#*yeets this out into the void*

[ominouspuff]

Continuing this fix-it AU where Commander Fox springboards off the deep end into a full-on rebellion, featuring unlikely allies belatedly finding out they are allies far too late to stop being allies but then again it’s never too late not to throw a terrifyingly destructive fit about it (Maul)

Close-up’s under the cut

[bebewrites]

wip page 08 - an all-inclusive wip page

preview / code

several people have asked for this one, so sorry it took me so long to release it!

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[bytemycupcakes]

I like to think Kinger is prone to "digital hallucinations"

Especially those of a certain.. Queen.

side hc that he stays in his fortress bc its hard to get hallucinations if you cant see anything in the first place. (at least thats his logic.)

[distance-does-not-matter]

shoutout to small and meaningful human interactions that keep my soul alive

[koushuwu]

sakura fukuzawa

[haine-kleine]

Shigaraki and Yoichi being character foils on top of Shigaraki and Izuku being character foils on top of Yoichi and Izuku being character foils to All for One and Shigaraki.

Yoichi being the only good thing in AFO's life, his obsessive love for his brother being his only positive quality depicted in the entire manga. Yoichi's rejection of him being his ultimate downfall, twice. Tomura and Yoichi being the only two characters to share AFO's surname. AFO willfully giving his surname to Shimura Tenko, grooming him since his childhood, custom creating a second Yoichi for himself. Yoichi and Tomura's faces being hidden from the viewers for the longest time, Yoichi's by the memories, Tomura's by AFO making him wear a dead hand on his face. Designing his successor, hiding his appearance and taking away his agency, making an isolated and abused child look like a horrifying villain. Tomura looking more and more like Yoichi by the end of the manga, revealing his face first to his comrades, then to the entire world. Him also rejecting AFO and his ideology, being the one to strike the final blow to AFO, the idea of evil, together with Izuku.

'At the time of chaos like that, it was when All For One was born'. 'Keep in mind, there can be another Shigaraki/All for One hiding in us from plain sight as we speak'.

What is being said and what is being told in the story right now contradicts itself. Shigaraki wasn't 'born' at the time like this, he wasn't born a monster, he was forcibly made like that by AFO, just like Yoichi was. Just like Yoichi, he ended up developing his own ideas and beliefs. Just like Yoichi, he rejected AFO and defeated him, together with Deku.

Shigaraki Tomura, Shimura Tenko cannot equate to the irredeemable monster of All for One. The question 'Who was Shigaraki Tomura?' has not been answered yet. He needs to make a personal appearance and give his own answer.

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[herewithinthevoid]

Thirty-one days of my favorite horror movies in no particular order. Presented with no commentary other than I love Moder, and she's my wife 🥺

Day Eight - The Ritual (2017)

[kuiilandtorch]

I didn't want to do this, especially on Christmas Day when mostly everyone is with family and/or friends enjoying the holiday or at least hopefully chilling at home, but as I've moved cross-country and am between employment, it's looking like the rental reimbursement check I'm expecting from my former property management won't arrive in time for my next bill this coming Wednesday. I've already postponed payment on a loan last week and things will continue to cascade the longer that check takes to show up. If there's any possibility any of you out there can spare some funds and I can have enough small contributions, maybe I could make the $200 I need to pay and avoid missing another bill. You can find my ko-fi page HERE, my PayPal page HERE, and if you prefer to use Venmo (which also won't take any fees from me), you can DM me for my handle. I know this is a long shot, but I'm even though I'm blessed to be spending my holidays with friends kind enough to take care of me and give me a place to stay in my new location, I'm still stressing out over money. I should be getting my reimbursement eventually, but it's a matter of timing. Thank you for your consideration and have a Merry Christmas or a happy holiday or at least some restful time off, wherever y'all are.

[fullmetalscullyy]

never thought we'd ever have to go without (i)

summary: 

Their breakup was amicable. They were both going in two different directions with their lives and where Roy was going - the military and the numerous off the grid sites for weeks or sometimes months on end – he wouldn’t ask her to wait for him. She deserved to live her own life, not wait around for him and his ambitions.

When a tragedy befalls their child, Roy and Riza are left devastated. They come together to work through it while waiting for her to wake from her injuries

rated: t | words: 2948 | tags: royai, angst, au, modern au, kid au, parental royai, tragedy, injury, angst with a happy ending, separated parents

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

snippet:

Hey Dad, I'm on the plane. I know you won’t get this for a while, but I still wanted to send you a message. Hope all is going well with you. Mum was freaking out at the airport. She was worried I’d forgotten something again, but she literally emptied and repacked my bag for me so many times, so there’s no way that would happen. I think she’s scared about me going off by myself. Could you give her a call when you get out? I don’t want her to feel alone while I’m gone, and I know she’ll love hearing from you. I’ll speak to you soon. I love you.

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

[lilas]

Avi’li did Y’mhitra dirty but he did love her enough to let himself be locked down and “exclusive” for almost a year, a not insignificant thing with Avi’li.

Like Y’mhitra single handedly ended his first slut era, and that says something about their relationship.

[sighonaraa]

To Hold a Little Hand in Your Own

chapter 3 of the football kiddos au is now on ao3! read it here.

So he brews himself a cup of coffee and pours Jamie a glass of orange juice, and he’s just about to go wake the lad up when Jamie comes barreling into the kitchen and plops right down on the floor. “M’not hungry, Roy,” he announces before Roy even has a chance to direct him towards the bowl of Cheerios on the table. “M’ready for footie!” “You have to eat before you play footie,” Roy says. “Or else you’ll get a fucking…head rush, or something.” Jamie shakes his head. “Don’t wanna.” “Tough shit,” says Roy. “You’re gonna. Look, there’s also orange juice.” “Don’t want orange juice, Roy,” says Jamie. “Wanna play footie. Please please please can we go play footie?”

in which ted makes a lot of references that no one except him and possibly i understand, keeley attacks roy via astrology, and the kiddos are, perennially, adorable. i hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it, and stay tuned for the upcoming chapter 4 that will be out much sooner rather than later!

[rottenlittlefink]

Ok so I’ve combed through the CIA documents like twice already and like… Guys, the gateway tapes *can* help u shift BUT they don’t *shift* you *for you*. This is why they’re called gateways - the focus levels are states you can enter and then shift from via your own efforts

[powderrblue]

it used to go question and then answer (when we were younger and it was easy)

title from hello world by the front bottoms

Hadlee flopped down on the couch.

She didn't know why she couldn't stay home. Something about being around her adopted family felt like bringing back the dead.

And hell knew she'd seen enough of that for a lifetime.

That was how she found herself in the old, crowded house again. At midnight, there usually were only around two or three people in the living room anyway- especially depending on who was controlling the TV remote.

A few of the newest actors Hadlee had only ever written files about were asleep facing the television.

Randy, though fully awake in the chair opposite her, hadn't commented on her return.

"Beau told ya, didn't she?" Hadlee finally found herself asking, desperate for any kind of distraction. Communication. A lot of things she couldn't name.

"I guessed you would be back anyway," he admitted in return. "There's easier things than Showfall that you don't come away from the same."

Hadlee's mouth felt dry as she pulled her knees to her chest. "I should've been able to go back, all I did was sit at a desk-"

"Yeah. And write out serial numbers for dead people. For five years."

"Processing antemortem records, technically. And filing autopsy reports."

"That just sounds worse," he argued his point, staring at her with an unreadable expression. If the topic hadn't been so serious, Hadlee would've laughed.

After pausing to think for a moment as though following the current conversation to every possible outcome, she shrugged to dismiss it entirely and laid down on the couch. "Your boss is great, by the way."

A scoff resounded in the room, though apparently Randy decided to humor her after a moment.

"I know."

Another pause added a short lull to the conversation.

"I met Maria a little bit ago, too." Hadlee stared at the ceiling, imagining shapes in the pattern. "Small world."

It took Randy a second to process the full extent of that implication. He nodded with a noncommittal shrug.

"Think they need a babysitter?"

The older leaned back, his gaze following Hadlee's own to the ceiling. "There's practically a waiting list ready to babysit that girl at Maria's beck and call. I would guess no."

"Mm. Bummer," Hadlee said. "Ava's an okay kid."

Randy knew that.

Randy could remember, too, when Charlie had been as small as Ava was now. Sometimes the little girl's voice would almost bring him back to the day he'd met the nearly red-haired kid in the makeshift movie set cabin.

Sometimes he heard five-year-old Charlie laugh when he listened to her.

Sometimes he wanted to go back. Always, he knew it wasn't right.

Shaking his head to clear it, he realized Hadlee had turned around to face him. There was no pity in her gaze- just understanding. Probably more than Randy wanted to think about.

Without a word, she plucked the television remote off the coffee table that was barely even a coffee table anymore. The screen flicked to some nature documentary, and Randy couldn't help but instinctually relax a bit.

Nature documentaries were one of the few things that didn't feel horrifying to watch. There was no acting. No effects that could have been real. Just a voice reading nature facts, the animals, and greenery the likes of which no one in Showfall had seen since their introduction to the mall.

He'd never entirely expected to be appreciative of the genre, but he wouldn't be one to turn down the distraction it offered.

"Thanks," Hadlee finally said, staring with a cloudy expression at the wall beside Randy. "For letting me stay and everything. Helps being around people who get it."

Randy nodded. "Still thinking about Paislie."

It wasn't a question.

Hadlee's head tipped forward, coming to rest on her knees as her shoulders began to shake.

"I could've saved him."

I could've saved him.

That was what Randy had said to the doctors the night Charlie and Sneeg literally tore each other apart.

I could've saved him.

Henrik, lying in a puddle of his own blood with countless scars that he'd thought would be gone the next day.

I could've saved him.

He still thought it every time he saw Maria.

Randy didn't have the heart to deny the thought to Hadlee. If he did, she'd probably deflect it back onto him anyway. That was most definitely on the list of conversations Randy was not ready for.

Before he could make a move to try to offer comfort, she managed to pull herself together and shove her choppy black curls away from her forehead.

His own scattered thoughts latched onto the small but constant comfort Beau's family was.

"I bet the girls could use some help with everything tomorrow. Bringing dinner out here."

Hadlee looked up with a shaky grin. "Thought you said they're drowning in babysitting volunteers."

"Yeah, yeah, well." Randy held out a blanket for Hadlee to take. "If you'll be here tonight anyway. You know Beau likes your company."

The younger scoffed lightheartedly. "Probably not."

"I would know," Randy returned, moving a pillow on the couch beside Hadlee.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you took offense at that."

Randy scoffed in turn. "Alright, that's enough emotions for a week, and you look as tired as I feel. I'll drop you off in the morning and Beau can get you to college if you're feeling up for it."

Hadlee nodded, hesitating before offering one more quiet "thank you" that she wasn't even sure the other heard.

"There she is," Hadlee found herself saying the next morning as she scooped Ava into her arms and spun around with her. "Look at you, gettin' up early."

"Mama's still sleepin'," the curly-haired girl declared before climbing onto Hadlee's back.

Hadlee had, at some point that morning, decided to walk to Beau and Maria's place. There had been no point in calling for a ride or waking up anyone at the other house.

Another voice from the patio made Hadlee look up.

"Morning, Hadlee," Beau called to her. "I was just getting ready to start breakfast."

"I'll help," Hadlee said with a nod. "Brought some coffee."

Beau smiled. "You know us too well. Come on in, come on. Take off your coat and stay a while."

Hadlee shrugged her backpack off, handing Beau a cardboard takeout drink holder so she could turn her attention back to Ava.

"Are you goin' back to school?" Ava asked, pulling Hadlee's hair slightly as she pretended to put it into a ponytail.

"Probably," Hadlee grinned, playfully fluffing the five-year-old's curls.

"And I'm going to kindergarten."

Hadlee nodded. "You're getting so big already."

Beau offered Hadlee a quick but comforting hug before turning to peel Ava off Hadlee's back. "If you wanna get some of the waffles out of the freezer, I'll get this one ready for school."

"Can Hal go with us?"

"She's gonna stay home for a while. She'll be back with me to pick you up, remember?"

"Nah, it's fine," Hadlee said. "If there's room in the car, I can go."

Beau glanced over. "You're sure?"

"Unless it's a bother, I-"

"Oh, you know it isn't," the older cut Hadlee off. "You can take one of the sweatshirts in the entry closet, it's awfully cold to be wearing a t-shirt."

Hadlee shot her a grateful smile, though ultimately decided to at least start on breakfast first.

It hadn't been easy to find time to build up her wardrobe again. With her family's memories of her erased and everything she had before Showfall either distributed among her siblings or gone entirely, even the government funds were only going so far.

"You feeling okay to try going to classes again today?" Beau asked, breaking Hadlee out of her trance. Ava was nowhere to be seen, presumably picking out her own outfit for the day as many five-year-olds would insist on doing.

"Not sure yet," Hadlee admitted. "Might just go outside and watch them or something. I couldn't stay home last night, either. Left a note and slept at the other house."

A gentle hand moved to rub her shoulder. "You know you're welcome to the futon in my office, at least during the day. It's not the best, but it's comfortable enough to do classes in."

"Thank you," Hadlee murmured, not trusting her voice as emotion threatened to choke it out entirely.

Beau gently slid the toaster closer to herself. "It's nothing. I'll take care of this. Go get something warm on, okay?" She paused, waiting for a nod from Hadlee before continuing. "Maybe we should go out today instead. The professors won't give you trouble."

"I know," Hadlee said. "Maybe. Sounds nice."

Beau offered an encouraging smile. "Consider it done, then. Right after-"

As though on cue, Ava slkipped out into the kitchen, shirt inside out and shoes on the wrong feet.

"Want some help with those shoes, Ava?"

Hadlee laughed a little as the little girl firmly shook her head.

"Backwards Thursday it is," Beau confirmed.

Hadlee did find a blue jacket she liked, and breakfast continued with little else happening. Ava mostly continued her chatter, though neither of the adults there minded. By the time several recountings of jumbled antics from Ava's class had been described with exaggerated detail, the drive had been completed.

Beau's usual 'listen to your teachers, we'll be back in a few hours' talk followed, and Hadlee watched as Ava walked to the group gathered around her teacher.

"Thinking about going anywhere in particular?"

Hadlee looked over, hesitation flickering in her eyes. "Not- not really, I guess. Not yet. It's been a few years."

"That's fine."

"House first?"

"House first."

Hadlee had never regretted any two words more in her whole life.

"Hadlee, I need a phone now."

"What's wrong?"

"No questions, just hurry."

Hadlee was ready to panic. Beau's voice barely sounded like her. It wasn't her. The calm but firm woman Hadlee had begun leaning on was only scared now. No matter how much Hadlee didn't want to be, she was beginning to realize why.

"What happened?" Randy's voice cut through the fog in Hadlee's mind for a second, but it didn't last.

"It's Maria. Don't ask, I don't know any more than you do. Come on."

"I'm sorry, I should've stayed home, I'm sorry," Hadlee heard herself say without any idea who she was saying it to.

"Hadlee, I need you to tell me where they are." Randy again.

Hadlee could feel a strong, painful grip on her arms that nearly left her sobbing before she realized it was from her own hands.

"I don't know," she managed to say, fighting the shuddering feeling in her spine. "I promised Pey, he told me and I promised, I should've-"

"Hadlee, stop," Randy interrupted, and she could swear he was shaking as much as she was.

Her brain was repeating the same thoughts, how she could've stayed home and stopped Maria, how she could've saved Beau from this, how Randy was probably more scared than Hadlee herself was.

And yet she couldn't bring herself to say a word.

First Henrik, then Paislie, now Maria, just like the eighteen-year-old had guessed.

Hadlee didn't move from the waiting room floor.

Randy stayed by the door too, likely waiting for any news.

The silence was deafening.

It could've been seconds or hours later that Hadlee heard a voice she didn't recognize, hurried questions from Randy intermittently cutting in.

"-was three minutes ago."

"Is her wife still here?"

"We left her to process everything for a moment."

Silence returned, during which Hadlee made an effort to open her eyes even a little to see what was happening.

"We're going home."

Randy's expression sent a chill through Hadlee. She'd only ever seen him like this once before.

"Can I stay with Beau?"

The older looked as though he were gearing up to yell -or something, it was hard to tell anymore- before he sighed. A nod was the only gesture she was offered.

"I'll take the car home."

And just like that, Hadlee found herself alone in the waiting room.

Nurses walked back and forth, every once in a while glancing up at Hadlee as though they weren't sure whether or not to address her.

She felt just as lost as some of them looked when they sent millisecond-long looks in her direction.

Just hours before, she'd been thinking about college. Her family. Ava.

Ava.

That little girl's mom wasn't coming home.

Her mom wasn't coming home and she would have every right to blame it on Hadlee once she was old enough to know what happened.

Hadlee's brain felt clouded over, any sense of time gone.

"It's time to go."

That was Beau.

Her voice sounded different from how it had this morning. Expectedly so, not that that helped.

It was a different Hadlee had never thought she'd have to hear, she thought as least this family could be safe and happy.

It had been months and still the shadow of Showfall loomed over the whole family. That was the realization that made Hadlee want to scream until her voice gave out.

"Don't apologize, honey. We're going home."

Hadlee looked up. Had she said something? Fuck, existing had never hurt this much.

"Ava's with Niki and Cade tonight. They offered to take her until the house gets put back together."

"I'll drive," Hadlee offered suddenly, walking as close beside Beau as she could for what little comfort she hoped it was worth.

It was the least she could do at this point.

Beau didn't answer.

The only sounds on the way back to the house was the car engine and the barely audible sound of crying.

Fourteen hours after they'd left to follow Maria, Hadlee pulled Beau's car back into the driveway.

At some point during the night, Hadlee threw more waffles in the toaster. She knew neither of them were hungry, but eating would at least give both herself and Beau something constructive to do. Neither of them felt like sleeping. Or maybe they did and just refused to tell the other.

Either way, she was practically delirious with grief (defeat?) and confusion by the morning. Confusion, though, mostly for the sake of the fact that she hardly even knew Maria. Confusion because she felt like her emotions were already running dry.

It at least offered her the one small mercy of being able to hold herself together for the older woman's sake.

Without that, she was sure Beau's attempt to apologize would have sent her spiraling.

After that Hadlee had been sure things couldn't get worse.

She had been wrong.

The sun had only been up for a few hours when a knock on the door came. Hadlee's dampened hope that it would just be Niki or Charlie or anyone she knew was drowned out as her eyes met yet another unfamiliar face.

Hadlee could only listen, at a complete loss as the officer told her Randy didn't make it to the house.

He'd offered to show her and Beau pictures of the car.

The younger just shook her head.

No matter how hard Hadlee tried, there were no right choices she could make with the options given to her. She couldn't help but wonder if this was how Showfall must have felt for the ones who weren't lucky enough to just have a desk job.

Hadlee had left the house after the cop car did, promising Beau not to go farther than the woods behind her house, promising to come back.

Whatever domino effect had attached itself to Beau's family had come full circle in one last violent tragedy of circumstance.

Hadlee had made it through Showfall for five years. She'd made it back to her family, made it back to college. She'd thought the last survivors would have made it, too. She'd thought Beau's family would heal, as painfully slow as it was.

Now it was gone save for Ava, and Hadlee's own world had never felt closer to ending.

[distance-does-not-matter]

oh random health update:

my diet has opened back up! ily bread

it is Not the first thing we thought it was

it is, in fact, a second thing. and i have another lab this week and another appt next week

having a dr who listens to you is a game changer

thank you for tuning into penni's vague health updates

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Athelstan would be the kind of person who Never Gets Sick and is always kinda smug about it until he does actually and is down for the count for like 2 weeks and he feels like a corpse he Is Not Happy