm water. Eddie hisses as his skin adjusts to the water, some wounds and scars still sensitive to temperature, as he sits in the space that’s been carved out for him over the past year between Steve’s legs, his back against Steve’s chest and his legs straight out in front of them. 

As his body acclimates and his muscles begin to relax, his head tips back to rest against Steve’s shoulder. It’d all started innocently enough, with Steve helping Eddie bathe in the earliest days of his recovery. But day by day, bath by bath, Eddie loses another layer of clothing, and then another layer of shame, until all that’s left is raw vulnerability in the comfort of Steve’s embrace. 

He’s not sure if they’re friends because as Steve carefully shampoos and rinses his hair, pours warm water over his shoulders, and massages the tightness in his neck, Eddie thinks they could be more. After all, he can count on one hand the number of friends whose cocks have been this close to his ass. On one finger, really. It’s just Steve. 

Eddie’s body aches, and for long moments, he sits with the silence that’s become comfortable between them as he thinks. His body aches for more Steve, for his hands to drift into the very few places they’ve yet to explore—

“Steve, at what point does this become uh, not platonic?” 

The words are supposed to stay in his head. The question is supposed to be a hypothetical one to himself that he never gets an answer to because he’ll never ask. His impulsive mouth gets the better of him. 

Steve doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t release the luxurious pressure of his thumbs into the knot he’s discovered between Eddie’s shoulder blades. Instead, Eddie feels his chest rumble with soft laughter before he responds.

“At what point did I say that it was?” 

“Well, we never said it wasn’t. Guess I assumed.” Eddie shivers and tilts his head to the right as Steve sweeps his hair to the left and presses his lips to the side of his exposed neck.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Ed, but I don’t make a habit of sitting dick-out with my friends in bathtubs. That’s just for you.” His lips trail from neck to shoulder to collarbone as his hand glides from where it rests on his stomach lower, lower, lower. 

“Steve…” Eddie whispers, hips moving on their own accord. 

“Can I touch you? I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long.” 

“Please, yes, please.” Eddie’s nearly embarrassed by the sound that escapes him, something akin to a whimper, something desperate. Nearly. 

He’s too far gone already to actually care because Steve wraps a hand carefully around Eddie’s hardening cock and glides slowly from root to tip, exploratory. Eddie’s surrounded by Steve and water and both make him feel weightless. 

This isn't going to last long, he knows.

Up and down, up and down, as Eddie falls deeper and deeper into a trance, nothing but their quickening breaths and the undulating, sloshing of the water around them. Steve sucks a few small bruises into his skin on top of his shoulder before working up and gently nipping at Eddie’s ear. 

“How’s it feel, baby? Feel good?” Steve whispers, hot and wet right into his ear. 

“So fucking good, should’ve said something so much earlier, Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans, letting one of his arms float up and tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. 

“Mmm, yeah, should’ve. I should’ve made it more obvious too though, how fucking bad I’ve wanted you. So long, Ed, so long.” 

Eddie’s hips roll up and Steve wraps his free arm around Eddie’s torso, holding him close, safe. “I’m close, Steve, God, don’t stop, please.”

Steve's lips graze his ear as he keeps going. “I’ve got you, Eddie. I’ve always got you. Go ahead, come for me, baby. Let me see.” 

There’s something in the way Steve says always that sounds like a promise, an oath, and it knocks Eddie over the edge. He comes with a silent shout, his head dropping back to Steve’s shoulder as he feels rope after rope coat Steve’s hand and be swept away into the water. 

His ears ring and his vision goes white, the only outside stimulus that breaks through is the feeling of Steve's hands on him and Steve's voice. Distantly, Eddie registers Steve praising him, talking him through his orgasm, telling him how beautiful he is. Eventually, his body goes limp and Steve swaps arms, using his clean hand to turn Eddie’s face by the chin. He captures Steve’s lips against his own, an awkward angle for a first kiss, and it’s not lost on Eddie that Steve’s now had his dick in his hand before they’d even kissed. 

They’ve never done anything traditionally anyways. 

“Eddie?” Steve starts, breaking the kiss and looking at him with glassy eyes and a crooked grin. 

“Yeah?” Eddie returns the smile.

Steve pushes a piece of wet, curly hair out of Eddie's face. “I meant it, what I said. I’ve always got you, for as long as you want me to.” 

Eddie’s body aches with a truth that he’s known for at least a year, one that he wants to say aloud. One that he hopes Steve feels, too. 

But tonight’s been a night of confessions already, and Eddie can’t help but feel that tonight is just the beginning, the beginning of many more nights with plenty of opportunities for declarations and commitments. 

“Careful with those promises, Stevie. That might be a really long fucking time.” 

Steve hums and kisses him again, soft and slow, one hand in his hair. 

“Good.”

[babytarttdoodoo]

not sure if u do ship prompts so feel free to ignore this 💕 but maybe something where royjamie are caught making out by the himbos and there is much teasing. flustered jamie is a bonus. but honestly you could literally write anything and i’d read it💕💕

I absolutely do! Hope it’s to your liking 🙂 (I accidentally let some feelings get in here. Oops.)

Roy/Jamie, post-canon

Song rec: Do Ya

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

-

“We’re at work.” Roy reminded Jamie lightly, not sounding nearly as annoyed as he wanted to be. It was hard when he had a lapful of gorgeous, handsy footballer.

“Training’s over.” Jamie countered, eagerly pressing Roy back into his chair, one knee propped on the seat between his legs and arms braced to stop him from rolling away. “Plus, it’s your birthday, you grumpy twat. Let me kiss you.”

“That’s the rule, is it?” Roy fought the grin trying to break free. He wasn’t very successful.

Jamie hummed an affirmative, eyes bright and smile wide, before leaning in to seal their lips together. He licked into Roy’s mouth with another happy sound, deep in his throat, when he was met with equal enthusiasm.

Despite his reservations about location, Roy would never actually be able to turn down being kissed by Jamie Fucking Tartt.

He did cut it short, though, when Jamie moved his hands up to Roy’s face and, without his grip as an anchor, the wheeled chair scooted back with wild momentum. To his credit, Jamie still tried to follow him but promptly sent a stapler to the floor with a loud clatter in his haste.

“Alright, alright.” Roy broke away with a placating hand to Jamie’s chest, breathing hard and glad he was wearing his loose tracksuit bottoms. He glanced at the closed blinds of his office. “Not fucking here. Anyone could come in.”

“Part of the fun, innit?” Jamie waggled his eyebrows but relented and straightened up. He stretched his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up and expose a strip of golden skin. Roy’s eyes followed the movement of their own accord and he licked his still slick lips, only half aware that he was doing so.

Jamie, on the other hand, clearly knew exactly what he was doing and smirked like the little prick he was.

“Y’know, I were the last in the gym. No one in the locker room when I came through. Haven’t seen the lads in, like, 20 minutes.”

Fuck. It was tempting.

Roy reached out and gripped Jamie’s waist, tugging him in. He came happily but pouted when Roy just used him as leverage to stand. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“Sorry, coach, but you knew that already.” Jamie grinned, no hint of remorse.

“My fucking fault, then?” Roy rolled his eyes and leaned in for another brief press of lips, forcibly keeping it chaste. It was ridiculous, how quickly Jamie could rile him up. “Suppose that means I’m taking you back to mine.”

Jamie’s face lit up. “You’re leaving early?” he confirmed, clearly delighted.

“Not going to get anything else done, now, am I?” Roy sighed, digging his thumbs pointedly into Jamie’s hips.

Jamie laughed and pulled him towards the door.

“I promise to be the sexiest little present you could ever unwrap to make up for it.”

“Is that right?”

Jamie stuck out his tongue cheekily and Roy couldn’t help himself. He wound one arm tightly around Jamie’s waist, the other hand going to the back of his head so he could hold him close and put that tongue to better use.

It was intoxicating, getting to have this after thinking about it for so long. He was only vaguely aware that they were still moving.

One of Jamie’s hands flailed around until he found the door handle, grabbing both it and the front of Roy’s shirt to manoeuvre them through the entryway without needing to break contact.

He was clearly eager to get them home. Roy was enjoying this moment just fine, though, and pinned Jamie against the now open doorframe. He pushed up against him and tugged on his hair as he deepened the kiss even further.

Jamie’s answering moan cut off midway, morphing into an urgent, distressed sound. He batted at Roy’s chest and he pulled back immediately, concern like a wash of ice in his gut.

Too much? Too aggressive? This was still so fucking new.

“What’s wrong?”

Jamie had gone pale, eyes fixed to his right. Oh no. Roy followed his gaze reluctantly, a growing sense of dread making each second stretch.

The whole team. The whole fucking team. Plus Keeley. And Rebecca. Oh, fuck, the Diamond Dogs too.

All of them, gathered together in the locker room, seemingly frozen in the act of lighting candles on a black-frosted birthday cake.

Shit shit shit.

“Uh.” A grunt was all he could manage. Unfortunately, a quick glance at Jamie confirmed that he was in no state to talk them out of this either.

The moment stretched.

“Surprise?” Keeley finally ventured, voice high and breathy. She shimmied her hands and it broke the spell.

Rebecca broke into loud, unrestrained laughter. A few others joined in, more still shouting over each other in a sudden explosion of sound. The words Roy managed to make out amidst the cacophony seemed split between declarations of being proven right, or complaints that this was why surprise parties were stupid.

No one looked angry. Trent Crimm looked entirely too fucking smug. But there wasn’t a trace of disgust or outrage on any face that Roy could see.

A weight he hadn’t really been brave enough to acknowledge floated right off his shoulders.

Reassured that they weren’t about to have to fight for their jobs, Roy turned his attention back to Jamie, who had startled when the noise started up and still had a vice grip on the front of Roy’s shirt.

He wasn’t pale now, a flush painting his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. His eyes were darting around, looking, Roy knew, for the same signs of rejection he had.

“Oi.” Roy squeezed his wrist gently. Jamie jumped again and snatched back his hands at the reminder of their proximity. He met Roy’s eyes though, a tremulous, hopeless smile in place.

Before either of them could say anything, Isaac’s booming voice cut through the room.

“Is this what all that ‘extra training’ was about?”

“Eh, no!” Jamie shot back, shoulders hunched up around his ears. “Look at me, you think you put on this kind of muscle in the bedroom?”

“Depends how you’re doing it.” Jan offered, which was a mildly terrifying train of thought Roy was not going to pursue.

“I can’t believe neither of you told me!” That was Keeley, somehow managing to look elated and put out at the same time.

“We haven’t told anyone.” Jamie whined. “Haven’t even told me mum yet. She’s never gonna forgive me.”

“I’m sure introducing her to Roy Kent will help smooth that over.” Rebecca said, eyes still bright with laughter and smirk firmly in place as she gave Roy the once over.

“I’ve already met her,” he snapped, the attention grating at him. “And it’s fucking new, alright? We didn’t need you lot sticking your noses in, and we still fucking don’t.”

There were a few grumbles but his typical Kentian reaction seemed to calm the rabble a bit.

“Question?” Sam raised a hand politely. “How long has this been going on, exactly?”

“About a month, I think.” Roy did a double-take and stared at Will, who had just cheerfully chipped in that (accurate) information from the corner.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jamie covered his face with his hands. “Boot room?”

“Boot room.” Will confirmed sagely and Roy just knew his own face was turning red now.

“Boot room?” Trent sounded even more smug than he looked. Roy growled at him.

He was quickly distracted, however, when he noticed cash changing hands among the players and - in a mortifying twist of events - Higgins.

“You had a fucking betting pool?” Jamie’s voice rose in pitch and volume, incredulous and offended. “I were over here, having a crisis about a crush on our manager and you were betting on it?”

He was looking specifically at Colin and Dani, who both shrugged.

“It was not a crush.” Dani argued. “You’ve been head over heels for years. It just took you longer than everyone else to realise it.”

“Look at it this way.” Colin continued, blithely accepting a wad of notes from Richard. “At least we were confident it was going to happen.”

Jamie glowered and threw up his hands.

“I regret everything. I never should have fucking come out to you lot. You- Wait a minute.” He stopped mid-rant, blinking at the all but forgotten cake. “Did you all plan a surprise party for Roy and not invite me?!”

A few people did at least have the grace to wince at that.

“Thing is, babe,” Keeley started gently. “You tell Roy everything.”

“Kind of ruins the ‘surprise’ part.” Moe agreed. “We figured you’d be with him, anyway. You usually are.”

“Which makes all the sense in the world, now.” Trent observed and didn’t cower nearly enough under Roy’s vicious glare.

Jamie pouted, tucking his hands into the ends of his sleeves. “Don’t tell him everything.” he objected petulantly. “I can keep a secret.”

“We know.” Sam sidled a bit closer, smile genuine and voice cajoling. “The point is, we didn’t want you to have to. Even if it’s a nice thing, it can be hard to keep something from someone you, ah…”

He trailed off, glancing between the two of them.

“Care about.”

That was oddly touching, Roy thought, but Jamie still looked on the verge of being genuinely upset. This wasn’t when or how they’d talked about telling people.

“Right.” He clapped his hands together, bringing all the eyes in the room back to himself. “If it’s my fucking party, then what I say goes. First off, no one breathes a word about this outside of the people in this room.”

He glared around, making sure the gravity of that statement set in. There wasn’t as much fear as there might have been a year ago but he thought there was a tad more respect, at least.

“Second, we’re going to cut the fucking cake now. I will blow out a single candle. No bloody singing.”

A round of nodding. More than they’d expected, probably.

“And third.” He slipped his hand into Jamie’s, easing his fingers out of their grip on his shirt’s fabric with the movement. “I don’t want to hear a single fucking catcall, innuendo or double entendre when we leave together, got it? Today or any other day.”

The team especially looked disappointed but enough of them seemed to have taken notice of Jamie’s defensive posture that there wasn’t too much outcry. Keeley raised her eyebrows at him and he rolled his eyes, hoping his blush had died down.

“Glad we’re all on the same page. Now get to it.”

A hubbub of activity took over again as everyone returned to what they had been doing when Roy and Jamie unexpectedly burst into their party preparations. Music started up from someone’s phone and the sound of a champagne bottle being opened triggered a bunch of cheers.

Jamie shuffled in close again.

“Thanks.” he said quietly, swinging their joined hands a little. “You didn’t have to.”

“They’re a bunch of muppets.” Roy told him. “But no one here’s out to get us. It’s not… I know it’s not what we talked about but. It’s okay, right?”

Jamie nodded, chewing his lip. “Yeah. Yeah, course it is.” He huffed. “Can’t believe those two just made a mint off of me misery.”

“Misery?”

Jamie turned a little pink again and knocked his hip against Roy’s. “Got drunk at the end of season party last year. Ended up spilling my guts to Dani about how I felt about you. He roped in Colin to deal with the whole bisexuality thing, and both of them were sworn to secrecy.”

It pained Roy a little bit, to think of Jamie pining unhappily while he was still getting his head on straight. Or not straight, as it were.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make them pay for it.” Roy offered and Jamie’s expression cleared. He narrowed his eyes at the lads in question and hummed.

That didn’t bode well for them.

“And, since it’s a special occasion, I won’t mind you having a drink and a bit of cake.”

Jamie properly brightened at that and (quickly, shyly) kissed Roy’s cheek. It was so much more innocent than what they’d been doing just a few minutes ago but it threatened to make Roy weak at the knees.

He shoved at Jamie playfully and he grinned as he moved away and let himself be absorbed into the throng of people. Sam slung an arm around his shoulders immediately.

Beard sidled up into the now vacant space next to Roy.

“I’m going to tell Ted,” he informed him, sounding almost apologetic. Almost.

Roy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. But if he sends me anything with rainbows on it, you’ll be the one fucking burning it.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

family

prompt: familial curse

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house, slow horses

hii here's yet another sh fic...i fear that i cannot stop writing this series oops. anyway this is a short little introspective thing ft. river's thoughts on family following book/season 4. hope you like!

River wonders, sometimes, if he’s not a little bit cursed. 

He’d thought about this a fair amount even before everything—starting when he was seven years old and undergoing the painful process of realizing that his mother had left him behind. He’d wondered, throughout his childhood (still wonders, in quiet and painful moments), what he possibly could have done for her to abandon him. He’d been seven years old. 

And then he’d gotten exiled to Slough House, and the old question of why me had found a new expression. Betrayal and anger and at last, resignation. 

And now this. The discovery of his father. Of half-brothers and could-have-been comrades in an insane war. 

The thought of a familial curse cycles through his head, sometimes. The fact that Patrice, Bertrand, Yves, are all dead. That his father had been willing—and could easily have succeeded—to kill him. Death and pain seem to follow them around. 

He wonders whether his blood is tainted. Whether this is why his mother had left him. If there is some part of his father that has been expressing itself in River, without his knowledge. 

He wonders if it’s better to know, and can’t decide. 

Mostly, he thinks that he wishes for his family to be only himself, his grandmother, and the OB, without traces of anyone else. To not have the constant wound that is his mother’s relative disappearance from his life continue to ache. To not know that his father is a murderous maniac who’d like very much to kill him, having failed to recruit him to his cause, to raise him a loyal soldier. To not know that he’d had siblings, to wonder whether they’d been at all alike, to think how he could have turned out just like them. 

Which is to say, dead. 

But he’s alive, and he’s not sure whether this makes him more or less cursed. Whether his father’s blood, pumping through his veins, makes him better or worse.

--

It’s not only his father’s blood, though. Nor is it wholly his mother’s. It’s his grandparents’. Rose and David, his family.  

Maybe this makes up for the curse, in some sense. At the end of it all, he’s a Cartwright. Not anything else. Not his father’s soldier or his mother’s son. 

There’s a family there, a real one, even if other actors lurk to its edges. It is a family that he is losing more and more of every day, but still. 

He’s a Cartwright, and perhaps that’s enough. 

thanks for reading!! love you all <3

[aimfor-theheart]

owo.... cieloooo.... can i ask... either 4 or 20 with gojo for the kiss prompts? >_<

hehee niku of course you can ask for these with gooj.......

i am going to go with 20!! and i'm going to put under a read more because it got a lil long lol oops!

thank you for sending a prompt in!!! 💕

20. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

Satoru whistles your name.

You pause before stepping onto the first stair, hand on the railing as you whirl around to face him.

"What do you want now?"

He pouts and for a moment, you think you've actually wounded him, so you try to soften it, "I'm in a hurry, is all."

"Just wanted to make sure we were still on for lunch today." Satoru says, coming to stand just in front of you, perhaps a little too close, "since you're so busy."

You huff a little, feeling harried, a little frazzled now that he's so close. He's always so close now.

You take a tentative step back, onto the first stair, rising onto it.

He's still taller than you.

"Yes, still on for lunch." You respond, more hushed than him, glancing around to be sure no other ears were around to hear that—no other students, specifically. The last thing you'd need is your students knowing you and Satoru have officially started—

"No one's around," he assures you and his lips hitch upwards in the corner, a little crooked. His voice lilts, pretty, and tempting.

"Don't get any smart ideas." You say as he leans further into your space. You pop up onto the next step to get away from him.

Now you're eye to eye.

Well, eye to blindfold.

And for a moment, you want to reach up and tug it off him, you want to pull it free from his face to really see his eyes. (He'd let you, you think.)

"You'd consider making out in a lone staircase a smart idea?" He asks.

"Satoru!" You hiss and this time, when you back up onto the next stair, you're officially taller than him.

He tilts his head up and his smile is handsome and roguish, much to your utter dismay.

"Kiss me?" He murmurs sweetly.

"We're in public—our students—"

"No one's around," he assures again, softer this time.

His hand comes up to your waist, broad palm warm, fingers curling around the bend of your body. You steady yourself with a hand to his shoulder, then the other.

You don't know how he always manages to lure you in, but suddenly you're leaning down a little, and he's canting up to you. Slanting his lips beneath yours like an offering.

You take.

Soft lips against your own. It's sweet at first, a little deep. He parts his mouth beneath you willingly, eagerly.

Your fingers disappear into his hair, you tilt his head back further, so you can deepen the kiss.

Heat flushes beneath your skin like the late summer, warm and full to burst. Your fingers tug nimbly at the knot in the blindfold at the back of his head. It comes off with a flutter.

He pulls away to look up at you, all wonder-blue and lashes like a dove's wing. He looks so pretty like this, head tilted up for you, devotion written somewhere in the heaven of his eyes. Your cheeks are warm.

You gather your bearings. You shove his blindfold back into his chest. You stumble onto the next step blindly. "You're—enough. I'll see you at lunch."

"Ah, so we are still on?"

"You're buying!" You snip, finally turning to scurry up the stairs and away from him. Away from his soft lips and pretty face.

"Happy to!" He sings.

And when you turn around from the top of the stairs, he's turned to go, smile on his lips, blindfold back in place, and shoulders relaxed—like the most content man in the world.

You swallow. You touch your lips, fleeting, faint.

And then you turn to go, too, and your own secret, happy smile is peaking out at the corners of your mouth—the twin to his, it's other half.

***

thank you again!! hope you enjoy niku!!

Send me a character and a kiss prompt and I'll write a blurb!

[vampiric-prometheus]

🩸, for book canon or NTH

Aren't drabbles meant to be like, 100 words? If so, I went over that limit; oops. I guess this is more of a one-shot, then. Regardless, thank you for the ask, Anon! This was super fun to write.

"First Name Basis" Nowhere to Hyde one-shot. Prompt: patching up a wound. Characters: Utterson and Hyde. This is hydeseek content, though you can read this platonically. But there's romantic implications, soooo... yeah. CW: mentions of blood.

"It's just a scratch-" Utterson insists again, awkwardly cradling his injured arm from where he's seated.

"Shut it," Hyde snaps, though not with cruelty, rather with an agitated concern, "I'm the one who dragged you up that tree, I'm the reason you fell. I'm fixin' it."

Rifling through the cabinets of his small Soho apartment, Hyde wants to slap himself for not bothering to stock his place with proper medical equipment. You'd think that having the mind of a doctor within your skull would encourage such forward thinking, but nooo, Jekyll's a chemicals kinda guy. The only thoughts rattling around in their head are salts and bunsen burners and indulgences and-

"You did not drag me up that tree," Utterson corrects, "I followed you willingly."

"Only 'coz I refused to get down," Hyde grumbles, hissing a triumphant 'yes!' as he finally locates the bandages. Snatching them from the cabinet, he lets the little door slam shut without a care, focusing instead on rushing back to Utterson before anymore blood can trickle down his pale arm.

The lawyer's gaze tips to the side, his voice quiet, "Actually, it was because of what you were saying about the stars."

Hyde pauses from where he's crouched in front of Utterson's seat, fingers inches away from the man's skin, "Eh?"

"You describe them often, when we walk together," the lawyer's voice remains faint - shy, "and it occurred to me, recently, that I had never truly paid much mind to them before our encounters."

Hyde tilts his head curiously, taking Utterson's injured arm and beginning to bandage it as the lawyer continues his explanation, "Whenever you speak of the stars, you have this... life to your voice. Granted, you usually speak with a rather, uh, 'upbeat tone', but there's something else to it. I'm not certain if I can define it, but this fondness you hold for the stars... Well. It made me wonder if, perhaps, by getting closer to the stars, to observe them as you do... maybe..."

Finishing his bandage dressing, Hyde glances up to Utterson, finding that his eyes meet the lawyers. He holds this gaze for a while, emerald melting silver, before Utterson awkwardly clears his throat, grey eyes flitting away, "...Perhaps if I got closer to the stars, I could also become closer to you."

Oh. Hyde smirks: "Well, ain't that adorable."

A dusting of pink stains the lawyer's cheeks as his shoulders stiffen, "I-I do not know what you mean."

"Yeah you do," Hyde casually retorts, drinking in the flustered sight of the usually straight-faced gentleman. But he also notes Utterson's uncomfortable squirm, the way his shyness is slipping into an anxious unease... and he decides to spare the gent. The man did fall out of a tree for him, after all.

How to quell this rising tension? Well, there's always one method that works with Utterson: "Y'know, maybe I should've said it was utterly adorable? Or am I bark-ing up the wrong tree?"

The lawyer blinks, glancing back towards the fella still crouched in front of him. His lip quivers with the hint of a smile, "Those were terrible."

"Oh, c'mon," Hyde leans towards Utterson with a wide, smug grin, "Don't be a stick in the mud."

"Hmm, you certainly had to stretch for that one," the gentleman relaxes back into his chair, "Wood you like a hand?"

"Ha! No worries, I ain't stump-ed just yet." Hyde shrugs, noting how Utterson's smile has grown. Time to go for gold, then: "In fact, I've got a question for you. What's the best way to make a tree laugh?"

"I don't know," the lawyer eagerly indulges, "What's the best way to-"

"You tell it acorn-y joke!" Hyde cuts in excitedly. In response, Utterson snorts with laughter. Perfect!

Together, the pair of them chuckle, Hyde admiring the sound of the lawyer's laugh. It's a rare thing to hear, so it's always something to appreciate whenever the man can coax it out of Utterson, can get him to drop that stiff persona all Victorian gentleman's train themselves to have. When Utterson relaxes - when he and Hyde can just be themselves without judgement or care - that's when their meet-ups are at their best. That's when the stars shine brightly against the darkness of the night sky.

Amidst his laughter, the lawyer speaks, sounding so fond whilst grinning with closed eyes, "Oh, Edward, since when did you learn such--"

Hyde doesn't hear the rest of what Utterson says. He's caught on one word, ensnared by the sound of a name, shocked so much by it that he stares at the lawyer with mouth agape and emerald eyes blinking rapidly.

Edward. Edward. "Y-You just called me..."

"Hm?" Utterson's chuckles falter, ceasing awkwardly, "Did I say...? Oh. D-Did you not want me to call you-?"

"No, that's not what I meant!" Hyde insists, making a sweeping gesture with his hands as if to shove the mere thought aside, "It's just... no-one's ever called me by my name before. Like, okay, everyone calls me Hyde of course, but Edward?"

Not even Henry Jekyll has called his other self by that name. Edward Hyde only has a full name for legal purposes, to have a complete title to write on wills and cheques. No-one was ever expected to actually call him by his first name - in Victorian society, everyone and their mother just went by their surnames, purely for the sake of formalities. There were few exceptions to this societal rule: parents to children, husbands to wives, and... friends to cherished friends.

"Is it... is it alright?" Utterson timidly queries, "To call you that in private?"

Hyde's brow furrows as he thoroughly thinks it through, stroking at his jaw in contemplation, turning over the name 'Edward' within his mind. So many names within this skull; Henry... Jekyll... Hyde... "Does this mean I can call you Gabriel?"

The lawyer doesn't vocally react, but his expression alone communicates his startled bewilderment.

"Yeah!" Hyde grins, nodding frantically to himself, "Gabriel, or- OH! GABE! I'm calling you Gabe!"

"Gabe-?!" Utterson wrinkles his nose like a disgruntled rabbit.

The other fella bursts into laughter, smirking wildly up at the lawyer, leaning crossed arms atop Utterson's knees, "Don't you think 'Gabriel' just sounds so pretentious? A shortened name would suit yah, really!"

The lawyer sighs, voice exasperated, "Edward... please, no..."

Hyde pouts, "Fiiine. Gabriel it is. But you get the privilege of calling me Eddie, if you want to."

Utterson doesn't respond immediately, silver eyes drifting downwards, having realised how close Hyde is to him. The crouched fella expects to be pushed away, to be asked as politely as possible (for an embarrassed Victorian gentleman) to remove his arms from the lawyer's legs... But instead: "If you would prefer that I call you Eddie, then I can certainly do that."

Heart full of starlight, Hyde grins, "Dang. Maybe I should've made you fall for me sooner. ...O-Out of the tree, of course."

The lawyer's lips twitch with a hint of a smile, "Of course."

[taskfocused]

wound, fits the husbands pretty well! could be the whole incident of terushi get trapped and hurt underground in the illegal mines ooor the notorious organisation kidnapping episode >:3c

one word prompts // @teruuji

Yuuji didn’t come home to an anticipating Keiji that day. He made sure to arrive on schedule no matter what, Yuuji reassured him that countless times before. And a disruption in the routine ignited suspicions within the daycare owner. 

Ever since his parents began disturbing Keiji’s peaceful life, he sensed something was wrong in the picture. If they knew of his existence in this part of the region, they could have also known about his relationship. While the community made him feel like he belonged, Keiji didn’t have it in him to trust to the extent he showed Yuuji and the former daycare owner. 

But there was no use pointing fingers now. His private life was out in the open in his family’s organization. He knew it was only a matter of time, but nothing could prepare for him for the real thing. His family wanted him back, to take over like he was raised to. This time, it seemed they plan to lure him in using the person he cared about the most.

That, or Keiji could be overthinking. Yuuji always pointed out that Keiji let his emotions cloud his mind too much. Keiji could wait another day; prove that he worried over nothing. But even as his own pokemon showed their worry, Keiji’s worry escalated more. Then it all came together as a familiar-looking lackey walked by, tipping his hat and smirking. That was it. He was going to take matters into his own hands.

Keiji felt apologetic that his pokemon had to be used for battle again. But because of their long-time bond, they supported their trainer all the way. Like Keiji, they learned to trust Yuuji over time. Most of all, they knew how much this person made their trainer happy and loved. It was a stark contrast to the kind of life they all used to live. They loved seeing Keiji smile and laugh, so it hurt them to witness Keiji spiral into the dark spaces in his mind again.

The expression on Keiji’s face before they left was reminiscent of the quiet champion-caliber trainer they fought alongside with. But something was different with his present aura-- There was terrifying determination that they only found heartbreaking. Keiji didn’t want to have to resort to dirtying his hands and his pokemon again. But here he was, about to face his haunting past again.

There weren’t even any detours en route to his family’s place. He stepped back on the ground, clenching a fist as nerves began to get the best of him. Could he really do this? Then, Altaria nuzzled her cheek against the top of his head as Keiji gave a smile of gratitude. “Okay, let’s get this family reunion started, shall we?”

His arrival seemed to have been expected as the entrance doors opened for him. The interiors were as clean as he remembered. But he only remembered the brainwashing that happened in these halls. The awful recollections made him sick to his stomach. But Altaria had been beside him the entire time, being someone for him to lean on when it got too much. She knew what he had gone through more than anyone. If anything, she felt proud of him, that he could face his fears to save Yuuji.

Framed pictures hanging on the wall showing off achievements in the leagues and world causes. Such a shining and beloved reputation to the entire world. What a load of bull. And on one of the wooden tables, Keiji spotted an old family picture. It happened right before they let Keiji go on his pokemon league journey. Even back then, his eyes looked so lifeless and robotic. They really are the worst of the worst.

Further down the halls, Keiji reached a dead-end with a bookshelf on display. But as he pulled out a particular book half-way, it served as the path to his supposed future. Not of his future as the heir of this criminal organization, but towards Yuuji. After Yuuji’s absence, Keiji realized he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with anyone else. While Yuuji’s initial marriage proposal was a joke, Keiji could consider agreeing.

Keiji expected Yuuji to be held hostage in a particular place. And he wasn’t wrong. But as soon as he saw the other male, something within him snapped. Yuuji was tied up, bloodied and bruised. It was a good decision not to wait for another day, after all. But why did they have to harm someone who didn’t have anything to do with this family affair?

Yuuji looked exhausted and weak. Keiji braced for the worst as he approached the unconscious body, kneeling and touching the other’s cheek. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard Yuuji breathing. Altaria kept on a look-out as Keiji tried to get him out of these restraints. The noise and movement roused Yuuji awake, as the sight of his love and Altaria made his lips part into a smile.

“I knew you’d come for me, Prince Charming,” Yuuji chuckled, but his voice was soft and weak. Keiji didn’t respond, occupied with freeing the other male. “Hey, what about my welcome back kiss?” But as he took a closer look upon Keiji’s visage, his eyes were nothing like the ones he stared into so many times before. Oh no. “Keiji, I’m here. I’m alright, okay? We don’t have to face them. We can just leave with Altaria here.”

“It’s a little too late for that, unfortunately,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in. Keiji stopped his movements, and without thinking, released his other pokemon. Everyone shared the same aura, intent on harming anyone who would get in their way. Even if the person was one of Keiji’s flesh and blood.

But Keiji’s mother wasn’t dumb. She and her lackies already surrounded the proximity. And it seemed the mother was as serious as her own strongest pokemon looked rearing to fight as well.

“No one else has to get hurt if you comply, Keiji.” She shared Keiji’s hooded eyes. Lifeless and devoid of emotions. Right now, with Keiji’s deadpan expression, the resemblance was striking.

“But you hurt Yuuji-san. That, I will not tolerate.” Absol cut the rest of Yuuji’s restraints as Keiji stood up, facing his nightmares head-on. “You wanted to see how strong I’ve become? Well, you’ll get the front row seat to it now, Mother.”

“Keiji… Stop…” Yuuji was too weak to move. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the blinding elemental clashes.

Yuuji woke up again, fighting the urge to close his eyes as he saw the aftermath of the battle. Scorched walls, holes on the wall and the floor, unconscious bodies on the ground… His eyes widened, heart racing in panic. Keiji didn’t… He couldn’t…

“Yuuji-san?” 

Keiji kneeled before him, looking like he got minor burns, bruises and dirt around him. What exactly happened while he was out? He gripped onto the other’s shirt, letting out heavy breaths. “What happened? You didn’t... hurt anyone, right?” He was hesitant to mention along the lines of bloody murder. Keiji could never be that kind of person. He believed that with all his heart and soul.

“I knocked them all out. Made sure to put them all to sleep so they don’t have to wake up until we leave.” While the tone of his voice was flat, perhaps they needed to leave so Keiji wouldn’t have to put on this façade anymore.

Yuuji let out a sigh of relief as he buried his head against his boyfriend’s chest. “I’m glad. I don’t want you to follow the same path as everyone else in this room. You should never be like them, ever. You’re better than that.”

“Of course. That’s why I want to be with you for the rest of my life instead.” 

“Good.” A pause. Did he imply what he just implied? “Wait, what?” 

Keiji rolled his eyes as he glanced at Xatu, who seemed to have caused the police officer to fall asleep again. And the next time he opened his eyes, they were back in the daycare, where Keiji treated and bandaged his wounds. He was surprised at the sight, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved. And of course, very much in love all over again.

“You really want to have me all to yourself, huh? Not even taking yours truly to the hospital.”

“The injuries aren’t even that bad. Seems like I overreacted.” Upon closer inspection, Keiji’s life was back into his eyes. Good. He smiled as he placed a kiss on his love’s cheek. 

“My hero. Thanks for saving me.”

Keiji’s eyes widened, averting his gaze away from the other male. Ah, Yuuji felt so lucky to be in love and be loved by someone like him.

[sagesolsticewrites]

“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?

a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.

What a fool you were.

You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.

“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”

You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”

You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.

When he said nothing, you exploded.

You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.

The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.

You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.

He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.

That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.

You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.

“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.

“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.

“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.

“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:

“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”

Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.

“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”

“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“

You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.

She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.

Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.

There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.

“Hi,” he says softly.

You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.

“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.

“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“

You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”

“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”

“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”

“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.

You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…

“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”

“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”

And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.

But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”

He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”

He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.

“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..

“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.

“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.

The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.

The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.

Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.

“Was that… did that actually just happen?”

Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.

“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”

“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.

You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.

“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.

“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”

“Sure, yeah, what is it?”

“Well, first of all… why now?”

“Huh?”

You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.

“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.

There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.

“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”

A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”

“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”

“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”

“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.

You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.

“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”

“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.

“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”

“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”

You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”

You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—

“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”

As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.

“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”

Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“

“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”

“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile

“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”

”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.

You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”

”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.

You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“

”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”

“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.

She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”

”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”

You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.

“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.

”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”

”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”

”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.

”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”

The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”

”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”

You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”

He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”

”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.

You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.

”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”

Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.

”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”

“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.

Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”

He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.

He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”

You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.

He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.

“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.

“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.

“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.

“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.

“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”

“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.

A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.

“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”

“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.

“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.

You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.

“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”

“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”

“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”

“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”

“I always am,” he replies with a smile.

You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.

“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.

“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.

“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”

His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”

You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.

The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.

“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”

“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“

The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.

Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”

“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.

Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”

“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”

“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.

When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.

The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.

The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.

“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.

“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.

“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”

“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”

“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”

“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”

Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.

Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but— NO.

You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.

After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.

Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.

“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”

Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.

Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.

Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.

You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.

Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.

The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”

Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.

Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.

“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.

He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”

Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.

“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”

He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”

A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”

“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.

You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.

“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”

A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”

You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.

You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.

1955

“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”

“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”

“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“

“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.

“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.

1968 - Present Day

He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.

Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.

You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.

“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.

You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.

“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”

“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”

Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”

“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”

You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”

“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”

“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“

You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”

At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.

“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.

“How was the drive?”

“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”

“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”

“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”

He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases

“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.

You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.

“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.

Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”

There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.

“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.

“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.

“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.

You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.

“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”

There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.

“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”

The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.

You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.

The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.

“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.

“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.

You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.

About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”

“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.

“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.

“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.

“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”

“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.

You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.

The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.

The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2020 - Updated

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here.

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY  "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured

Alt 2. Falling

Alt 3. Comfort

Alt 4. Stitches

Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees

Alt 6. Altered States

Alt 7. Found Family

Alt 8. Adverse Reactions

Alt 9. Memory Loss

Alt 10. Nightmares

Alt 11. Presumed Dead

Alt. 12. Water

Alt. 13 Accidents

Alt. 14 Shot

Alt. 15 Carry/Support

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020​ blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters answering one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes,  but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day's prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

Yes, but please do not use a specific prompt twice. We have also created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from [here].

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s.?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What's whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn't whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time”.

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. emeto tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.  

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the whumptober2020 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, just be sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies of whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

[whirlybirdwhat]

Is there any good one piece fanfic that you would reccomend to read?

SO MANY LETS GO

“stared at the sun and the sun smiled back and called itself pirate king (or: loyalty, on the high seas)” - by grainjew, a loyalty focused series of oneshots that absolutely devastate me every time I read it. My favorites are but the eternal pose points East (Lech L’cha)” and “a certain calmness” and - okay if I list anymore I’ll just list the entire series oops. Highly recommend!

In Which Higuma Doesn't Get To Get Drunk, Even Though He Really, Really Wants To - also by grainjew, Luffy goes back in time and everyone bullies higuma, delightful one shot, 2.5k.

The King's Will - my last rec (for now) by grainjew, a one shot focusing on Rayleigh and Luffy training on Ruskaina, and the application of conquerors haki, 2.3k, very, very good.

How it Should have Healed - by Wordlet, 36k, a hurt comfort series about Luffy’s numerous injuries over the years, and his crew taking care of him. Extremely sweet, hurts my heart, luffy please learn to take care of yourself, 100/10 reread all the time.

Coming Into Focus by DemonsLOver, 4k, focusing on Luffy’s trauma after Marineford, EXTREMELY good, I reread this one a lot as well.

Being there - by chali, 45k, another Luffy post Marineford fic that I love, focuses on his trauma and wounds left over in varying aspects and with each individual crewmate.

wish by spirit and if by yes - by midnightluck, 32k, in which sabo and ace reunite and they may have some issues but everything turns out alright in the end.

more under the cut!

Chasing Flowers by taizi - 4.7k, the Strawhats leave out gifts for luffy and he just has to follow, outsider pov, one of my absolute favorites of taizi’s fics!! Actually just gonna say rn go read all of taizi’s one piece fics, everything is so very good.

Already Forever by taizi - 1.8k, another of taizi’s fics that devastate me, nami realizing that the way luffy works will never be understood by any one else, really, really, really sweet.

Sea Shanties by Milo - 13k, luffy focused series of one shots, and the first one devastates me. zoro/luffy but it’s not romantic just platonic and this made me cry 100%, its just. So soft. Chapter 2 is with brook annd chapter 3 is with shanks and oh,,,, oh its so good. One of my absolute favorites of all time.

Twin Flames by SoccerSarah01 - 66k, a Marineford fix-it in which Sabo remembers, he and Ace call themselves not just brothers but twins, and everything changes. This is by Sarah whom I love and I 100% cannot rec this fic enough its so, so, so good. asl brother focused and the way the brothers are written im just the watery eyes emoji.

I'll be by your side (forever, always) by SoccerSarah01 - 1.5k this also by Sarah is another fix-it in which Luffy takes the blow for ace, and there aftermath and it hurts but ohh,,, its so sweet

Wind Beneath My Wings by SoccerSarah01 - 11.8k, last rec for me rn by Sarah, essentially the asl brothers celebrate Makino’s birthday and everything is good and wonderful and soft <3

Rising suns, free waters by Amazaria - 5k, vivi and shanks talk at mariejeoise fic how can you not fall for that like. Oh god the concept is so good, and amazaria executed it perfectly!!! 100% recommend, stays very true to the characters, and their like for one straw hat luffy.

Serendipity and other ordinary miracles by Amazaria - 2k, also by Amazaria, Straw Hat loyalty and discussion of dreams thats just so, so, so good. it hurts my heart, but luffy loves his crew and they love him so everything is okay.

All that we've yet to lose (burning, burning bright before us) by Amazaria - 1.9k, usopp and Gear 2’s effects on Luffy, dear god this makes me cry, like. Holy shit. Also some very good nami + zoro bonding in the background like!!! cries.

Who Knows (what could happen) by Chromi - 87k, the only unfinished fic on here but im putting it because HOLY SHIT! Essentially the journey of Ace and the Spades from Sixis to the Moby Dick, Ace/Deuce incredibly good writing I cannot stress that enough and also pining. So much pining. Deuce you are so gay. This fic is very lovingly and well written, does err on the more mature side than the rest of the fics I have listed here (just look at the tags) but not explicit by any means. Chromi also has like. Tons more ace/deuce fic, and I highly recommended checking out her Take My Breath Away [Tumblr SFW Prompt Fills] series!

Synthesis by KBstories - 4k, in which even Luffy has a breaking point and that breaking point Is sabo, but his friends won’t let that happen. I reread this fic so much and it’s so fucking good like all of KBstories like,,, cries??

I have so much more but I already procrastinated on the stuff I have to do today by writing this so - if u want more come back for round 2 and send another ask - in addition, check out the bookmarks of all these authors! I guarantee that you’ll find all the fics I would have recced that way haha. Enjoy!

(Also - Im sure u know as u sent me this ask, but I am also on ao3! My big works include Sea of Monsters, in which the east blue is the weakest sea because it is the demon sea, crown the king (with bloody flowers) in which luffy has hanahaki for the ocean, mother mother ocean (I have heard you call) in which luffy has the voice of all things from a young age, make a choice (turncoat hero), in which garp chooses his grandsonns over justice, and dearest brother (who you are) in which ace and sabo remember inn Alabasta and everything is okay. You can find my ao3 at Whirlybird70!)

[lale-txt]

what’s your favorite piece you’ve written?

aww i saw a few writers getting asked this today! cute question, i had fun thinking about this. i was surprised about how many things i have forgotten and how much i still liked even older stuff? in the past i used to die of shame like half an hour after finishing a piece, nowadays i allow myself to be a little proud of my work (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ i went a bit extra and in detail with my answer oop-

for fluff, i'd say:

birthday letters to Rayleigh ↳ writing Rayleigh is always so bittersweet and this one has it all. i really wanted to come up with something for his birthday because i love this silly fictional man and i think i did him justice <3

confessing while thinking the other one is asleep w/ Roger ↳ i was down bad for Roger but i think writing this made me down even... badder? i loved writing the interaction with the whole crew before it's just reader & Roger. need him to kiss me really bad.

"you owe me a kiss" w/ Thatch ↳ oh bread man. another one in the "need a kiss from him now or else i cry" department. it was fun spinning a story around this prompt and trying to catch his charm!

Flowers w/ Rayleigh ↳ another bittersweet Rayleigh! i saw the whole thing very vividly in front of my eyes and tried to grasp it with words.

comforting their lover on a bad day w/ Roger & Rayleigh ↳ great thing about being a writer is that you can write your own comfort pieces against the blues. it really helped and i love describing those soft little moments where nothing much is happening but you can still feel all the love.

and for smut:

sexual tension while tending his wounds w/ Kid ↳ this was the very first time writing Kid properly for me and possibly the moment i stepped foot into Kid simping hell. i haven't escaped ever since.

"i haven't even touched you and you're already this wet." w/ Sabo ↳ need the unhinged little man to rail me in semi-public okay

loving him all night long w/ Denjiro ↳ do you know the feeling when you want to read a fic about your unpopular side character and can't find any? especially in the smut department? that's how this fic was born lmao. kiss me shrimp man.

undercover w/ Law ↳ this fic has been occupying my brain for over a week. like the prompt was so fun and i wanted to do it justice and then kinda just... ran with it. always the best fics if you ask me.

one night with Kaido & Yamato's babysitter ↳ ahh, yes. the forbidden dilf. i've been joking so long about never being able to write Kaido smut but i guess someone had to? now here we are and i think it's so much fun. thinking about doing a sequel actually and i loooved reading all the comments and tags on this! really said 'pspspsps' to all Kaido fuckers and the ones in denial.

and for headcanons and stuff like that:

their recent search history ↳ because sometimes i'm really funny

giving them a booty call (nsfw) ↳ again, because sometimes i'm really funny

reacting to you not wearing panties in public (nsfw) ↳ always exposing myself in my smut pieces and this was not an exception. many little drabbles were born from this one too and i'm still not tired of this concept.

sex accident headcanons w/ Rayleigh (nsfw) ↳ oh, Rayleigh. horny old man. i love you.

Whitebeard Pirates: online dating headcanons ↳ those were born on a very long train ride and had a few sequels also, i really love all of them so much

[spencers-renaissance]

Fic Rec Bingo!!

So instead of Fic Rec Thursday, I thought I'd do something a little different this week and recommend 25 fics based on this bingo card (although it turned into 26, oops). I kept most of these as CM because that's my blog's focus, but due to the nature of the prompts, there are 5 Marvel (Irondad) ones & 1 Sherlock towards the end!

from @lightveils on twitter, but found posted on tumblr by @cywscross <3

1. A fic with a premise that shouldn't work but does

I never would've thought I'd enjoy a fic with Spencer as a little rebellious shit because it seems so ooc, but I loved this one!

las vegas kid by trashcanbarbie - 1.9k, 1ch, Gen/Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Gambling, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Young Spencer Reid, Teenage Rebellion, Protective Aaron hotchner, Pre-Canon, Father-Son Relationship, Teenage Spencer Reid

JJ raises her eyebrows, “so, you're trying to say counting cards isn't cheating?” “No,” he grins, boyish and charming, “it is.”

2. A fic you've reread several times

Discipline Changes by fullofcrazyness - 1.2k, 1ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Comforting Hotch

Jack stopped and looked at his dad, finally seeing that his dad wasn’t actually angry. Concerned and relieved, but not angry. He was about to say something when he saw someone in the doorway, white as a sheet. “Papa?”

3. A comfort fic

i'm always tired, but never of you by @iamrenstark - 2.2k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad Derek, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Derek Morgan Needs a Hug, Men Crying, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury

When Spencer figured it out, he was stepping out of the elevator on the bottom floor of Quantico, and he went to tell Derek he loved him like he did every day, but he froze up, because he was afraid he wouldn't hear it back. (Or, Spencer thinks his boyfriend is falling out of love with him.)

4. A cathartic fic

Every Little Transgression by @58thacademic - 1.6k, 1ch, Gen, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad Spencer Reid, Protective David Ross, Protective Derek Morgan, Mentioned Suicide Attempt, Spencer's Backstory, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Episode: s03e16 Elephant's Memory

Ok so. Elephants memory was really good because we got Reid backstory. But I'm still annoyed that he didn't defend himself against Hotch. So this was born.

5. A fic you'd print and put on your bookshelf

One Call Away by GhostInTheBAU - 204k, 32ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Dubious Consent, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Domestic Violence, Rape Recovery, Referenced Past Drug Use, PTSD, Hurt Spencer Reid, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Flashbacks, Healing, Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Eventual Smut

When Reid's boyfriend attacks him, leaving him broken and bleeding, he calls the first person he thinks of for help. He calls the only person he really wants to see. He calls Hotch.

6. A fic you associate with a song

I associate this fic with The First Thing You See by Bruno Major. I think if you listen to the song, you'll easily see why <3

You Make Waking Up Worth It by @guccifloralsuits - 2.1k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Fluff, Minor Angst, Established Relationship, Morning Routines, Hurt/Comfort, Good Things Happen Bingo

“Morning sweetheart,” Derek says, pausing briefly to ruffle his hand gently through Spencer’s hair. The genius nuzzles into the touch but doesn’t reply. It’s too early for conversation, Morgan knows. Pretty boy may get up earlier than he does, but it takes the younger a lot longer to really wake up.

7. A fic that inspires you

This fic could have been in so many categories because I adore it, but I wouldn't have started writing Rain is a Chance to be Touched without this fic so it definitely belongs here.

Forgive Me For All I Could Not Become by @degrassi-fanatic - 105k, 20ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Angst, Case Fic, Confessions, Complicated Relationships, Near Death Experiences, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Miscommunication

In which Reid has always been good at hiding things. He hid his father's departure and his mother's illness from social services. He hid his addiction from his team. He hid his sexuality from the world. He hid his inappropriate feelings from his boss. That is until he's bleeding out in Hotch's arms, in an abandoned church, in Oklahoma. From there on out, Hotch and Reid learn to make a complete mess out of each other.

8. A fic that brought you on board a new ship

Even though it's unrequited, this was the first fic that really had me going !!! at Penemily <3

Another Wide-Eyed Girl by mallfacee - 2k, 1ch, Gen/Derek Morgan & Penelope Garcia, Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss (Unrequited), Coming Out, Internalised Homophobia, Derek Morgan is a Good Friend, Friendship, Gunshot Wounds, Episode: s03e08 Lucky

Derek Morgan is handsome and calls her “baby girl” and smiles at her like she’s the only girl in the room. Penelope Garcia knows she should be swooning and all she can think is that there must be something wrong with her not to react to a man like that giving her all this attention. Two years later she meets Emily Prentiss and understands.

9. A fic you wish could be a movie

Listen, I adore the soulmate trope, and an angsty moreid soulmate movie? Fucking sign me up right now

i need you now but i don't know you yet by @iamrenstark - 3.1k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt Derek Morgan, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Buford Mention, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Season 5

It goes like this; Spencer hasn't spoken to his soulmate since he was ten, didn't know their gender or their name or a single thing about them. Spencer's soulmate doesn't want him, and that's okay.

10. A fic that led to you making friends with the author

I'm doing two because fuck you that's why

This was one of the first fics I read of Adam's and I immediately fell in love with his writing! And I'm pretty sure that we ended up becoming friends after I rec'd it!!

Plum Sauce by @goldencatchflies - 1.5k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Jealousy, Platonic Morcia, Episode: s07e13 Snake Eyes

Garcia tells Spencer about what she thinks happened between her and Derek. He doesn’t seem too happy about it...

I read this from Syd and absolutely loved it, and like with Adam, we became friends from there! (I mean technically husband and wife, but, y'know. Semantics.)

You Belong With Me by @spencerspecifics - 11.4k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Song Fic, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Fluff

A fluffy Moreid fic based on You Belong With Me by: Taylor Swift

11. A fic you associate with a place

This reminds me of a chilled Sunday afternoon on my old sofa in my living room, with the fire on in the background. I read it all in one sitting and loved every word <3

Metanoia by @makaylajadewrites - 39k, 16ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Canon Typical Violence, Implied Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Established Relationship, Near Death Experiences, Frostbite, Rape Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Spencer Reid, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending

Oh, Derek… He couldn’t stand the thought of him bursting in with SWAT in tow, gun at the ready, only to descend those creaky stairs and find his naked, bleeding body, vacated of life, crumbled on a red-stained mattress. The realization that he was going to die at the end of this was catching up to him, but maybe it would be better that way.

In which an unfortunate resemblance to an unsub's victims puts Reid right on his radar.

12. A fic that made you gasp out loud

Gasp out loud might be a *bit* of an overreaction, but this one took me on a rollercoaster and I loved every second of it (all of bau-gremlin's fics will do that to you tbh)

The End by @bau-gremlin - 3.1k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Graphic Violence, Stabbing, Blood and Injury, Temporary Character Death, Hurt Spencer Reid, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Sleepy Cuddles, Protective Spencer Reid

The famous interview with Chester Hardwick ... except Hotch and Reid get separated and Reid is left alone with Hardwick and a prison-made shiv.

13. A fic you found at the right time

You're Going to be Okay by fullofcrazyness - 2.6k, 1ch, Gen/Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Dark, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Sad Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Depression, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Spencer was no stranger to depression. His father leaving him, his mother’s episodes, being twelve years old in a Las Vegas high school. All of those things made him very familiar with the illness. “I… I think I need some help.”

14. A fic that you would read a fic of

Chain Reaction by EloquentDossier - 42k, 16ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Alternate Universe, Texting, Dialogue-Only, Text Fic, Self-Esteem Issues, Fluff, Angst, Implied/Referenced Past Drug Use, Canon Divergence, Pining, Oblivious Aaron Hotchner, Happy Ending

A dialogue-only AU in which Hotch texts what he thinks is Rossi's new number but is actually the slightly eccentric stranger whom Hotch knows only as "Spencer." What follows is something neither man could have ever quite expected.

15. A fic that made you laugh out loud

The Bet by @degrassi-fanatic - 1.6k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Bets & Wagers, Humour, Fluff, Canon Divergence

“Fifty bucks says Hotch writes you up and sends you to sexual harassment sensitivity training.” she declares as she stares him down. Without looking away from her, Reid takes out his own wallet and flips it open to pull out a fifty dollar before placing it down right next to Prentiss’s own money. “Fifty bucks says Hotch will go out with me.”

16. A fic that gave you butterflies

The healing and dynamics in this one is just.... off the charts :')

Who Spencer Reid Loves by @blueberriesandbubbles - 36k, 11ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Abusive Relationships, Domestic Violence, Abuse, Hurt Spencer Reid, Mutual Pining, Rape Recovery, Healing, Fluff

Derek Morgan has been in love with the resident genius as long as he's known him. When Spencer enters a relationship with a mystery man, Derek is unhappy. He is even more unhappy when he meets this man. Spencer starts acting different and Derek knows something is wrong and he has a feeling its connected to the man Reid is dating.

17. A fic that embodies something you value in life

The utter and total love and devotion in this fic just punches me right in the gut every time I reread it

A Little Fall of Rain by jack_hunter - 4.3k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Spencer Reid Whump, Autistic Spencer Reid, Major Character Injury, Secret Relationship, Team as Family, Dad Rossi

Morgan crept up behind the doctor and snatched the headphones off of his head, earning a yelp of a protest as he slipped them over his own ears. “Les Mis?” Morgan asked with a quizzical look, “didn’t peg you as the musical type, Pretty Boy.” Spencer snatched the headphones back. “I’ve always loved the theatre and I went to see Les Misérables with-... a friend last Friday.”

18. A favourite AU

The Curious Case of Dr. Reid by severaance - 37k, 10ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Transgender Character, Fluff, Trans Spencer Reid, Light Angst, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Smut, Insecurity, Happy Ending (Warning for Homophobic & Transphobic Slurs)

"And your names for the order, please?" The barista asked, eyes flickering expectantly between the two before her. "Spencer," she answered, although she was not talking to the barista. "I'm Spencer." The man before her had the same idea. "Derek."

19. A fic you stayed up too late to finish reading

I stayed up one night and read pretty much all the marvel fics this author has written, but this was the last one that I simply could not resist. The next day wasn't pretty :/

The more you say, the less I know by forthenightisdarkandfullofterror - 13.9k, 3ch, Gen/Irondad, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Amnesia, Protective Pepper Potts, Not Endgame Compliant, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Blood and Violence, Hurt Peter Parker, Whump

Tony wakes up from snapping with amnesia and for the life of him can't remember the kid hanging around, claiming to be 'just an intern'. Feelings get hurt.

20. A fic that made you feel seen

heavy in my bones by hopeless_hope - 4.4k, 1ch, Gen/Irondad, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Whump, Father-Son Relationship, Dad Tony, Worried Tony Stark, Angst, Chronic Illness, 5+1 Things

Five times Peter lied to someone about his chronic pain, and one time he told the truth and got the help he needed.

21. A fic you love without knowing the source material

(I mean this is literally all marvel fics but I'll rec this one because I loved it so much)

the locker room by searchingforstars - 15.5k, 3ch, Gen/Irondad, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Arguing, Miscommunication, Crying, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rape Recovery

Peter's falling apart and he doesn't know how things will ever go back to normal again after Ryder.

22. A fic you've gushed about IRL

Genuinely, this fic is better than most published fiction I've read...

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle - 220k, 37ch, Gen/Irondad, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Alternate Universe, Hurt Peter Parker, Foster Care, Identity Reveal, Slow Build, Disordered Eating, Homelessness

Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves. Simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

23. A fic you still remember many years later

The Transport Series by ancientreader - 135k, 2 works, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Backstory, Canon Drug Use, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Physical Disability, AU, Important Character Death, First Time, Developing Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Humour, Fluff

How to become a consulting detective. // Jim's lessons are hard to unlearn.

24. A fic with a line or two that you've memorised by heart

"He has held up buildings and nuclear bombs and whole entire countries on his back. Peter’s body is the heaviest thing he’s ever held."

when my body won't hold me anymore (where will I go) by @madasthesea - 4.4k, 2ch, Gen/Irondad, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Crying, Forehead Kisses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Hugs, Platonic Cuddling

But he knows. He knows. He can feel it. Peter’s dead. Peter Parker watches as Tony carefully arranges his limbs on a cot. “Mr. Stark,” he tries for the dozenth time. No one hears him.

25. Free Space

And to round it off, we have to celebrate the fic that really and truly welcomed me into the CM fanfic world...

Chanel by @4x24 - 24k, 7ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Getting Together, Spencer Wears Makeup, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical VIolence, Humour, Fluffy Ending, Pining, Smut Heavy

Penelope mentions offhandedly one night that she thinks Spencer might look good in makeup. Spencer takes the suggestion to heart. Derek likes the new look - and Spencer - more than he probably should. (Season 4)

[lillianofliterature]

LOTR preferences || 2/?

main masterlist | imagines/preferences masterlist

DO NOT REPOST.

if gifs not sourced, they were found on google, lmk if they’re yours! I couldn’t make out the url on the elrond one or I would have linked it!

I wrote these sort of in an imagine style to make it more immersive since the prompt for this one is dialogue based. 

some are longer than others (by a lot, oops) and some phrases or descriptors may have been repeated a few times, but there’s so many characters and I only have one brain and I didn’t feel like reading through all of them again to make them all perfectly unique. it’s been a long road writing these xD 

elvish translations: melamin = my beloved/my love, melda = beloved/dear/sweet

tw: slight gore mentioned in aragorn’s

(more below the cut-off)

their first ‘i love you’ (confession)

aragorn | word count: 647

Aragorn was always quiet about his feelings and often times reserved, being an introverted person. Those three words came when he could no longer withstand the pressure of not telling you how he truly felt. The risk of your eyes wandering to find another had crossed his mind more than once and the possibility of something happening before he had had the chance to overcome his nerves was overwhelming. And one day, as he was in the midst of this inner turmoil, you slit your hand open while sharpening the blade of your sword against a whirling  grindstone. 

He had been nearby, working with the string of his bow, when your cry of pain pierced the air. The sword rattled to the ground as you stood and pressed your hand against the palm of the other in your best effort to quench the rush of blood. Without a second’s hesitation, he came to your aid and whisked you into the smithy shop where there was a store of medical supplies for such an incident.

In his panic, he chastised you.

“Why aren’t you wearing the guard I gave you? I explicitly told you not to use the grindstone without it!”

Tears burned in your eyes as he poured a stout smelling liquid over the wound. “I took it off because it was chafing my wrist when I pushed against the blade,” you said.

“It would have prevented this, (Y/n). Look at what you’ve done to yourself!”

“Aragorn, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen!” 

“You must obey my instruction when I give it to you. I do not speak just to hear my own voice.” 

There was a tense pause in your urgent conversation as he rinsed your hand in a basin of cool water and examined the wound up close with gentleness. His relief was audible as he realized the cut was much smaller than the loss of blood had let on. With a slower pace, he began bandaging your hand with linens.

His voice softer, he spoke again. “I tell you these things to protect you, (Y/n), not to patronize you.” 

“I know,” you sniffled.

He could see that his chastisement had startled you as much as the wound itself. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but he needed you to know how serious this could have been, how badly you could have injured yourself.

“I apologize for my harshness,” - he caught your gaze with his own as he continued - “But I need you to take care of yourself. Especially when I offer you the means to do so.”

He knotted the linen and tugged at the cloth with his teeth before snipping it short with a pair of shears lying nearby. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent a wave of chills across your skin. When he glanced up at you, he saw a twinge of embarrassment in your expression.

“I always end up doing something reckless or clumsy, no matter how much I try to better myself,” you muttered. Avoiding his gaze, you stared at your wrapped hand as he released it from his grasp. 

The next words that left your mouth caught him off guard. 

“Why do you bother with me, Aragorn?”

He swallowed. 

His eyes drifted downward to your bandaged hand. Carefully, he took it in both of his and cradled it between his palms. Your breath caught in your throat, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. Of course, there was none. When his eyes flickered up to meet yours, there was something glimmering in his eyes. Something quiet and untamed. Tender. 

“I care for you, (Y/n). I care for you very deeply. So deeply, in fact, that I think there is no better word for it than love,” he confessed, gently tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “I love you, melamin.”

boromir | word count: 952

Boromir had never been one to display much emotion. He had been taught from a young age that a man was not a creature of sentiment or expressive feeling, so he was not well versed in the commitment of making himself vulnerable. It wasn‘t until he began to see how this pattern of detachment and stalwart solemnness began to affect your relationship that he worked harder to make larger strides in undoing the toxic misogyny his father had engrained in him since boyhood.

You of course knew that Boromir had an emotional side; a softer, sweeter disposition he bore around his younger brother and even around you on occasion – before he subconsciously corrected himself. He had begun to notice that whenever he puffed his chest or resumed that “manly” behavior, you pulled away from him. You grew quieter, you sought solitude, you became annoyed more easily.  His arrogance, you knew, often acted as a wall of self-preservation. But you were tired of being on the other side of that wall, waiting to be let in.

It was after an argument between the two of you that he realized this wall of his was going to have to come down. Even though he had been defensive at first, he soon realized his refusal to be wrong, his hesitance at expressing emotion, his worry about becoming vulnerable – it wasn’t worth the risk of losing you.

You had since shown him that emotion wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength. He knew you understood where his hesitance and his way of thinking brimmed from, you always made the effort to understand. You weren’t asking him to change – you were asking him to grow. 

To allow himself to be Boromir.  Fully, completely, without restraint.

This was his moment, so to speak, in which he knew he was ready to give you everything. His pride had been holding him back for so long under his father’s approval – it was finally time for him to trust you and allow himself the comforts of self-expression.

He was ready to say it first. He was ready to be the one to get vulnerable first.

On the evening he decided to take his first big step into that growth, Minas Tirith basked in the white hue of moonlight. He sat beside you quietly, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. Twirling in between your fingers was a pale blossom from the White Tree that he had plucked for you. Patiently, you waited. You could tell by his calm demeanor and open countenance that something had shifted within him since your last talk – his shoulders were relaxed as he walked, he had let himself stroll along slowly beside you instead of marching quickly like a soldier. He seemed relieved. At peace.

“I have something I must ask of you, my dear,” he began.

Your attentive gaze gave him permittance to continue.

“Your forgiveness,” – his hand covered yours as his voice softened – “I want to apologize for my arrogance throughout our courtship thus far. It was not my intention to hurt you with my attachment to my own pride.”

You leaned forward to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to stop you. You hadn’t wanted him to apologize – you didn’t blame him for a learned behavior he had had no choice in being raised into. But evidently, Boromir felt in necessary to express his remorse. Shutting him down was the last thing you wanted to do, especially if this was what he felt was right. You decided to listen.

“I never knew that I would find someone who would open me up like you have. I never even knew there was such a possibility for me to learn to allow myself to feel as you have. You know I was never allowed to show weakness as a child, or what my father perceived as weakness,” he glanced down at your intertwined hands as he swallowed over his next words, “I was not even allowed to cry. It was not the way of a soldier, or a steward’s son.”

When his eyes lifted to meet yours again, you could see the glistening of his tears in the moonlight. You tightened your grip on his hand, covering it with your other.

He seemed comforted by this as he continued. “But I am able to do so now, to allow myself to feel and become vulnerable. I owe you my thanks for that, (Y/n). If it weren't for you, I fear I never would have allowed myself to grow, to become a better man. A stronger man.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his peaceful expression shifting into excitement. “I love you, (Y/n), with a passion that even the fires of Mordor could not compare. And I thought that I would have to swallow my emotions to be the man you wanted, but instead you had given me freedom I have never been offered before.”

“Oh, Boromir,” you murmured. The image of his smiling face blurred as your own tears gathered and spilled over your cheeks. Your eyes fell to the blossom in your hands and the promise it held of everything to come – of what you already had, here, in his company.

His thumb gently tugged at your cheek as he wiped your tears. When you softened to his touch, he cradled the curve of your jaw in his hand. You leaned into him, covering his hand with your own.

This is all you had ever wanted.

For Boromir to be free, for his heart to be opened, for him to accept your love.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pressing your lips to the palm of his hand that caressed your face.

faramir | word count: 522

The complete opposite of his brother, Faramir had little to no trouble in connecting to his more emotional side. In fact, he was always eager to shower others in kindness and compassion. It had long been the thing his father hated most about him – Faramir was weak in Denethor’s eyes. Luckily, Faramir’s gift for sentiment could not be so easily squelched. It was what you loved most about him.

Faramir adored you all the more for your acceptance of his openness and empathetic abilities. He never had to filter himself around you or attempt to not be “too much”. He was expressive, kind, and vulnerable. He wasn’t afraid to cry, he wasn’t hesitant in displaying his softer side. He was just Faramir, the way Faramir was supposed to be. And in your eyes, he was perfect.

Those words of declaration, those three tender notes of sweet promise, when they finally came, did not necessarily come as a surprise. He had always been upfront with his feelings towards you – and respectful - with his affection and doting words of affirmation. Shy, but honest. But that did not mean they meant any less when you heard them spoken for the first time.

Faramir, though he had long known that he loved you, had not planned the moment he would confess to you. He knew the right moment would happen along, and happen along it did.

One fine afternoon in the sunlit halls of the library halls, your laughter echoed with an unkempt ferocity that made his heart melt. Evidently, the way he had attempted in retelling his brother’s joke was far funnier than the actual content of it. You had laid your hand upon his shoulder as you doubled over in a chortling fever of amusement. In seconds, his embarrassment had been assuaged your beautifully wild laugh that in turn encouraged his own to spill forth.

There you both stood under the setting beams of the warm sun that filtered into the halls, leaning into each other for support as you felt your sides begin to ache. His gentle hands gripped your forearms as you gasped for breath between cheerful bouts of laughter. He had been able to calm his jovial fit much sooner as his admiring gaze fell almost blissfully solemn. 

He couldn’t look away from your lips that were split into a wide smile, unconcerned whether your laugh was ladylike or if your posture was stiff. Those little crinkles in the corners of your glimmering (e/c) eyes were like the fine details of a painting. Oh, how deeply he had fallen for you.

When you finally began to catch your breath and your laughter had quieted enough for a lower octave to be heard, the words slipped effortlessly between his smiling lips with a soft chuckle. “I love you.”

Your boisterous laughter faded into breathy vowels as you asked, “What did you say?”

“I love you,” he repeated.

His smile didn’t waver. He was so sure, so sincere.

You could only smile up at him graciously, a light laugh of merriness flowing through you.

How perfect this moment was, how blissfully perfect.

eomer | word count: 413

It happened one the eve before a long patrol - that could result in battle  - that he and his men were preparing for. Eomer, knowing he could promise himself a certain outcome, did not want to leave you waiting until he returned to say all that he needed to. He wanted to be sure he left no loose ends fraying in his absence.  He wasn’t one to leave things to chance.

As he walked out to the stables to prepare his supplies and brush out his steed, you followed along with him, eager to spend every minute you had left together before his departure. There were inquiries and concerns exchanged while he filled Firefoot’s bale with oats and cleaned his shoes of any muck. When he was reassured that you and Eowyn would care for each other in his absence, he felt one last thing needed to be said.

His hands wove through Firefoot’s mane as he considered his next words, soothing the horse’s nervous anticipation. The lull in conversation reminded of you how close dawn truly was. He would be gone soon and you would be left to worry and pray for his safe return. Busying yourself with tasks that would seem miniscule in comparison.

He patted the broad neck of his steed before wiping his hands clean and stepping nearer to you. “There’s something I think you should be aware of before I go,” he began. 

His tone made you worry.

“I think we are both aware of our feelings for each other since our courtship began,” he took your hands in his as he paused for breath, “It’s no surprise to you that I feel passionately for you. I don’t think it would be news for you to hear these words, but I would feel better having spoken them before I take my leave.”

You waited on baited breath. Was he truly going to say it after all this time?

“I love you, (Y/n), with every inch of my being, and I plan to act on that knowledge when I return.”

Yes, you already knew he loved you, and he knew you loved him. But to hear those words spoken aloud after the years you had pined for each other and in the months you had courted, it was the last bit of resolve you needed to face the world while he was away. And evidently it was the last bit of peace he needed to carry himself forward. 

eowyn | word count: 312

Eowyn had long been sure of her love for you, but had lacked the courage to admit it. of course, she had no qualms with being the first to say it – of course a woman could say it first just as easily as a man and with just as much meaning. But when would the right time occur? How could she be sure you felt the same? That she would not be left with a gaping pang of regret?

But Eowyn, against all of her worries, knew the moment when it came.

And of course, her bravery shown through.

Her confession did not happen under the moonlit stars or in the halls of her uncle, nor even in the walls of her homeland. It happened in the uncomfortable, sweaty musk of battle as arrows pierced hide and swords battered shields. It happened as an enemy blade came bearing down on your armor as you lie defenseless in the wreckage, your weapon thrown own of reach.

You had accepted your death just as the thudding of boots came nearer and the Uruk’s bloodthirsty gaze drifted upwards, its blade halted. The beast stepped over your impaired body and poised the tip of its blade toward the approaching figure with a twisted smirk – and it was then that the sharp twang of her blade meeting the Uruk’s pierced the air. She parried quickly, shoving the beast back into a stumble. She stood over you, wielding her shield and blade with grace and courage enough for a hundred men – or perhaps a thousand.

“You will not harm the one I love!” she shouted.

Your heart raced in the frenzy chaos of the moment – both from adrenaline and from the realization that Eowyn, the great lady warrior, the bravest heart you had ever met, had confessed her love for you while protecting you with her own life.

elrond | word count: 928

Elrond was extremely mindful of his feelings and how he attached himself to others. He was quiet, reserved, and did not care for taking unwise chances – especially when it came to feelings such a love. He had given much thought to the subject and took his time in considering what his feelings might be – if it was simply the fleeting sensation of infatuation, a connected sensation of friendship, or truly the sensation of love itself.

When he found his every thought resolved itself back to you and nearly everything he saw or read prompted him to share it with you, he knew that he had fallen in love. And thus, it soon came time to be honest with you about his earnest feelings for you. It was time to finally say it.

During a private dinner with him, Elrond had prepared his words carefully. As he dotted the corners of his mouth with a red satin cloth, he cleared his throat. But before he could speak, your voice incidentally interrupted him.

“Elrond, do you think I’m a witless human?”

The words he had almost spoken caught in his throat. He lifted his gaze to yours across the table, studying the remorseful expression that had overcome the smile you had worn only minutes ago. He had felt that something about you was off that evening; your spirit seemed dampened like the fallen leaves of autumn when drenched with the harvest’s cool rain.

“Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”

He watched as you toyed with a piece of warm pastry, poking at the flakey crust distractedly. “I suppose I- I…I worry that I am unworthy of your company. You are a great lord and I am nothing but a wanderer who happened upon your halls years ago. There are many who are still uncertain of me, many who would rather I leave your courts and make my home elsewhere.”

“Anyone who say such things about you must be the witless creature, (Y/n), not you,” he reassured.

Your eyes met his. There was an urgency to your tone, an urgency that taunted him unintentionally. “I am dull and plain, milord. I do not belong in your world of elegance and majesty. I am like the dust of the earth and you- you are like stardust.”

Still silence fell as Elrond processed your words. You had returned to formalities, which you seldom did unless the situation called for it. This time, in the comfort of your shared solitude, it was not expected of you. Where had this all come from? Had someone chastised you? Spoken ill of your character?

He rose slowly from his chair and made his way to you. You kept your eyes on your plate, suddenly overwhelmed by a bashful sense of embarrassment. Every step he drew nearer, your pulse quickened.

The warmth of his hand stilled the nervous fidgeting of yours.

As near as he was to you now, knelt by your chair, you wondered if he could see the tears burning in your eyes. You blinked, dissolving the blurry liquid from your vision. You held your breath very still, only taking shallow breaths –you feared anything deeper would encourage more emotions to present themselves.

When his other hand swept your hair from your face, your breath caught in your throat. “You are the furthest thing from dull, melda. Do not compare yourself to the dust that is trampled by the feet of beasts – you are far more precious than even the light of the stars. You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for.”

The soft touch of his finger pulled your chin towards him, warranting your gaze to meet his. “I have spent these last two months considering how I might tell you this, and I find that is more perfect a time than ever,” he paused only to admire your eyes and the loveliness that reflected in them, “I am in love with you, (Y/n), and I fall more in love with you each day that passes.”

Your (e/c) widened and you felt your chest tighten – how could this be possible? How could he, the great elven lord of Rivendell, think of you as anything more than a wanderer? No matter how much you doubted yourself, you knew you could trust his words, despite the shock they invoked. He was never one to speak with haste or make himself vulnerable to anyone apart from his children. You were stunned to silence, waiting for him to take it back.  But he never did.

In fact, his brows drew together in an expression of absoluteness and he spoke again in a calmer, more pronounced tone. He took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his heart. “You are the most marvelous creature that has ever walked into my life. I am the one who has been graced by your presence. You have enriched my life when before it was simple and lonely…you are stardust, melamin, not me.”

Your sorrowful tears turned to joy as they poured from your eyes and spilled over your flushed cheeks. When you leaned forward to embrace him, he opened his arms to accept your human display of affection. A little too enthusiastic, it might have been – you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, pulling yourself to the ground where he knelt.

His chuckle reverberated against your body and you found yourself wondering how you had ever doubted your belonging here with him – there was no other place in Middle-Earth that could hold your heart.

arwen | word count: 420

Arwen had known from the moment she had met you that something was meant to last between the two of you. Call it instinct, desire, or elven wisdom – whatever it might’ve been, she felt it clearly much like her father’s visions. Although she hadn’t been sure if it was the bonds of friendship or kindred spirits for some time, until her connection to you was proven by your shared desire to be near each other whenever you could.

She confessed to you on the morning of your departure with part of her father’s guard to oversee the treaties between your peoples. There was much riding upon the success of your deliverance and the treaties themselves – there was much hanging in the air, stiffening the backs of many anxious elves that mounted their steeds alongside you. Just as you finished loading your saddle, her voice carried across the yard of the stables and met your ears, drawing your attention towards you.

“I thought you were supposed to be with the farewell party at the gates?” You inquired. The smile her presence brought onto your lips warmed her heart.

“I am,” she drew near until she was within arm’s reach of you, “I came to say goodbye personally. I have something to tell you before you go.”

“Oh? What is it, my lady?”

“I want to offer you this,” – she took your hand in hers and discreetly place something within the grasp of your fingers, folding them back over it – “If you would but promise to take great care of it.”

Opening the palm of your hand, you found the cool glint of the Evenstar glistening back at you. To say that you were stunned was an understatement – surely this was not what it seemed to be. Was she offering her heart to you?

“Arwen, are- are you asking…?”

“I am offering you my heart with this jewel, that you may carry me with you while we are parted.”

You searched her eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but you found none. She knew what she was doing, placing this jewel in your care. She was offering you her love, her fidelity, her loyalty. Herself.

“But this must mean that-“

“That I love you,” she murmured, taking a step closer. She curled your fingers around the Evenstar again, this time enclosing her hands around yours. Her eyes flickered down as she placed a soft kiss to your knuckles, sealing her promise. “And I will be waiting for you when you return home.”

legolas | word count: 259

It came in during one of the many nights that you sat close by him during the Feast of Starlight in his father’s halls. When he had seen your ceremonial gown laced with silver ribbon and your hair flowing free of any braids or decorum, he felt as though every thought and feeling he had harbored for you in his heart had been sealed by that moment. The need to confess his feelings came on so strongly that he could hardly speak throughout the feast, knowing the next words that passed through his lips would be ones of affirmation and promise. 

It happened in the basking glow of moonlight, just after you pointed out the constellations that glimmered brightly above you. He had placed his hand over yours gently, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. 

You glanced at him as his fingers enclosed around yours. His glimmering blue eyes narrowed down at your delicate hand, not yet meeting your inquiring gaze. His brows dipped together as though he were working very hard at thinking of what to say. 

“Legolas?”

He swallowed back his nerves before looking up to say, “(Y/n), you have been like my very own star, illuminating every part of my being with your passion. I think it must be time that I tell you just how much I care for you,” - his other hand came to cup the hand he held, encasing it in the warmth of his touch - “I love you, (Y/n), with a fire that burns brighter than the sun itself.”

galadriel | word count: 207

The lady Galadriel, even in her vast grace and eloquence, could not find the words to say all that she felt for you. In the dusk of a summer evening over a private supper, she handed you a carefully folded letter that had been sealed with silver thread. You took it gingerly, looking up at her with curious eyes before unfolding its contents and delving into her written speech.

In it she had poured everything - from the moment she had met you to the very minute she had realized how her heart was binding itself to yours with the slow cadence of the changing seasons. She expressed that though her life had spanned a great millennium, you had brought a youthful curve to her smile, a liveliness she had not known for some time. At the very end of her confession that had been penned with her delicate penmanship were the concluding words of affection. She was in love with you. 

When you looked up at her, the letter quivering in your hands, she glanced away momentarily before saying, “Every word I wrote is but the truth I feel in my heart,” her smile was as dignified as ever, “and I cannot deny it any longer.”

haldir | word count: 365

He will have thought about it for a very long time and have every word prepared to the syllable. The setting was carefully planned, the way he spoke and carried himself was rehearsed - for declaring your lifelong love for someone was no lighthearted matter. It could determine the course of his existence, as well as yours. Haldir wanted nothing less of himself than utter perfection, knowing well that you were worth every bit of his effort (and so much more). 

So there he waited in the beauty of the Lothlorien moon glow for your arrival. He had your favorite delicacies made in the kitchens by the skilled elves in the upper palace. There were pastries filled with tart berries and lathered with warm crème, a centuries-aged mulled wine, and votives shimmering in the grass. All to tell you that he loved you - to declare his heart as yours.

But all of that changed when you arrived suddenly and rushed up the slope to meet him. Unexpectedly, you took him in your arms and held him there without warning. There was a quiver to your body that he felt against his skin. He returned the gesture without hesitation.

“Melda, what is it that troubles you?” 

You spouted off about how horrible your day had been and how glad you were to have had this meeting with him, how it had kept you going throughout the gradual disappointments that had taken place since that morning. You went on to tell him how much he meant to you - all without explicitly saying ‘i love you’, but somehow he knew that had been what you meant. 

Without thinking, he said it over you shoulder in a whisper just loud enough to be heard by your human ears. It hadn’t been the way he had carefully planned out, but somehow it had been sweeter this way than any other way he could have imagined. It was natural, pure, and made his heart full. 

“I love you too, Haldir,” you murmured in return. He permitted himself to succumb to your human expression of affection completely as he tightened his embrace and gently nestled his chin over your shoulder. 

gimli | word count: 346

The saying “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” must have applied to dwarves as well. For one night as you and the other members of your Fellowship bedded down for a meal and a few hours’ rest, the savory flavor you managed to infuse in the meager ingredients you rationed had done just that to Gimli, son of Gloin. It had been only a brief moment between handing him his own helping and sitting down next to him with your own that the words of adoration escaped his mouth.

“My love be yours, lass! This brew is delicious!” He had proclaimed, his voice rising higher above the hushed sounds of delight as the others enjoyed your cooking. Then his own words registered in his hungry mind - as they did to the rest of the group.

The spoon halted in his mouth as he froze stiff under the several inquiring looks from around the fire. Legolas’ expression was contorted in such a confused way, Gimli would have make a jab at the elf had he not been the object of attention himself. He hadn’t thought it possible for the dwarf to harbor feelings - well, positive ones, at least.

Your smile drove the dwarf’s cheeks into a reddening fit. “Your what be mine?” 

“Uh, ah,” he swallowed quickly and slurped in another mouthful of broth, “I dedn’t say anythin’.”

“Oh, I think you did, Gimli,” Aragorn chimed in with a wide grin on his face.

“I think he might ‘a said he loved her!” One of the hobbits proclaimed, encouraging a roar of laughter around the fire. 

Gimli muttered something over his bowl of stew that he cradled close to his beard. You smiled at him, knowing he was too embarrassed to even offer a rebuttal. It may not have been outright or plainly spoken, but you could see through the hard-pressed and unfeeling exterior he always wore that there was something soft not too far below the surface. You were happy to hold the affections of a certain red-haired, axe-wielding dwarf. 

frodo baggins | word count: 612

Frodo loved nothing more than a peaceful day spent in the flickering shade of the forests and crossing through little creeks and rivers - especially if you were with him. He often invited you to tag along with him on his adventures to find a good reading spot or explore some hidden oasis of the Shire he had yet to discover. He always wanted to be with you. 

On one such day, Frodo couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every thought turned and found its way back to you. Each time he tried to concentrate on the book he cradled in his hands, his eyes wandered readily to find your peaceful face indulged in your own little world, just content to have his company without the need for conversation. 

He adjusted himself where he sat in the forked trunk of a comfortable tree and tried one last time to immerse himself in the paragraphs printed on the yellowed pages of his book. It was no use.

Minutes passed and Frodo couldn’t try any longer. His eyes settled on the texture of your (h/c) hair that you had left down that day with no braids or ribbons tying portions of it back. The midday sun that filtered through the canopy of trees sent waves of gold across those soft tendrils he loved tucking behind your ear. You sat primly at the base of the tree, weaving the stems of flowers together. 

Quietly, he admired the contour of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the delicate shape of your lips and the pink tongue that poked out every now and then as you tried to concentrate on your pleats. A dreamy smile took over his quaint expression. The contented sigh that passed between his lips pulled your gaze up to meet his.

His sweet smile encouraged your own to make an appearance. Both of your hearts fluttered. “What’s that look for?” 

“I was just admiring how beautiful you are with sunlight in your hair,” he said. His voice was sugary and tender. It reminded you of the rich pastries his uncle offered you each time you came for a meal. So delicately ruch with sweetness that it sat in your belly and warmed, mixing perfectly with the twang of a hot berry tea. Frodo was like that - the perfect mix of everything natural and sweet. Pure.

Your blush overtook your expression and your averted your gaze bashfully. As your thoughts rushed with anticipation, wondering what was to come next, if anything. Perhaps he would say something else or return to his book, you couldn’t be sure. 

There was the definitive sound his book snapping shut and the scuffle of his feet as he hopped down from the tree. You teased him with a glance when he sat next to you and tucked his legs underneath him, turning your fingers around the stems of budding dandelions. His eyes studied your face for a moment longer before he wandered down to follow the steady work of your hands.

“What are you making?”

“I’m weaving a bookmark for you,” you answered. “After it dries, you can take it out and use it for other books.”

There was that fluttering in his heart again. 

“You’re marvelous,” he whispered. 

A short chuckle escaped you and your eyes widened with a mix of shock and curiosity. “I’m just weaving flowers, Frodo. It’s nothing special.”

His hand covered yours. Your fingers stilled.

“Of course it is. Anything you do becomes special.”

“Frodo, I-...”

“I love you, (Y/n).”

“You- you what?”

He traced his finger along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear like he always did. “I love you.”

samwise gamgee | word count: 1,084

Sam had planned every minute of his confession. He would invite you to supper, cook every bit of it himself, and put it all in a picnic basket to be eaten in the quaint garden of his home. He had rehearsed his words over and over again, both to Frodo and the looking glass that hung by the front door.

When you arrived that evening, it was obvious that something was turning in that head of his (he was never any good at being discrete), but you didn’t let on as if you suspected anything. You figured that if Sam had planned something special, he would enjoy the surprise on your face better than the curious questions that would deflate his excitement. With a basket in tow, he led you back out the front door and onto the stone steps of his beautifully gardened walkway.

You paused to admire the lilies and tall-reaching sunflowers as he bickered with the key in the lock. Unfortunately, both of you were too distracted to notice the picnic basket slipping from his grasp. Before either of you could react, the beautifully packed picnic had tumbled out onto the dusty stones around your feet. 

A loaf of bread that had been carefully wrapped in parchment seemed unscathed, as did the little pot of warm stew that had been tied shut with a thick ribbon over the lid. The jars of honey and jam clinked as they rolled into each other, a packed cheese board tumbled out and into the grass, and a lovely golden pie feel top-first onto the porch step with a splat.

Your first instinct was to clasp your hands over your mouth and stare idly at the unfortunate mess. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who stood with his back to you and his hand still on the key that stuck out of the door. His shoulders sank and an audible sigh of remorse left his lips.

“Oh, blast it!” he exclaimed under his breath, bending over to turn the basket right-side up.

Poor Sam.

“Oh, Sam! I’m so sorry!” You stepped forward out of your daze and tucked the jars in your arms. You picked up the stew that had only barely spilled a few drops when it tipped, careful not to knock the lid off anymore. When you set them down by the basket, you noticed the pie that had been smashed had splattered onto Sam’s feet and trousers. Helplessly, he tried to shake the gooey tart off, but to no avail.

“Let me go inside and get some towels,” you offered. Scooting between him and the doorpost – and narrowly avoiding the pie yourself – you took the key from his fingers and twisted it back, opening his front door wide open and quickly heading for the bathroom.

When you came back, damp towel in hand, Sam was slumped by the grass, picking up the cheese and berries that had hopped out like little frogs. You sighed at the sight of it, knowing he had most likely prepared and cooked every bit of this meal himself. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked rather defeated.

Approaching him, you could hear him muttering under breath, things like, “Samwise, you blundering fool” and “now the night’s all ruined because of your clumsiness”. Gently, you placed your hand on his shoulder and bent over to capture his attention. He stood and looked at you, a frown drooping his eyebrows together. It was enough to make your heart break right then and there.

“Here, leave that to me and let’s get you cleaned up.”

Taking his hand, you led him to the little bench by the potted tomatoes and gestured for him to sit. He sat down with a groan and reached for the towel, which you pulled out of reach. “It’s alright, Sam, I can clean it off.”

“You don’t have to do that, (Y/n),” he interjected. There was an embarrassed twinge in his tone.

“I know I don’t, but I want to help. You went to all this trouble to give me a lovely evening out and I want to do what I can to help make it happen still,” you reassured. You knelt by his feet and began wiping the crème and berries from his trousers, letting the water soak in and draw the hue out.

“Oh,” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hand, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

You glanced up at him curiously, quirking a brow. “Sam, it’s alright. It’s just one date – we can always try again and next time I’ll lock the door for you. Or I can carry the basket, although I can’t promise I won’t be the one to drop it.” Your snickering didn’t seem to assuage his deflated excitement.

“No, tonight was-…I was going to- to-...”

You leaned back on your haunches, your hands still. He was going to what?

“Sam?”

His silent anxiousness worried you. Tenderly, you placed a hand on his knee and bent forward to try and catch his gaze again. Bashfully, his eyes darted up, but they did not meet yours. Instead he focused on your hand that settled on his knee and found himself smiling softly, despite the tears that had welled in his eyes.

Following his gaze, you realized what you had done – the heat rose in your cheeks and you began to pull away, but his hand stopped you. With a sweet touch, he wove his together with yours and looked up at you. Your pulse quickened  - you had never seen that look before, in his eyes. The one where they shimmered almost like stars and his smile tipped to the side. He looked almost blissful.

“I had planned on telling you I love you. I had everything planned, including baking your favorite pie with little hearts woven into the crust. I wanted tonight to be special, so you would remember it when we’re old and grey and start forgetting what we ate for second breakfast.”

Sam watched as your smile grew, shrank into shock, and then grew again. When you sprang forward and enveloped him, it took a moment for him to register your sudden warmth pressed against him. But when he did, he happily returned the gesture and wrapped his arms under yours, tucking his chin over your shoulder. He could smell the sweet scent of lavender wafting from your beautiful hair.

“Sam, I’ll never forget this night for as long as I live.”

merry brandybuck | word count: 409

With Meriadoc Brandybuck, nothing was ever subtle. The young hobbit had planned his confession like he might any other adventure or trip across the country. From morning until night, Merry had something in store for you to slowly build to the moment he was prepared to confess his truest feelings. 

It started with pulling you out your door at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise over Bywater Pool with a quaint breakfast in the square (which you forgave him for when he presented those deliciously warm muffins) and was then followed by a light frenzy of morning shopping from the markets that were selling sweet-tasting goods and homemade wares. He had seen the way you had eyed that little locket with the (f/c) jewel dangling from it and bought it when you weren’t looking, slipping it into his vest pocket. 

Not long after you had visited your friends in the Green Dragon Inn, there had been a lovely wagon-ride through the rich Green Hill countryside to reach the borders of the Shire, followed by a lunch under the trees of the forest in the curve of the hillside shadows. He watched fondly as you went about collecting flowers to braid into a crown for the two of you. After your meal had been finished (along with a day full of snacks and goodies he had brought along), he had led you on a hike the rest of the way to Tuckborough where the Great Willow sat patiently waiting for dusk. 

There, underneath the swaying loveliness of the weeping branches, he turned out his pocket and clasped the necklace around you from behind. 

A gasp escaped your surprised smile, “What is this?!” 

“I saw you eyeing it this morning when we were in the square,” he planted himself beside you, tucking your hair behind your shoulder, “And I thought you should have it.”

“Oh, Merry,” you looked down and marveled at its glimmering beauty, pressing your fingers to the chain, “You really shouldn’t have! This cost a few good silver pieces!”

There was pure adoration in his eyes when you looked at him, a look you hadn’t seen so fully expressed before. It was then, in the pause between phrases, that he said it all with just a look. You had never felt such butterflies before.

“No price could ever compare to the amount of my love for you, (Y/n).”

Oh, he was smooth. He was very smooth.

pippin took | word count: 430

Pippin mightn’t have been the most creative when it came to planning elaborate dates or settings in which to confess his innermost feelings with, but he was no less sincere. When the quick knock had come at your door one morning before you had even had the chance to devour your first meal of the day, you hadn’t expected to find him standing anxiously on the other side. 

He wore that same crooked smile that alighted his whole face and held tightly in his hands was a bouquet of wildflowers. By the looks of them, he must has run up the lane carrying them - some daisies had lost a few petals and you spotted the dirt-knotted roots hanging from his hands from where he had pulled them from the earth. It was messy and imperfect, but it was Pippin. 

There was something so endearing about his childlike naivety when it came to the “proper” way of presenting things, such as the mop of unkempt curls on his head, the bruised flowers in his clenched hands, and the wide-eyed energy he never went without. You loved every bit of it.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to suddenly become shy when he began to explain the bouquet he placed in your hands, his fingers lingering over yours a little longer than necessary. He was never one to be slow to speak.

“I-I, uh, I thought you might like these pretty flowers, y’know, because pretty things like other pretty things,” he smiled for a moment and bounced on his feet, until he seemed to register his own words and how they might be taken, “Uh, not- not that I see you as a ‘thing’ or...anything.”

“I know what you mean, Pip,” you smiled at him through the blossoms as you pressed them to your nose, inhaling their sweet scent. 

“I also came to- uh- to tell you about my feelings.”

“Your feelings?” 

“Ah, those,” he giggled and spared a glance at his feet, “I just meant that I have feelings for someone. For you, that is. I mean. And, uh, I wanted to come out and say it. Like that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Pippin, that’s wonderful becau-”

“I love you, that is,” he concluded before adding a rushed, “You don’t have to say the same, of course. I was just putting it out there.”

You tucked in your widening smile and concealed your blush behind your daisies. “I do feel the same way. Would you like to come in for breakfast?”

You knew he never turned down a meal.

tags: @moony-artnstuff​  @wellfuckmyexistence​

[empiresmostwanted]

Hi!! From that quote prompts list, a few that stood out for me were “it’s a brutal world” and “what are you humming?” for Rex? Im imaging either a mechanic/civilian reader or a shiny new clone trooper is accompanying the 501st on an off-world mission and they are sitting by the campfire late at night, a little shaken by the battle earlier in the day. Rex notices and goes to comfort them, and perhaps there is a singing motif??

Also! I loved Sabacc Face and im making my way though your other works this weekend 💕

Thank you so much @maulpunk for the prompts 😘

I'm sorry it took me so long to write, work has done a number on me this last week or so. Grrr. But I was happy to get back to writing this, although I must apologise for straying a little from the parameters of the request (it turned out to be a little too angsty for a singing motif, oops). I hope you like it all the same!

(P.S. Thank you so so much, I'm thrilled you liked Sabacc Face. It was a lot of fun to write, I hope it was just as fun to read!)

posted on AO3 | the prompt list | my writing

Words: 1.5k | Warnings: Post-Umbara Arc, Grief/Mourning, Angst (and lots of it, sorry-not-sorry), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, a certain Besalisk's name is briefly mentioned (okay, I am sorry for this one)

GHOSTS IN THE UMBRA

20BBY

☾

CT-0292 couldn't sleep. When he closed his eyes, rounds of blue plasma bolts flashed through the darkness behind his lids. Hands, his own hands, held a DC-15 carbine aloft, and one single finger under his control pressed on the trigger, mowing down the Umbarans in their disguises.

But they hadn't been Umbarans. They'd been his brothers.

A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a sob that he caught in his throat. His chest ached with the effort to hold it, the urge to release it. And it ached as if his brothers had occupied a place there, the loss of them leaving the muscles of his heart to constrict around empty space.

He blinked away sharp tears, then pushed off the weighted blanket – its presence more suffocating than soothing – and climbed out of his rack. He gathered up the armour stacked in a neat pile from the foot of the bunk's frame and applied it, piece by piece, from foot to neck.

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well be useful. He'd never been very good at keeping still.

Around him, his brothers lay in their cots; some slept, restless, while others remained painfully conscious. From his own squad, only himself, Wil (Private), and Ridge (Private) remained. The others, along with their sergeant, had fallen to General Krell's lightsaber.

All was quiet. And Ridge was nowhere to be seen.

0292 shook his head, lightheaded, the back of his neck prickling. After checking his blaster was fastened to his belt, he tucked his helmet under one arm and crept through the rows of bunks like a ghost, leaving the sterile barracks behind.

For a moment, he stopped outside the blast doors as they sshhed to a close behind him, and took a deep breath. Had he caught the scent of rain and salt water in the air, it might have grounded him; but this planet was as unfamiliar to his nose as it was to his eyes and ears. With the tang of metal in his nostrils and on the tip of his tongue, he set off across the floodlit compound.

Beyond the sensor wall, he spotted the warm glow of a natural fire flickering in the perpetual dusk, its light peeking through the mist and the dense formation of local flora. He frowned. Patrol taking a break, perhaps?

CT-0292 made his way to the airbase's entrance. As he approached the gate, he passed skeletons of Umbaran machinery looming out of the fog, and squads of troopers pacing as silent as wraiths.

The planet was reclaimed, but no one had come out of the campaign unscathed.

At the gate, two troopers bearing the colours of the 212th stood guard, blasters held across their bodies, and faced the darkness beyond. With the sight of their armour came a fresh wave of guilt, at once hot and cold, that settled in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat upon approach; one started as if he'd been shot, and the other patted him on the shoulder.

"Easy, trooper," said 0292, holding out a placating hand. "Just passing through, lending a hand to patrol. That them over there?"

They followed the direction of his pointer finger, to the small fire burning gold in the gloom. The one coiled as tightly as he himself nodded, and turned back to him. "They're taking it in turns to sweep the perimeter."

"Thanks." He inclined his head, and stepped over the threshold of the airbase.

As his footsteps tapped a muffled rhythm into the damp earth, the chill air cooled the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and pressed cold fingers to the nape of his neck. With a shiver, he donned his helmet and activated its spot-lamp, before succumbing to Umbara's gloaming.

*

CT-0292 walked through the forest of Zabrak Spines, their bioluminescent ridges reaching towards the sky and cutting through the umbra like angry wounds. The glow of giant red thorns shrouded the woodland in an unsettling pallor.

Every small noise was amplified in the stillness around him: the snapping of twigs beneath the feet of tiny creatures, the whooshing of spectral wings overhead, and what seemed like footsteps somewhere behind him, approaching – but when he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing there. Each sound sent a spike of cortisol through his body, and he tried not to hyperventilate to the beat of his pulse.

The immediate threat from the Umbarans had been neutralised. But he and his brothers had found out the hard way that this shadowy world kept its secrets close.

You're out of the woods when you're out of the woods, his instructor back on Kamino used to say. It had seemed redundant to him then.

"What's that you're humming, trooper?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked back and came face-to-face – or helmet-to-helmet – with Captain Rex materialising out of the fog, easy to identify by the jaig eyes and the modified armour.

The captain removed his bucket, brow furrowed in concern, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I didn't mean to startle you," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "It sounded familiar, the song you were humming."

"I didn't realise I was humming it aloud," the trooper admitted, face heating as Captain Rex fell into step beside him. "I was thinking of my instructor, back at the facility: she smuggled her own radio into Tipoca, and she'd play it for us during downtime. That one was her favourite, I think. I don't know the words, though. Just the tune."

"Ah."

They walked for a way in companionable silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Confronted once more with the familiar face of his brothers, CT-0292 replayed the moment of terrible realisation, and the skirmish with Krell. The Jedi – if one could even call him that – might have been dealt with on a permanent basis, but his reach would extend far beyond his death.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" asked the captain, dragging him out of his own memories.

He shook his head.

Rex sighed. "It's a brutal world out there."

CT-0292 couldn't be sure if he was referring to Umbara, or the entire galaxy. 

"I admit," he began, "I wasn't expecting to kill other people. I've been training to take down and disable battle droids for nearly ten years, and I thought I was ready, but this …"

It didn't even begin to cover the atrocity of slaughtering his own, knowingly or not.

They heard the voices of their brothers before they saw them, hushed and sombre. Upon stepping out of the forest, they found themselves in a small clearing, lit from above by towering plants, incandescent with pink and purple and blue light, and lit from within by a humble campfire. At least ten troopers were gathered around it, talking in lowered voices amongst themselves.

Rex came to a halt on the edge of the clearing, and stopped 0292 with a hand on his arm.

"If it's of any comfort," he said, "every one of us here is feeling the same right now. No campaign is easy, no life lost is worth less. But this mission has taken its toll more than any other. You say you're not ready, but I recognise the blue bird painted on your bucket. I saw you take charge of your squad when Sergeant Jax was killed, and you kept the rest of them alive. There might well be a promotion coming your way."

A promotion. He'd always harboured the hope of making his way up the ranks, proving his worth and ability along the way. Seeing the captain in action, the way he was respected and admired, had only solidified that desire. But he hadn't entered the GAR as a sergeant, or a captain. It had never really occurred to him before now that someone would have to die for him to take their place.

But he nodded, and said, "Thank you, Captain."

"What's your name, trooper?"

"CT-zero-two-ni—"

"Your name, trooper," Rex clarified. The smile on his lips belied the sadness in his eyes.

CT-0292 removed his helmet. "It's Vaughn, sir. My batchmates called me Vaughn."

"Then welcome to the five-oh-first, Private Vaughn. Over there are your brothers. It won't always be easy, but whatever happens, we look out for each other. And I know you barely got to see General Skywalker in action, but I can promise you that he – and Commander Tano – are nothing like Krell. You'll see."

"Thank you, sir."

Captain Rex clapped him on the arm, then strode off across the clearing, towards the campfire. Vaughn followed, kicking up the smell of damp earth and decaying foliage, sickly sweet in his nostrils. He was pleased to see his squadmate, Ridge, among the ranks of troopers around the flames, and another who'd introduced himself as Sterling just one rotation prior.

"Room for two more, boys?"

☽

Thank you so much for staying to the end! Even though I enjoy reading some good ol' angst, it's definitely tricky to write, so it was nice to stretch those muscles for this prompt. Hope you liked it 💜

[wickedyan]

“You wont shoot me.”

Warnings: implied emotional manipulation, yandere, gun-violence, domestic abuse.

Character: Lucifer, Obey Me! Shall we Date?

A/N: I was feeling a little uninspired by my requests, so I’ve been writing from some yandere prompt lists i have had saved on my computer for,,,, a few years? Oops kjfhkjgr I want to get better at writing Lucifer, so what better to do than just... write?

Also, if you dont get the dog reference, it’s a reference to pavlov’s dog, a well known psychology experiment. You dont need to know what it is to read this, but if you’re confused a google search will provide you answers.

-

Your hands rattled as they gripped the gun with a tight grip, finger ghosting the trigger with a feather-light touch. Knuckles white with tension, ring and pinkie finger pressing so hard into your palm that you could feel blood trickling down your wrist.

“You won’t shoot me.”

He uttered it casually, but Lucifer’s broad back and squared shoulders commanded nothing but dominance as he stood towering over you. His furrowed eyebrows, tilted head and pitying expression was a juxtaposition to his words. Did he seriously have the audacity to pity you while you aimed a loaded firearm at his brain? Perhaps he truly believed you wouldn’t shoot him.

How could you back out now, though? After all those times you found him punishing those who talked to you in class, even if it was to hand back something that you had dropped in the halls. All those times when you weren’t permitted to leave the House of Lamentation without him as an escort because ‘it’s too dangerous for you’ and ‘none of my brothers are trusted to keep you safe.’ When he stopped letting you leave the house at all, beside for attending RAD. The last straw was when your contact with the brothers was limited because of a cold you had, and how even after you had recovered, you still weren’t allowed to see them because ‘what if you catch an illness from the Devildom?! We simply cannot risk it.’  

Your thumb pulled back the hammer, listening to it’s satisfying click did nothing to calm your nerves, or even ensure your safety. He was a demon after all… how were you to know if a gun would be able to injure him. He had survived a war.

His expression overall did not change, but you knew the man in front of you to notice the subtle glint in his eyes. Surprise? No… he had always managed to be one step ahead of you at all times and knew your every move. He must’ve known this would happen.

Oh. He was… The bulge in the front of his pants twitched. Your face burned. He was aroused.

His eyes burned holes through your uniform, admiring your shivering form. You knew he was a sadist, his interactions with Mammon having proved that many times. But to think he was so masochistic that having the threat of death right in front of him would have him so aroused.

“I always knew you were a pervert, but this is a new level of disgusting.”

He pouted almost sarcastically, “You wound me.”

Your seething glare had no effect on him.

He took a step towards you and you shouted. “Stay back!! Or I’ll shoot! Diavolo wouldn’t be very happy if the human exchange student had to defend herself from the head of the student council!”

An amused look in his eyes, one of his eyebrows raised. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. Lucifer didn’t smile for you often, only when alone or after you had done a good job. But this wasn’t that same, genuine smile that had butterflies erupting in your chest. No. His was a wicked grin that showed off deadly canines. Sometimes you forgot he was a demon. He was built to torture, to kill, to conquer. You had no chance against his superior nature, and yet here he was humouring you.

“I wouldn’t worry about Diavolo, my darling. You’ll find that he has given me his full permission to pursue you. You see, at school I have been so easily distracted. I have been making mistakes in my work.” He took another step towards you, slow and deliberate, hands raised where you could see them. “But that is because I care for you so much, my dear. I couldn’t possible focus on my work when you could be in danger!”

With each step he took towards you, you took one back until your back was pressed into the wall and he was so close that the cold tip of the pistol pressed into his forehead. You still did not press the trigger.

“What if one of my brother’s takes advantage of your soft, weak form? What if you’re gobbled up by some low-level demon? Don’t you see how helpless you are my dear, even now, with a weapon pressed to my skin you refuse to fight back with anything but empty words.”

A finger pushed the barrel from his head, using this to lean in close to you. You could feel his hot breath on your skin. Could he hear your heart as it pounded against your chest? His other hand, gloved in velvet, slid up to caress your face. You could smell that musky cologne he wore that had you subconsciously taking larger inhales because it smelled like him and you had been trained to love it. Crave it. Do anything to smell it more.

He delighted in it, the way your grip on the gun loosened and your expression softened. He picked the gun out of your grip, standing back to unload the bullets and throw them somewhere behind him, before dropping it to the ground.

In your mind, you knew that he had tricked you. That you were a dog that salivated at the sound of a bell and memory of meat. But you couldn’t help it.

You were weak. You knew it. He knew it, said it every day.

“See, my dear? That wasn’t too hard now was it…” And you were scooped into his arms, his head tilting down to rest his head on yours. “Rest now.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad…?

[pinkplantmakesstuff]

Tearing Through Flesh

I FINALLY finished the Body Horror thing from the Halloween writing prompts! I reckon Alec’s transformations are horrific, he hates it and it hurts. He probably partially transforms quite a bit in the future and shifts between this and being mostly human, as his powers grow and he tries to bury his distress and magic down deeper til he can’t any more it happens more regularly, but I reckon this was the first time it happened. (Or something like this anyway) Also Im bad at proof reading so uhh, there is prolly gonna be some WEIRD sentences (And maybe repeating ones oops) Warning for Body Horror/Grotesque stuff?

Losing his arm hadn’t hurt when it happened. It had been violent and bloody but the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the threat of Mordremoth had kept him from even properly registering that it had been torn off. No, the pain happened afterwards, where his necromantic magic weaved its way across his flesh and the veins filled with elder magic pulsed their way to the surface in an attempt to knit the wound back together. The darkened skin and thin tendrils spreading across the stump served as a stark reminder that he wasn’t human.

Alec wouldn’t have even said it had been the most painful injury he’d ever received, but it had certainly been one of the most memorable, and definitely the one that nearly threw his life into complete disarray.

Now however, losing his arm paled in comparison to the pain and terror he felt now. He had thought losing the arm had been awful, but as he felt the skin on his stump split, and the sinew and tendons pulse and push their way through the now gaping flesh, he realised this was far, far worse. 

A deep throb settled at the base of his horns as he staggered forward, good arm braced against the wall in an attempt to steady himself. The ache was deep, as if it originated in his very skull and he swore he could feel his head growing heavier. Before he could begin to contemplate what was happening to the short nubs people called horns, a piercing pain in his stump caused him to focus back on that.

The mass of tendons and meat were beginning to form what could only be described as a twisted idea of an arm, speared through by a jagged bone. He could only watch in abject horror as the flesh shifted before his very eyes; it was a dark, mottled grey streaked through with violent purple and covered in what looked to Alec, like closed eyelids. It continued to grow and grow, the once jagged bone splitting into a clawed mockery of his previous hand, before being enveloped in the dark, veiny skin. The constant tearing pain was almost enough to make him pass out.

And then he tasted copper. His hand, if you could call it that, flew up to his mouth, and when he pulled it away again black blood coated his finger tips. He tried to cry out but as he did his mouth tore, jagged teeth tearing through his lips and splitting his jaw. As he let out a strangled whimper and looked back at his arm, the strange marks moved. And opened. All at once he could see more then he should, the flood of different angles and images washed over him and he realised the strange lines had in fact, been eyes.

It was as if a wall had been broken, panic flooded through him and he crashed forward, hands only just catching himself before he hit the ground completely. He didn’t know when he started crying but the tears that pooled on the floor mixed with the blood from his mangled maw, creating a dark wet puddle that reflected a beast back at him. The sobs that racked his body only worsened the agony in his jaw. The pain was all-encompassing now, and the weight of his head made it difficult for him to even keep himself elevated. Unaware to him his horns had grown into huge, curving monstrosities, weighing him down. 

Underneath the panic and fear, was something else, something darker, something he’d been trying to bury deep inside himself. As his body convulsed the feeling grew, and he realised that despite the pain, he was angry. More than angry. He was furious.