#I saw a writing prompts and thought of this...

[runnning-outof-time]

If It’s Meant to Be | John Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: John Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: John and (Y/N) were friends when they were younger. Life, as life does, pulls them apart for some time before they find each other again while (Y/N) is helping someone who happened to be lost.

Warnings: season 4 spoilers…maybe?? (I’m re-writing canon to make things better), language

Word Count: 4450

A/N: if I’m being honest I quite enjoyed following your prompt/request, anon! I hope I was able to add everything you were hoping into it and that it turned out along the lines of what you were imagining! I’m sorry that it’s taken ages for me to share. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

comment/message me if you want to be tagged!

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. That phrase gets thrown around so much. John Shelby always thought that he and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were meant to be. But things didn’t quite work out that way…at first.

They were practically inseparable as teens. All it took was one meeting near the cut for the two to know that they wanted to be in each others lives for as long as possible.

Wherever (Y/N) was, John was to be found close by. If John was out doing something, nine times out of ten (Y/N) was helping out in some way.

Family members often joked that the two were attached at the hip. Ada even went as far as to conspire with (Y/N)’s younger sister, the two saying that they were excited to become future sister-in-laws.

But things don’t always work out to plan.

The dream of the families uniting as one through John and (Y/N)’s union crumbled slowly rather than it just being one, major blow.

(Y/N) started delving more into her studies; having big dreams of graduating and going further in schooling so that she could make something of herself. She’d always wanted to have more than just the lower-level jobs that Small Heath had to offer. She still tried to see John as much as she could, but the nights that were once spent gallivanting around the streets together had now been swapped for study sessions.

John couldn’t be completely mad at his friend. He wanted her to succeed and have the life that she was dreaming of. Sure he missed her company, and truly relished in the time that they were still able to spend together, but to say that he was now left completely in his lonesome would be a lie.

John met Martha Davies when she and her family moved to Small Heath.

Unlike how he was with (Y/N), who he tried so hard to hide his deeper feelings for behind the mask of friendship, John immediately went forward with expressing his desire to get to know Martha better.

While (Y/N) was busy with studying, John was busy with Martha. It was easy to tell how quickly the two had fallen for each other.

The news - though it really shouldn’t have given how quickly the two became…acquainted with each other - came as a shock just only six months into John knowing Martha. Hell, (Y/N) had only met her a handful of times before John was excitedly telling her the news that Martha was pregnant and he was going to be a father.

(Y/N) should have been happy for him. And on the outside she tried her best to present her emotions that way. But deep down, her real feelings that she’d been harboring towards her friend for years now were being crushed. She always pushed them aside for fear that he only purely saw her as a friend; for the fear that her revealing them would cause him to run from her life forever. Now there was no way that he’d ever know of them.

John, who was just a few months shy from his final teenage year, was now going to be a husband and father — he felt it was only right that he marry Martha given the fact that they’d now share a child.

If John was going to grow up this suddenly, (Y/N) felt that she should to. Her prelininary studies were finished and she was ready to go and make something of herself.

And so she moved to London, one step closer to her dream but many miles away from the person who grew up alongside her.

— 1924 —

Ada was the first to learn that (Y/N) was back in town. She didn’t waste any time in inviting her to what the Shelby woman promised would be ‘an amazing evening’.

Many things had changed since (Y/N) had last seen the Shelbys. One of the more major ones was the fact that they had quickly rose into wealth and power.

On this particular evening, Tommy and his new wife, Grace, were holding one of their regular events; where people of power and prospective business partners gathered to shake hands and attempt to make deals. It was a circle that (Y/N) felt she was so far removed from.

Ada’s persistence was hard to ignore though. She kept focusing on the fact that it was a different sort of event for the family invovled, and that everyone would be thrilled to see her again. (Y/N) couldn’t deny the fact that she, too, would be overjoyed to see the Shelbys again…even if it meant that her heart might break.

She made sure to wear one of her more sophisticated outfits and that her appearance was as perfect as it could get. When the time to leave arrived, she checked over herself in the mirror one last time before grabbing her clutch and heading down to the car that was waiting for her.

The manor she pulled up to left her in awe. Never did she expect to be welcomed into a place as grand as this. But if there was anyone in her life, past or present, who could be capable of obtaining this sort of grandeur, it would no doubt be Tommy Shelby.

“(Y/N)!” Of course Ada was the first person to find her. “I’m so happy you came!” the brunette exclaimed as she hasitly pulled her into a hug.

“You doubted I would?” (Y/N) asked, trying to focus on her friend rather than the crowd of people present in the grand foyer area of the manor. If there’s this many people in the entry room, how many would be in the banquet hall? she thought to herself.

“Never,” the other woman shook her head, “come with me. The others will be so excited that you’re here!” she then said, taking hold of (Y/N)’s forearm so that she could lead her into the banquet hall. (Y/N) hesitantly followed, not quite wanting to see the man she used to call ‘best friend’ just yet.

Thankfully Ada pulled her to Polly first. (Y/N) was happy to see her. Polly was just as much an aunt to her as she was the Shelby siblings. And, much like Ada had promised, the older woman was thrilled to see her again.

Time quickly slipped away and (Y/N) truly felt like the tiny group that had been assembled were the only ones in the room. She quickly slipped into a comfortable state, the crowds of people truly disappearing as the women caught up on everything they’d missed out on in the others’ lives.

Ada was the first to be pulled away. She was found by one of the house’s staff — which blew (Y/N)’s mind…Tommy had staff now?! — who needed her because Karl was becoming restless and ready for bed. She promised that she’d only be gone briefly and that she’d find Polly and (Y/N) again as soon as she was finished.

Polly got pulled away too. Tommy needed her to meet a prospective business partner. He greeted (Y/N) warmly — after he realized it was her — and expressed his gladness to see her before asking his aunt to join him for a moment.

Now (Y/N) was alone in this crowded hall of people. She stood and did some crowd-watching for some time (people just being people truly fascinated her) before deciding to go and find some refreshments to indulge in.

But she didn’t make it to said refreshments table…and it seemed that she wasn’t the only person who was alone at the party.

Although there were people moving all around, it seemed as though she was the only person who noticed the small boy who was cowering into himself with fear present in his eyes.

Cautiously, and with a friendly smile, she approached the child, whose bottom lip was quivering. It was evident that he’d been crying. “Do you need help, sweetheart?” she asked him, keeping her voice calm and level in hopes to not spook him any more than he already had been.

The boy only nodded his head, his wide eyes matching hers. The desperation present in them nearly broke (Y/N)’s heart.

“Are you hurt?” she asked a question.

The boy shook his head, ringing his small hands together.

(Y/N) inwardly sighed in relief. At least he’s not hurt, she thought to herself, now what could be the matter? After racking her brain, she asked another question, “are you looking for someone?”

The boy nodded this time. More relief filled (Y/N)’s body. He said nothing in addition to his nod, though, so she still had some more questions to ask.

“A friend?” she asked, remembering that she’d seen several children running around the room earlier.

The boy shook his head.

“A grown up?”

The boy nodded.

Ok, on the right track, (Y/N) thought, nodding along with him. “Your parents?” she asked.

“M-my dad,” the boy finally spoke, his mouse-like voice breaking (Y/N)’s heart. What he said next shattered it even further into pieces, “my mummy’s not here anymore. She…my aunt said she went to heaven.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” (Y/N) gave her condolences with a frown. “How about we go find your dad, hmm?” she then asked, offering another friendly smile.

“Ok,” the boy nodded, reaching his hand out for (Y/N) to take. The woman smiled as she accepted it, and the two began walking, searching through the crowd for his father.

“Let me know if you see him, ok?” (Y/N) said to the boy. She’d just realized that she had no idea who his father was.

“Johnny there you are!” a young girl exclaimed, her eyes set on the boy (Y/N) had been helping.

“We were looking everywhere for you!” a second girl chimed in.

(Y/N) looked down at the boy, whose expression hadn’t changed. She crouched down slightly to be more on his level. “Do you know them?” she asked him.

The boy nodded. “They’re my sisters,” he answered, his eyes still focused on the girls, who were now approached them.

“Who are you, miss?” the older of the two girls asked once they stopped in front of (Y/N) and the boy.

“My name’s (Y/N),” the woman introduced herself with a smile, “your brother was lost and needed some help finding your dad.”

“Well we don’t know where dad is either,” the younger of the two girls stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “but Johnny can come with us. We’re dancing.”

(Y/N) looked to the boy, who had calmed down significantly now. “Is it ok if you stay with your sisters?” she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

The boy nodded his head, the slightest of smiles now present on his face. (Y/N) smiled back, happy that he was no longer upset. But he caught her hand before she was able to stand up straight again. “Will you stay with us, Miss (Y/N)?” he asked in a sweet voice.

The question really wasn’t up for decision in (Y/N)’s mind. She knew her answer right away. Hell, she had nothing else better to do, or no one else she needed to see…so why not pass the time with these kids? “Of course,” she answered with a smile, laughing softly as the three children all cheered in joy. The little group wasted no time falling into beat with the music and dancing with smiles on their faces.

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), Polly and Ada had regrouped and were now watching her and the children as they danced.

“I wonder if she knows,” Ada queried out loud, watching her friend dance with her neices and nephew with a small smile.

“I don’t think she does,” Polly answered, shaking her head. A tight-lipped smile was also present on her face.

“You two seen any of the kids anywhere?” the voice of John Shelby came from behind the ladies, “ran off a while ago…haven’t fucking seen them since.”

Ada and Polly shared a look, both biting back smiles. John was able to catch said look.

“Well go on…share it,” he pressed them, his brow furrowing in annoyance. He didn’t have time for this…there were drinks to drink and ladies to charm. If they thought he’d be spending the entire evening chasing after his children, they’d be dead wrong.

“Your youngest was up with Karl. He was asleep when I went to attend to him,” Ada shared some information about Maxwell Shelby, John’s four year old.

“And the others?” John’s brows were now raised.

“They’re right over there,” Polly answered, pointing a finger in the direction of the dancing group.

John wasted no time following her finger and when he did, his world stopped. No. That…that couldn’t be her…could it? Questions raced through his mind as memories flooded back. God, she looks more beautiful than the day she left me, he was so entranced that he just about forgot how to breathe.

“John?”

The voice of his aunt brought him back to reality, and he shook his head as he snapped out of the trance she put him in. A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck instinctively, and he hoped that he could play off his staring. The grins on both of the women’s faces told another story.

“He didn’t hear a word you said, Pol,” Ada snickered, loving the fact that she was able to poke fun at her brother.

“Oh fuck off,” John grumbled, trying so hard to keep his focus on his family and not the beautiful woman that was still playing with his children. A silence fell between the trio and John took it to do just what he was stopping himself from moments ago. “I…I, uh, I should…” he stopped his babbling, clearing his throat and trying to regain his wits. Christ, just the sight of her had him babbling like a fucking child. “I should probably uh, probably go over and see how they’re getting on,” his statement sounded more like a suggestion…which was weird because he was essentially suggesting for himself to go and do it.

“Go on then,” Polly wasted no time in agreeing with her nephew, motioning over to where (Y/N) and the children still were.

“Yeah,” John agreed, like it wasn’t even his idea in the first place. He didn’t move though.

“Grow a pair and get on with it, John,” Ada snapped him out of the trance he once again fell into, still grinning at the fact that John was very much acting like a lovesick fool at the moment. In fact she hadn’t seem him like this since…well since he was around (Y/N).

With one last glare, John finally heeded to their nudges and started off in (Y/N)’s direction. Her back was to him as he approached, and she was dancing with his eldest son, Johnny. His daughters, Jane and Katie, did see him coming though, their eyes lighting up when they realized he was there.

“Daddy!” they exclaimed in unison.

The yelling of the girls made (Y/N) stop what she was doing and turn. Seeing the person who they’d addressed made the breath get caught in her throat. No. It can’t be, she thought to herself, her heartrate quickening by the second.

John was - also - back to staring again. He still couldn’t believe that she was standing right in front of him.

“Dad…dad, did you hear me?” the sound of Katie’s impatient voice brought him back to reality. He focused in on his daughter as he heard the sweet sounds of (Y/N)’s giggles. They made it feel like there was heat being placed on the back of his neck.

“I…I didn’t, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he sheepishly answered his child.

“I was telling you that this is (Y/N). She found Johnny and then agreed to stay and dance with us. She’s really nice,” Katie explained again.

Her being referred to gave John the go ahead to look at (Y/N) again. This time he willed himself to stay focused and not get lost in the memories they shared together, or how beautiful she looked.

“She helped me because I was crying and didn’t know where anyone was,” Johnny shared, “she’s really friendly. I think we could all be friends.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle a little as he watched (Y/N) stiffle her laugh. “Yeah, Johnny, I, uh…I—” God you look like a babbling fool right now, get ahold on yourself, John-boy, was ringing out in John’s mind.

(Y/N) watched him intently, waiting to hear how he would address the past between them. Would he address the past between them?

“I used to know (Y/N)…we used to be best friends when we was younger,” he finally shared with the children, feeling silly for holding his breath as he waited for their response.

There was a moment’s pause as the three little Shelbys looked at each other. It felt like eternity to the two adults, who looked as if they wanted to say so much to each other. Soon smiles formed on the children’s faces.

“That’s great that you’re already friends with her, daddy!” Katie exclaimed, beaming up at John.

“When can she come over?” Jane eagerly asked, her question making (Y/N) laugh as her heart bursted with love.

“That’ll be up to her,” John answered, laughing at his childrens innocent questions, the heat still creeping up his neck.

“Your father and I will have to talk about it,” (Y/N) added her own response, a sweet smile present on her features. She then looked at John, her expression telling him that they’d have to find each other later to catch up.

“Please talk about it later, daddy!” Johnny exclaimed, a pleading look present on his face.

“I will, Johnny, I will,” he assured the boy, nodding both to him and to (Y/N), silently accepting her invitation.

(Y/N) was resting against one of the balconies on the side terrace of the manor later that evening when she heard footsteps approaching her. She didn’t bother to turn and look; having a good idea of who could be coming.

“You followed through with the invitation,” she commented as John came to a rest beside her.

“Always do, angel,” John responded, his usage of her old nickname making her heart flutter.

It was one that he frequently used when they were younger…she was always doing the right thing; always acting like an angel. John loved to call her it in a teasing manner and though she’d wrinkle her nose up when he used it, she secretly loved it. Tonight, however, he used it in a sincere manner, and it just about made (Y/N) weak at the knees.

“You don’t know how surprised I was when I saw you with me kids,” John admitted then, looking out at the grounds his brother owned.

“The surprise was pretty clear on your face, John,” (Y/N) responded, giggling as his eyes shot to match hers; wide in surprise.

“Never was good at hiding stuff from you,” he said in a sheepish tone, shaking his head. “How’d you find out about this?” he asked then.

“Ada found out I was back in town. She invited me,” she answered. John made a mental note to thank his sister later. “It was nice meeting your kids,” she said with a smile.

“They’ll probably talk about you for days,” he said with a laugh, looking away from her for a moment. “Only good things I’ve left,” he mused, his tone sounded solemn.

Silence fell between them as (Y/N) chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should offer her condolences or not. She didn’t know if the wounds were still fresh, or when it had even happened. “I’m sorry about Martha, John,” she finally said.

“I am, too,” he responded, looking down at his feet as he took a deep breath, “feel bad for those kids most of all. They didn’t really even get to know her.”

“That must’ve been tough,” (Y/N) mused.

“It was…” John agreed, “it has been,” he then corrected.

“I’m home now, so I’m…”

“You’re home?” John cut into her statement, his eyes widening as they found hers again.

“I am,” she affirmed, smiling softly before continuing, “I’d be happy to help you with your kids if you need at all.”

John smiled as he heard what she said. He couldn’t lie, he was suprised by how gracious she was being. There were a thousand words he wanted to say, but all he was able to get out was: “thank you, (Y/N).”

For her, it was enough.

Silence fell between them once again as (Y/N) wrestled with yet another thought; one that she’d been wanting to say since he joined her outside. After a few moments, she finally took the leap and said it.

“You know, I always thought we’d end up together…I always thought that it’d be us,” she made sure to train her eyes on the darkened landscape as she spoke. She couldn’t handle seeing John’s expression as it changed.

“I…” John hesitated.

“That wasn’t me trying to insert myself into anything. I’m sorry if it sounded that way,” she scrambled to cover up, not even thinking of how he could have taken her admission. “I just…I wanted that to be known. I spent too long dancing around it without saying what I felt,” she took a deep breath, debating on whether to add anything more. There was one more thing she was burning to say, “I had-have a lot of love for you, John.”

It took a few moments for him to digest what she had said. Never did he think that she’d be admitting these feelings to him. He always thought that he’d have to keep his boxed away for the rest of his life. But now she’d put hers out in the open, it would be silly of him to withhold his.

“Hey,” he started, wanting to get her to look at him before he shared his confession. His one word statement succeeded in getting her eyes to match his. “I’ve always loved you, (Y/N),” he admitted, his voice holding a sincereness he hadn’t used in a while.

“You’re being serious?” she asked, the corners of her lips twitching as she wanted to smile so big right now.

“So serious,” he whispered, smiling as he spoke.

“I…” she paused to let out a laugh, feeling so silly for what she was about to admit to him, “I really wanna kiss you right now, John Shelby.”

“Then kiss me, (Y/N),” he wasted no time in agreeing to what she was suggesting, slowly moving to rest his hands on her waist. He was gentle in his touch, silently letting her know that she could break away if she wanted. She didn’t.

(Y/N) reached to take hold of his jacket’s lapels before leaning in slightly. John got the message, meeting her halfway so that their lips could—finally— meet. The — what felt like — lifetime’s wait for this moment was most certainly worth it.

— Three Years Later —

“Katie!” (Y/N) called out, knowing that the eldest child was in the next room over. Her joyful scream was a distinctive one, and the woman was able to hear it amongst at least two others. It didn’t take long before the girl appeared in the archway of the room John and (Y/N) were sitting in.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. It was obvious that she’d been playing.

“I need you and your siblings to try and keep your voices down, ok?” (Y/N) kindly asked.

“Why’s that, mum?” the young girl inquired.

(Y/N) froze before she could give her answer, her mouth agape. Katie had just called her ‘mum’.

Thankfully John was able to step in and continue the conversation—because it had became obvious to him that (Y/N) couldn’t. “Because mum’s just gotten Ella to sleep. We don’t want her to wake again,” he explained, motioning to the baby that was sleeping on (Y/N)’s chest.

“Ok, dad,” Katie conceded without a fight. Both John and (Y/N) gave a soft thanks and watched as she went to leave. She’d only moved from the arch for a second before returning to say one last thing, “you should know that it’s really Max who was making all of the noise.”

Her statement made both adults laugh. “Go on,” John waved her off. The girl gave one more toothy smile before running off to her siblings.

“Did she…?” (Y/N) finally got out, surprise laced into her words.

“She did,” John grinned as he looked at his wife, “mum.”

It may have seemed like nothing special to someone looking on, but to (Y/N), what just happened was monumental. This was the first time Katie Shelby had called her mum.

(Y/N) and John hardly spent a moment separated since the night they rekindled their friendship…which quickly turned into a relationship…which quickly turned into them getting married and having a child together.

With their dear little Eloise being born just five months ago, both felt that their family was now perfect. But even though (Y/N) took on the role of mother to John’s four children in every sense of the term, she never forced the kids to address her by the name. Martha was their mum, and not even her being gone could change that.

One by one, though, the kids began calling her mum. Katie was the last to hold out. The eldest girl would always address her as ‘(Y/N)’, and (Y/N) was perfectly fine with that. Which is why when the girl used the ‘m-word’ just now, she froze in her tracks. She couldn’t help but blush as she looked at John, who was grinning like a fool.

“She called me mum,” she whispered again, more to herself than anything.

“She did,” John repeated, his voice soft as he smiled at his wife.

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be is the phrase that always gets thrown around. Luckily — thankfully — for John and (Y/N), it was meant to be.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

@zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx

@red-riding-wood @padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @everythingelseisextra

@kmc1989 @papichulo120627 @brummiereader @adaydreamaway08 @justrainandcoffee

@peakyltd @johannelis2302nely @ce1iat @wildheartsalwaysburn @dragons-are-my-favorite

@jessimay89 @slaymybreathaway @mysticalfuncollectorus @sleepyycatt @novashelby

[moonlit-imagines]

I Know The End

Eternals x reader

warnings:

a/n: wait this song is kinda perfect for this

prompt: @the-kinnie-in-me: “Hi! I saw the extension for your 8k event (congrats btw) and wanted to participate with “I know the end” by Phoebe Bridgers + Marvel’s Eternals + Familial and reader is an eternal too if that’s okay 😅 tysm in advance 💕”

It happened to be that you left the Eternals long before the rest felt the need. Something just didn’t feel right as you spent some thousand years protecting humanity and regardless of what the others thought or their devotion to the mission, you knew you wanted out.

You snuck away in the dead of night feeling a massive sense of guilt the further the distance from the only family you’d known all these years. Ajak, Druig, Sersi, all of them would be so hurt you left without a word—but would they have let you leave if you told them?

You didn’t want to be found, not for now. Maybe not ever. But those memories would always haunt you and urge you to go back and you couldn’t drown them out.

Now it was the 21st century and the Eternals were at your front door.

“Found you.” Druig chuckled, inviting himself and the others into your little apartment. “The end is here, y/n.”

“No ‘hello,’ huh? What do you mean? Why are you here?” Your voice chock-full of frustration and embarrassment.

“There was no ‘goodbye.’” Sersi replied, lightly stepping on your creaky hardwood floor, observing some of your collection. “Six hundred A.D.” She pointed to an item on your shelf. “Egypt without us?” You sat down on your couch and shook your head.

“Why did you guys come here? ‘The end’ isn’t good enough.” You demanded as Sprite sat beside you.

“Deviants are back.” Ikaris explained and you rolled your eyes.

“You can handle those. I saw them on the news.m already.” Your guard hadn’t dropped yet, but you felt tears welling just from your family being present in your home.

“A new Celestial is being born.” Sersi added, something they should have led with. “From Earth. It will destroy everything if we don’t find a way to prevent that.”

“You want to kill it?” You asked, completely horrified.

“Merely put it off until a better option presents itself.” Druig continued the conversation and your eyes widened, not understanding how that would even be possible. Your life flashed before you and you just felt lost—you had no idea what happened between when you left and now. Fifteen hundred years passed and now they were asking for your help as if nothing had happened.

“Will you come with us?” Ikaris asked and all eyes fell onto you. You felt a lump in your throat when the question was presented, and Sprite grabbed your hand and squeezed it.

“We need you, y/n. Goodbye or not, we want you there with us when we figure this out.” Sersi assured you, and you smiled lightly.

“Yeah. If you don’t, everyone might die.” Druig added and Ikaris glared at him. You chuckled out of amusement and discomfort and nodded.

“Yeah. Why not…”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @mymelodymia // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[sxfterhearts]

Hi! I have a request for theo if you feel inspired by it:)

Something angsty (but soft) with "Sorry I'm late.", where he's late for a date, or promised to be at reader's home sooner, something like that, and reader is already frustrated, feeling like his last priority. When he's not busy with p1h things he wants to have a time for himself...

Anyway, that's what I thought for the prompt, but if you have any other ideas I'd love to read anything <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ idol ! theo x non-idol ! reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: mild angst, soft ending

♡ word count: 912 words

♡ author's note: thank you for requesting lovely anon <3 you sparked my creativity and reminded me just how much i love (and miss) writing! this was a great little fic for me to ease back into it. life has been super duper hectic lately, so apologies this comes so late. i hope you enjoy :)

//

The seasons were reluctantly transitioning from autumn to winter. It was a warm autumn day, warmer than you initially expected, with heat radiating off the sidewalks and brick walls. Ginko trees lined the streets, a flurry of vibrant yellows dancing and waving as cars drove by.

The dessert shop you had saved on Google Maps for months came into sight as you rounded the corner of the main road. It specialised in bingsu, a traditional Korean milk-based shaved ice dessert, commonly topped with sweet red beans and condensed milk. 

You took in your surroundings as you approached the shop. Everywhere around you, you saw couples walking hand in hand, groups of friends laughing together, and people taking photos of each other with the autumn foliage, basking in the remnants of sunshine.

All of a sudden, you felt a pang of loneliness in your chest.

At the same time, your phone screen lit up with a notification.

[5:45pm] theo <3: hey y/n, practice is running over

[5:46pm] theo <3: i’m sorry… i’ll make it up to you, i promise

You sighed. Your heart dropped to the soles of your feet. In a way, you knew this was coming. Amidst all the comeback preparations and promotions, Theo barely had time to himself, let alone to spend time with you. You understood this well. You knew what you were signing up for and you were well aware of the demanding nature and huge time commitments of his career. Lately, though, the tardiness and cancellations were becoming a little too frequent. 

He stood you up last weekend. Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic – the two of you were meant to go for a picnic by the Han River. Instead, he texted you 10 minutes before the meeting time to say that his hair appointment was taking longer than expected, leaving you amongst the sea of couples cuddling on the grass – all alone.

And here you were again, alone once more. Casting a wistful glance at the fairy lights and welcoming exterior of the shop, you silently bid it goodbye as you turned around and made your way back home.

//

With heavy footsteps, you finally dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment. 

Absent-mindedly, you fished inside your handbag for your keys. Why was it always so hard to find them?

Your searching was interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat.

“Sorry I’m late… Again.”

“Theo?” You looked up from your bag and sure enough, there he was, crouching outside your apartment door. He was still wearing his sweat-soaked clothes from dance practice, cheeks red from exertion. 

At the call of his name, he stood up. “I brought cake?” Theo said gently, trying to gauge your emotions and reactions to him standing you up, yet again. Cake – your guilty pleasure; a peace offering. “It’s dark chocolate with strawberries, the one from your favourite cake shop.”

You couldn’t help it, your ears perked up and your eyes lit up at the familiar pink cake box. The corners of your lips raised into an involuntary smile. “Is this bribery?” You teased lightly.

“It’s an apology, Y/N. I’m sorry, really.” He replied, voice laced thick with sincerity. 

At that, the sadness covering your icy heart melted away. “Come on,” You grabbed his free hand, dragging him into the apartment with you.

As you sat on the floor, devouring your cake in silent contentment, Theo reached across the coffee table for your hand.

“Listen, Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“The past few months have been really busy.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“Our schedules… It’s so hard to predict, and things can change at the last minute.”

You hummed, mouth full of cake.

“I get it if you’re frustrated or angry, I would be too. But this is only the beginning. Once promotions start I will barely have any time to do anything, including sleep, which means I won’t have much time to spend with you. You know that right?”

“Yeah.” You agreed reluctantly. “I know, you told me at the start. It’s just…” You sighed. “Yeah, sometimes it gets lonely without you. But I don’t blame you or anything. It’s not your fault, so I get it.”

Theo’s heart ached a little at your honest confession. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” You waved away his apology. “Like I said, not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel lonely.” He clarified.

You stared into his eyes, taking in the intensity of his sorrowful gaze. “I accept your apology.” You squeezed his hand tightly. “Besides, maybe I should pour some time and energy into other things, like seeing my friends more or picking up a new hobby.”

Theo nodded. “That’s a great idea!” He encouraged, heart-shaped lips turning into an excited smile. “What happened to that knitting club? Did you end up joining with your friend?”

You pouted. “No, the club meetings are too early for her, she gets off work late. Maybe I’ll look for another one, she mentioned pottery when we caught up for coffee last week…”

Theo breathed an internal sigh of relief. It was reassuring to know that you were trying to keep yourself busy with your own life outside of the relationship you two shared and cherished. This was important in every relationship, of course, but particularly for yours, due to his line of work. He felt a surge of admiration and adoration for you as he reflected on how well you handled the situation despite the uncertainty and disappointment. “I love you.”

You looked up from your phone and paused mid-message to your friend. You gave him a toothy grin, dark chocolate staining the corners of your mouth. Theo thought you looked adorable. “I love you too.”

[obaewankenope]

"WELCOME TO HELL."

A loud, booming voice bellows across the flaming planes of despair and misery that make up, well, Hell. Maybe if I'd been born a medieval peasant or, I don't know, suitably Christian, I'd probably have been more concerned with the literal reality of Hell but, honestly, I'm a millennial. I focus on weird shit to the exclusion of all else because hey, that's more sane than watching the news and seeing the 21st century being the end-of-humanity century via war, climate change, and ecological destruction the likes of which humanity has never before known! Cheery things to focus on, not.

Anyway; loud, booming voice bellowing a greeting to the newly dead and Judged™ (I guess) me.

"Who got the job to welcome new souls to Hell and didn't think to be original with it?" I asked out loud because sometimes internal thoughts become external sentences that my brain and I do not agree on and thus happen without my informed consent.

ADHD is... Something and even dead, I've still got it apparently. Kind of feels like a problem for everyone else really. I'm used to my brand of chaos. Double RIP to the souls that aren't.

"Or did they get the job like millenia ago and got real bored trying to be original every time a soul showed up? Or is the voice automated? It's probably automated. Everything is nowadays." I rolled my eyes. "Good luck finding an actual human to talk to before the automated voice lists twelve million options and gives you way more advice and 'warnings' than you need to hear with anxiety and a hyperactive mind."

I rant, I admit that. I've already ranted. Rambled. Digressed along a seventeen year path. Waxed lyrical about Parisian sewers, so to speak. It's just what I do. ADHD brain, as we say.

Now, I don't think I did anything wrong, personally, but apparently ranting when you get dropped off to Hell and let your inner thoughts become a slew of outer words is... Grounds for direct intervention.

No, I don't know why, and no, I'm also not going to ask why. I'm banned from having contact with The Devil™ for eternity. There's an actual court document stating it. Yeah, the afterlife has a court system, I know.

Anyway, direct intervention.

"CEASE YOUR PRATTLE!"

Big, booming voice on The Devil™. A mix between very loud choral music and a heavy metal rock band concert that's figured out how to make their entire set louder than human ears can safely hear. And they're pretty close to that limit normally.

"Uh, okay," I slowly said in response to the very loud demand from a literal Fallen Angel because, well, you kind of would, wouldn't you. Except I'm not normal. Like I said, I'm a millennial and we've never been known to stay quiet when we probably should.

I blame the internet.

"But seriously, it's a valid question," I continued after a moment where The Devil™ probably thought I was cowed or terrified or something. Jokes on them, I have no self-preservation instincts to speak of and have literally not reacted to almost being ran over before.

Which... Might be how I died, actually. Hmm. Something to think about!

"Just, this is meant to be the place for damned souls and all that jazz, you'd expect the initial experience to really set up the whole thing to be more... Well, more impressive than a loud voice shouting 'Welcome to Hell'," I kept going because, again, I have the self-preservation instincts of a mantaree.

I may have done a little dramatic voice change for the 'welcome to hell' bit of my sentence but that's not really important to this story .The Devil™ wasn't impressed by it though.

"YOU ARE TRAPPED IN HELL, CAST OUT AND JUDGED BY GOD—" a lot of vitriol on that word there "—AND WILL FOREVER BE DENIED PARADISE AND YOUR FOCUS IS NOT ON YOUR SUFFERING BUT ON THE GREETING YOU RECEIVE WHEN YOU ENTER THIS PLACE?"

Okay, so, I don't think The Devil™ can sound confused the way we humans do, honestly I don't, but at the moment The Devil™ definitely sounded pretty confused to me.

"Well, yeah," I replied. I'm still confused about how The Devil™ didn't seem to understand my perspective here but, well, I can rant like the best of them and I'm very good at it when I need to explain something. "It's the principle of the matter really. You've got the whole damned-ness going on; the fire and the brimstone and the vibes are very despair-y. That's all great! Top marks there. But," I pause to make that sound where you pull air in through your teeth to sort of hiss but not hiss. You know what I mean.

"The voice isn't intimidating, it doesn't really give you anything when you show up confused or whatever. It's just loud and not even demonic or anything. Honestly, it sounds like how a greetings sign to some random town feels. Kind of just... There. It's a bit underwhelming." I paused. "A lot underwhelming."

Maybe it was the way I talked or how fast I am when I speak aloud but The Devil™ seemed more bothered by my critique than by me actually not being scared of them. Which, well, I figure us millennials can't be the only ones who focus on weird shit when there's more 'reasonable' stuff to focus on at times. Kind of figures The Devil™ would do the same. Though, in The Devil's™ defense, I guess their entire getup inspires fear and terror so they just take it as their due, so to speak.

"YOU DARE INSULT MY DOMAIN!!"

Where The Devil™ got that from, I don't know but I was not there for it. At all.

"I AM THE RULER AND ABSOLUTE OF THIS DOMAIN AND I SHALL-"

"Woah, wait a minute, I'm not insulting your domain! I'm giving a critique that you asked for tacitly by asking me so don't forget about that!"

I cut The Devil™ off mid-sentence. I literally cut The Devil™ off because, honestly, listen, I've survived a lot of shit online in my life. I have had enough of being accused of insulting something or someone when I've been giving an actual critique or criticism that was constructive. If I didn't take it off BootLickerTrumpLover99 then I sure as hell wasn't going to take it off The Devil™.

Even if The Devil™ could reduce me to metaphysical mulch.

"Like, it feels superfluous to have that voice when, I don't know, a sign would work just as well. And even if you wanted to keep the voice greeting, which, yeah works for anyone with a visual impairment, it's not creepy or demon-y or even scary sounding. It's just generic." I looked up at The Devil™ then and maybe they realised I wasn't being an ass or something. Like, honestly I wasn't. I actually really was kind of invested in this now.

Mainly because they sort of offended me by thinking I was insulting their greeting voice without at least having some constructive criticism for them.

"AND WHAT WOULD YOU SUGGEST?" The Devil™, the actual fucking Devil, asked me and they didn't even sound pissed.

I literally got asked my opinion by The OG Fallen Angel. This is probably why I ended up in Hell. For this reason alone. Or because I may have caused some uh… Questionable things to occur in my lifetime.

I hummed in thought, tapping my chin because I thought it'd look cool. It probably didn't. "Well, I guess you could change the pitch of the voice if you want to keep that particular greeting so it's less corporate American mall and more... The batteries have run down but the speakers are still working enough to transmit so enjoy the distortion and the accompanying nightmares it'll give you. That would work better," I said and the Devil™ actually nodded at me.

Nodded!

"You could change it to something more childish sounding complete with giggle or laughter or something equally disconcerting because of the dissonance of a child's voice announcing that you're in Hell; that'd get some people good, I think," I continued, really in the swing of it now because this, this is my jam really.

Belting out ideas whether they be for cursed fics, crack pairs or the kind of voice you could use to welcome people to Hell, it doesn't matter the context, I am very good at thinking things.

"I guess a really distorted, demonic sounding—like you hear in movies and stuff all the time because hey, being original is something Hollywood is allergic to I swear—that could work too. I don't know if it'd work for everyone or if they'd not be able to make out what was said." I blinked. "Though, that might scare some people more if it's on a loop and they have to listen to it over and over to figure out it's welcoming them to Hell. Oh, that'd be kind of evil actually." I looked at The Devil™ sort of delighted with myself for that little realisation.

"REPETITION DOES TEND TO TERRIFY MORTALS MORE THAN SINGULAR OCCURENCES, YES." The Devil™ actually agreed with me.

"Yeah, it's because our brains are wired for pattern recognition. When something is just not normal to our perception but we listen or watch it over and over, we notice the discrepancies more and more until they're all we can see and they freak us the fuck out," I explained because, well, this is also my wheelhouse.

I have a lot of jams and wheelhouses, okay.

"YOU HAVE GIVEN ME MUCH TO CONSIDER," The Devil™ said in what was probably the closest to a conversational tone they could manage. It still sounded like it'd obliterate my eardrums if I wasn't a metaphysical representation of my human form and was made of flesh and bone still.

"Oh, you're welcome then," I said because, well, what else are you meant to say to that? "If you ever want to throw some ideas or things to critique my way I'm—"

I got cut off then by a very, very loud sound that was sort of like a thousand echoes all sounding at the same time and also an orchestra and choir at full volume. It was really loud, okay, and I definitely blanked for a second or two on the metaphysical plane of existence because of it.

"RELEASE THE SOUL YOU TOOK BEFORE ITS TIME OR YOU SHALL BE CAST FURTHER FROM WHERE YOU ALREADY FELL!"

I don't know if you've ever seen The Devil™, you probably haven't, but they had that look a toddler does when they've been naughty and got caught at the last second. You know the look? Yeah, you know it. Well, that's the expression The Devil™ had on their huge form that was vaguely humanoid.

Actually, thinking about it, they probably only looked humanoid to me because I perceived them that way. Huh, that's something to think about again at 3am.

Back to that loud voice and what clearly seemed to be a kid caught being naughty.

Most people, most sane people, probably would have stayed silent there but well, we've already established I am not most people.

"Uh, what's happening right now and does it really require violence to resolve?" I asked because, well, you gotta ask that really. "Because I really don't think violence is the answer, unless it is the answer in which case can I please vacate the area before the fighting because I am definitely out-classed here?"

"COME AWAY MORTAL, YOU DO NOT BELONG IN THIS PLACE!" That very loud, clearly not The Devil™ voice said to me and, okay, I'm not stupid but I can be slow on the uptake sometimes.

Besides, no one is stupid. That's ableist as fuck and I'm not here for that.

"Wait, I thought I died? And got judged, or whatever it is that happens to assign souls where they belong or whatever," I said because I'd kind of assumed that. Though, I didn't actually remember any Judgement™ happening.

"YOU WERE STOLEN BEFORE YOU COULD BE JUDGED MORTALS FOR THE FALLEN ANGEL KNEW WELL YOU DID NOT BELONG IN THEIR REALM OF DESPAIR!"

"THEY BELONG HERE MORE THAN THEY DO IN HEAVEN!" The Devil™ argued back with the… Angel, I guess. "ALREADY THEY SPEAK OF THE SUFFERING OF OTHERS WITH GLEE!"

"Hey hey hey, we don't kinkshame okay!" I blurted out and definitely got Looks for that. Fair. "You can enjoy something just fine but if you actively use what you enjoy to hurt others without their consent, then you're an asshole. Having ideas is not the same as acting on those ideas!"

"THE MORTAL SPEAKS TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT FALLEN, LET THEM LEAVE!"

I never knew The Devil™ could look sad but, well, they kind of looked sad at that order. Rebellious but that's expected of the literal first rebel ever to rebel. Sad though…

"Hey, it's not like you can't still ask my opinion on stuff, or for some concrit, you know," I said to The Devil™ trying to literally cheer up The Devil™. Yeah, I actually did that.

"THE FALLEN WILL HAVE NO CONTACT WITH YOU MORTALS FOR THEY DO NOT BELONG IN ANY PLACE THAT HAS THE LIGHT OF THE CREATOR IN IT!"

"Isn't there a Skype or, I don't know, Spiritual MSN or something to at least send a message though?" You'd think there would be something like that in the afterlife.

Apparently not though.

"NO."

I looked at The Devil™ and, honestly, I felt pretty bad. I hadn't been judged yet so maybe I'd end up back in Hell anyway but just up and disappearing, possibly forever, when The Devil™ seemed to actually enjoy someone having some constructive criticism for them… I'll admit, I'm a sucker for that. Blame my Livejournal and Ff.net days for that.

"Well, what if I just don't go then?" I asked, "you said I'm not judged yet so why don't I just judge myself, say I belong in Hell and then we all just go on our way like nothing happened?"

"HELL IS FOR THOSE WHO DESERVE PUNISHMENT, MORTAL!" The Angel reminded me like I didn't know that already.

I might have been a shitty Catholic but I still got raised on that stuff, I know what Hell is for.

And purgatory.

"It's also for a variety of people who didn't really do anything wrong but got the short end of the religious diatribe anyway," I pointed out. The Devil™ looked strangely delighted with me. "Unless Dante was wrong about the structure of Hell in his Comedies."

"HE WAS NOT," The Devil™ helpfully added.

"ENOUGH!" The Angel bellowed. "YOU WILL COME WITH ME MORTAL, NOW!"

Okay, so, bit of advice for you. Never, I repeat, never tell someone with ADHD to do something. If you're lucky, they'll grumble and do it but, usually, you're not lucky. Because most people with ADHD also have this thing where they get really oppositional to commands. It's called Oppositional Defiance Disorder. And, well, guess what I have?

"No."

"NO!"

"NO?"

"No." I repeated. "You don't get to tell me what to do just because you're all big and Angelic and stuff."

Now, I never knew this but The Devil™ is actually capable of the exact same shit-eating-grin you read about in stories and see on TV that is absolutely the grin someone has when chaos is happening and they are here for it.

"YOU CANNOT REFUSE!"

"I just did," I retorted. "And since Free Will is a thing, you can't make me."

Now, apparently a single Angel can't, so I'm right there. And Free Will is also a thing, so another right there. But…

Well, Free Will can be superseded by The Creator if and when they feel like it. And, apparently, death can be overruled too by The Creator when you're being stubborn.

"THEN THE CREATOR SHALL TAKE YOU MORTAL, FOR YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE!"

"Consent is sexy and I am not okay with this!" I exclaimed.

"GOODBYE MORTAL," The Devil™ said to me and in the next moment, I was here.

So yeah, that's how I've ended up alive again, and yeah, I'll take a straw with my drink, thanks.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #128 part 1

Danny wasn’t sure what exactly happened, but one moment he was hiding out in an alley trying his best to wrap the bandages around his torso and the next he found himself in front of a clown. His thoughts began to blur further as he began to panic. His first instinct was to tighten his fists and move into a defensive position but when he tightened his fist something happened. The clown that had been right in front of them was there and then he wasn’t. The gun he was sure he wasn’t holding before fired and sent the clown away from Danny.

Shock began to set in as he looked down on what he had done. Everything had moved so fast he couldn’t even comprehend it, he didn’t even get a good look at the one he so swiftly ended. The force of the gun caused him to fall back, breathing heavily he stared at the gun before quickly setting it down on the ground making sure the safety was on, he wasn’t risking another death. With the weapon safely placed on the ground he finally decided to take in some of his surroundings.

His soulmate was wearing a helmet and what looked to be some armor, they were in a warehouse of some sort. Danny had forgotten what it felt like to be human and he’d pay a lot more attention if the panic from murder wasn’t setting in. The clown wasn’t moving, they layed there a heap on the floor… Danny really murdered someone. Okay, he could deal with this. 

…

Who was he kidding what the hell was he supposed to do? It was then that he saw movement from the corner of his eyes and he truly knew he was fucked. Someone was right by his soulmate while he had his gun pointed at the clown, did his soulmate want the clown dead? His mind was still racing incoherently as he tried to piece together what exactly just happened. 

A minute passed  or what felt like one, Danny swore Clockwork messed with his sense of time sometimes. He slowly raised his hands after he realized the other wasn’t going to speak, he slowly turned to see the absolute worst person to help in this scenario. 

Batman, Danny was pretty sure he was fucked. He was so entirely fucked and it was then that he realized how truly he messed up. His head snapped back over to the clown and yep that’s the Joker, oh he just killed the Joker in front of Batman in his soulmate's body. Did that mean his soulmate knew Batman? Danny was absolutely stunned into silence, he had nothing he could say, who knew his soulmate would have a life probably just as messed up as his.

“Jason…” Batman’s gravelly voice broke Danny out of his thoughts, oh his soulmate's name was Jason.

Danny who finally finds his voice says, “My soulmate's name is Jason?” The voice modulator startled him and it was then that all hell broke loose.

Voices started crackling into his ear with several different people starting to speak at once.

“Did he just say soulmate?”

“Jason this better not be a prank”

“Wait, who pulled the trigger?? I heard that gunshot”

“Enough, keep coms clear” Batman commanded and everything went silent he then turned to address Danny, “come with me, we’ll need to find Jason so you and him will be alone to switch back. We’ll talk about that after.” He didn’t motion with his hands or jerk his head or anything but Danny knew exactly what he meant. 

He swallowed harshly and then followed. 

—————

Jason found himself no longer holding his guns, no longer in front of the damn clown, and his armor and helmet were gone. He was wearing clothes closer to rags than street clothes and his entire body seemed to ache. This must have been his soulmate's body and they were having a way worse time than Jason was at the moment. There seemed to be hastily done bandages around his waist and he honestly felt like he’d been hit by a truck. He was in an alley thankfully although that also meant he triggered the switch. Everyone knew when you got close enough to your soulmate you switched bodies.

Jason had to get to the closest safe house and hopefully he could do some proper first aid on his soulmate. He stumbled to get on his feet and began to make his way out of the alley. 

Im going to update the original post as the master post and you’ll be able to find all future parts there.

Master Post:

next :

[toxintouch]

I'm not sure if what I wrote is what this post had in mind but… also I meant to do this as a rb but my toxic trait is writing things in drafts/private posts so I err uhhh look I can't keep fighting with Tumblr formatting ok

Mhin receiving an unusually specific compliment. ᵕ ω ᵕ

“You're so fascinating, Mhin. If you wrote a book, I would definitely read it.  Even if you wrote the book about something really boring.  Even if you wrote…a dictionary, full of words I already know the meanings to.  I'd still read it, just because you wrote it.  Just to feel like I got to walk beside you in the world for a little while."

Mhin looks over at you despite themself. Your voice is low, tone affectionate difficult to parse over the incessant noise permeating the Wet Wick. They find themselves staring at your lips, as if to read your words despite hearing you clearly.

“You're really the most interesting person I know...  Which is saying a lot, in this city!”  You laugh at yourself, bandaged fingers trailing around the rim of the glass placed in front of you at the bar.  Your face is flushed, pupils dilated.  The longer they look at you, brows furrowed as they try to make sense of your words, the less you seem able to look them in the eyes.

The liquid in your glass is clear.  

Tequila?  Vodka?  Gin?  A stomach wrenching combination of all three, possibly.  Who knows what Leander was willing to put in front of you, if it makes you so…

Mhin huffs, mouth wrenching into a frown. They clasp a hand around the glass in front of you. "I think you've had enough." They must have gone (miraculously) nose-blind from the boozy scent of the Wet Wick because even as they slide the heavy tankard closer to themself, the pungent tang of alcohol is no more invasive than it was prior. They expected to be able to taste the fumes coming off of whatever concoction they just took from you.

"I'm--" You start to protest, but you find yourself cut off when Leander says something that causes the crowded bar to go wild, cheers erupting. One of the Bloodhounds jostles Mhin in their mirth, causing your confiscated drink to upend, contents sloshing over the surface of the bar and soaking the sleeve of Mhin's shirt.

It's water.

You were saying those things while sober.

Mhin's eyes find yours, no attention spared for the slurring Bloodhound beside them. You're looking at them affectionately, lips quirked.

"Would you be mad at me if I told you that you're too cute?" You ask, something far too warm, too inviting in your words.

Mhin is halfway across the bar in a heartbeat, burning red ears gone deaf to the sound of Leander's voice, calling out to them that they haven't picked their pay up yet. They'll get it tomorrow, they think, racing towards the respite of the fresh night air. Away from the urge to--

Mhin doesn't let themself turn to look back at you as they leave. Though they can't stop themself from wondering: if they did, would they see you staring back at them?

Damn Mhin just take the compliment. I made Mhin's about their brains instead of their looks etc. bc while I think mentioning wanting to kiss their beauty mark would fluster them I think this is the type of thing that would absolutely infect their brain.  Have them thinking about those words over and over until it completely ruins their nightly Soulless hunting; they give up & just stargaze all night.

[reallygroovyninja]

It's 1965 and Lexa is a rising star in the modeling world, known for her striking beauty and commanding presence on the runway. She's just been hired by a top modeling agency in New York City, where Clarke works as a secretary.

Clarke is charmed by Lexa's intelligence and wit, while Lexa is drawn to Clarke's warmth and sincerity in an industry that often feels superficial.

But with the constant demands of Lexa's modeling career and the strict social expectations of the 1960s, pursuing anything more than a friendly working relationship seems impossible.

Will Lexa and Clarke be able to navigate the challenges of their era and fight for their own happiness, or will societal pressures keep them apart?

[abhainnwhump]

Putting your characters in a kidnapping scenario is a great way to practice characterization because there are just so many ways you can take being kidnapped. Are they terrified and crying? Or calm and determined? Screaming and yelling curses or making jokes? How about begging for mercy? Immediately getting violent?

And when/if they break, how does their behavior change? You can have a character start calm and collected and turn paranoid after weeks or months in captivity. Iconically, take your defiant and cocky character and make them scared and meek. Take the sweet innocent character and turn them into a monster. How would your OC develop if they were in a problem like this?

My closing statement is, test your characters. Like a geode, you need to break it to see the gems inside.

[seiwas]

Sel don’t be so hard on yourself about writing!! You’ve been busy and it’s okay to do slow down on other things !!🫶

But I’ll enter your lil game (only if you feel inspired) with oikawa + blissful

carla 🥺 i am hugging you!! thank you for the kind words 🥺💗 and for indulging me with my lil game!!

contains: suggestive (possibly), expletives, use of baby, bj

oikawa + blissful

"yeah, that’s it," oikawa sighs, a shudder reaching the tips of your fingertips, "right there, baby."

he melts under your hands; every movement you make is met with whines of audible bliss. it's no secret that oikawa is loud, in the bedroom especially.

your fingers drag over his head slowly, languidly, allowing him to revel in this moment for longer―you know this is the only thing he likes to take his time with.

when you press a little harder and pinch a little tighter, he groans, "fuck," with an exhale. his eyes struggle to stay open as his lashes flutter sleepily to kiss that delicate spot right under his eyes. warm brown blanketed in a physical lullaby.

you giggle, a soft satisfaction at how reactive he is under your touch. oikawa makes head massages sound like he's getting a blowjob.

he rouses awake from the subtle vibrations of your amusement, his head a deadweight on your lap. the perfectly messy mop of his hair is now tangled with your fingers.

"see? even my hair won't let you go," he'll tell you once he finds out, all dopey smile and dopamine in his system. it's a different kind of happy than when he's on the court, a kind that you cherish all to yourself, knowing it's one that he only shares with you.

"feeling better?" you hum, kneading around his temples a little bit more.

the moan he lets out is a loud enough response.

help me get back into the writing groove! send me a character + any word and i'll write a short blurb about it!

[zukosdualdao]

i'm a worst case kid / in a plague pit town

zutara month, day 1: reluctant allies

summary: ever-slight canon-divergence in which zuko accepts katara's offer to heal iroh after feeling his too-weak, dying pulse, as his injury is bad enough zuko is unsure he will survive otherwise. not much else changes. it was never going to.

warnings: canon-typical depictions of injury, violence, and trauma responses.

other notes: title is a lyric taken from tommy lefroy's "worst case kid". starting pov is zuko's, ending pov is katara's. two pieces of dialogue are directly taken from the show.

*

The wind is whistling in this dry, abandoned, dead town, dead like—

Zuko does not shiver, and he does not cry.

He used to be able to tell himself things like that and mean it. When did that stop being true?

Uncle’s pulse is so faint, for a moment, he thinks it isn’t there at all. Even when he feels it, he knows it might as well not be. He might not have long at all.

Zuko hears the other footsteps approaching, their silence loud and almost mournful, but he bristles on instinct. They can’t see him like this, can’t see Uncle like this—how could he be so stupid as to turn his back on the enemy? 

“Get away from us!” he shouts as he looks back. They’re all staring at his uncle’s prone form, and Zuko turns back to him, too, heaving heavy breaths. He needs to do something, but he is weak, useless, outnumbered—

“Zuko, I can help,” the waterbender insists, and Zuko wants to snarl, yell, reach for his fire, and he raises his hand to do so—and frowns. 

What does she mean?

He looks back to where Uncle lies prone.

A heartbeat shouldn’t feel like that. The Dragon of The West shouldn’t go down so easily.

Uncle shouldn’t be able to seem so small and worn and fragile.

Slowly, Zuko lowers his hand and looks to her striking blue eyes. There’s no pity or malice there, he doesn’t think, she just looks… still cautious and unyielding, but sad and sincere, too.

He’s fallen for tricks like this before, though—Azula has always loved how easily she could fool him—and it feels a little like he’s standing on the edge of a steep precipice.

It would be naive to just… trust the word of an enemy. She has no reason to want to help him. He knows this.

The rest of them still watch his uncle’s maybe-dying form, but the waterbending girl stares at Zuko unflinchingly, almost as though in challenge.

Uncle groans brokenly, the noise like that of a wounded animal. 

“How?”

*

The world is dead silent.

The prince of the Fire Nation is staring at her with tears threatening to fall from his right eye, though not the left, which is twitching lightly. She’s never before noticed how he can’t seem to open it fully due to the scar tissue set against it. She’s never had much reason to take in his features as anything more than the face of their enemy. 

His gaze is still steely and untrusting. In this light, his scar looks violently red and painful. He asks after her offer with a voice that cracks, though he doesn’t seem to pay that any heed. His hair is short but growing in, and he’s traded out his Fire Nation attire for earthly green and brown robes. He looks so different from when they last saw him. 

He looks so… young.

It’s all a little bizarre.

“Be careful, Katara,” Sokka insists from behind her, though when she glances back, his focus is on Iroh, a complicated expression playing on his features. Aang is staring at him, too, eyes wide and verging on teary. She doesn’t yet know Toph very well, but Katara can tell her body is rigid, her feet tense as her toes curl into the dusty ground beneath them. Toph doesn’t know that Iroh has been their enemy. But Iroh also helped them at the North Pole, and again just now against that princess, Zuko’s sister, she supposes, with her calculating eyes and strange blue fire.

Katara nods but says nothing further. If Zuko was going to make a move against them, he could have done it when his sister vanished.

They had turned away from their futile attack against her, and he’d already been kneeling at his uncle’s side.

She approaches slowly, circling to the side opposite him. When she kneels and reaches for her waterskin, Zuko nearly growls and takes hold of the edge of Iroh’s sleeve tightly, like he might try to drag him away.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Katara says, flush with indignation. The dirt beneath her chafes her knees even through her clothing. “I need space to heal.”

“I’m not moving, so forget it.”

Katara tilts her head and looks into his eyes as he glares back. He now looks every bit the angry, hateful prince that had tracked them around the world for months, but she can see something else filtering through his expression, too, something like fear.

She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Why should he be afraid of them?

“Fine,” she allows after a moment. “Just don’t get in the way.”

He nods tightly, and at the agreement, Katara opens her waterskin. She calls the water to her and sets it against Iroh’s the right side of his chest, his robes black and charred. Closing her eyes, she calls out to his chi and focuses her energy on it. She doesn’t know if she can do it, doesn’t know if Iroh is truly too far gone…

After a few long moments, his breathing evens, and Katara sighs. Across from her, Zuko’s features soften just a fraction, but when she meets his eyes, somehow, she knows exactly what they both are thinking, united in nothing but this.

It doesn’t change anything, Katara's thoughts insist as her friends draw closer. Zuko tenses again. It can’t.

[sunfloweraro]

LUtober day 26: Ruins

Warriors is tired. So is Sky. They find comfort in each other.

(Part 2 with comfort)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Sky wasn’t meant to be awake. They finally had the opportunity to sleep at an inn—a safe place, where they could all rest through the night. By all means, he should be taking advantage of such a treat. And yet, his body refused to relax, to settle into the soft blankets and rest. The rest of the group had long-since drifted off by now, and somehow, Sky found himself staring at the ceiling, eyes and chest aching.

Rustling nearby. Sky’s ears flicked in the direction, eyes following in time to see Warriors slip out of the room without a backward glance. Sky waited five, then ten, minutes before he followed their Captain, concern pressing heavy against his chest. A quick glance at the bathroom to confirm it was empty, and he stepped outside, wincing under the bite of the cold and drawing his sailcloth close. The night was dark, the moon covered by dense clouds, but Warriors hadn’t gone far; Sky spotted him sitting atop one of the many, many ruins littering Wild’s era, swallowed up by crumbling stone and splintered wood and looking too small for someone normally larger than life itself.

“Can’t sleep?” Sky asked as he drifted over to his friend, his fatigue making him feel like a ghost. Warriors flinched, head whipping up, eyes meeting Sky’s briefly, just long enough for Sky to realise why Warriors was out here in the first place. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hurried over, settling alongside Warriors, the sight of his tear-stained face one Sky knew he wouldn’t easily forget.

Warriors said nothing. When Sky reached out to touch his shoulder, Warriors shied away from the contact. Something heavy settled in Sky’s gut.

“Wars?”

“I’m—Don’t worry, Sky. I’ll be back inside in a minute.”

“Nonsense,” Sky huffed. “Something’s wrong.” He was stating the obvious, but he was much too exhausted to be delicate, much too…

Warriors sighed. “I’m so tired.”

…tired.

“I tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t calm down—it’s like we’re in the middle of a fight. I think… I think all these months are starting to catch up to me.”

A sad sound escaped Sky and he shifted closer, not yet touching, but supportive all the same. Warriors inhaled, as if to apologise, but Sky spoke first, his voice soft, fragile: “Me too.” Just the admission left his eyes burning with tears, his breath hitching.

“Sky…?”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Sky confessed, eyes firmly in his lap. “And yet I’m so tired.” His eyes slipped shut, warm tears trailing down his cheeks, emotions that had been pushed to the side for far too long brimming to the surface.

Warriors sniffled, nudged him in the side now that he knew he wouldn’t be judged. “What a pair we make,” he joked weakly, his voice breaking as more tears escaped. Sky leaned against his friend in response, an exhausted sigh escaping him. He wouldn’t break down, wouldn’t sob or shout. He was too drained, too strung out from months of adventuring, of keeping it all together, to do anything more than let the tears slip down his cheeks, pattering to the ground.

Warriors hummed in agreement, leaning his head over Sky’s. Tears dripped into Sky’s hair, an assurance that he wasn’t alone in this. Even as more tears spilled down his cheeks under the cover of the night, Sky found a pulse of warmth pressed against his chest, comforting him. He hoped Warriors felt the same.

“What do we do, Sky?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Sky confessed. “Can we stay here a while longer?”

Warriors took in a shuddering breath. Another patter over Sky’s hair. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Thanks, Wars.”

“Same here, Sky.”

“We’ll figure something out. Together.”

“Yeah,” Warriors said, his voice more hopeful than Sky had heard it in weeks. “Together.”

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Prev

Trespasser, In Which Jak Gets Another Bad Idea

When he'd hastily redressed and stumbled out of the garrison locker room before anything else could happen, Jak quickly found himself confronted by that Strom guy again.

"An hour? Really?" Strom pursed his lips disapprovingly. "You think we have some magic supply of water to spare?"

"Lay off, we weren't washing for an hour -- much as I'd love to," Daxter argued, "The big guy fell asleep!"

"In the shower? Isn't that dangerous?"

Jak shrugged. "How would I know?"

Strom decided after a moment that this fell under the category of "none of my business". He sighed and waved for Jak to follow him.

"The king says we're to put you up in the barracks for now." He eyed Jak's face, somewhat startled by how much younger he looked under the dirt. "How old are you?"

Jak shrugged. "Midway through seventeen-ish. I think. My "guardian" wasn't exactly a reliable source."

More things to file under "none of my business"

"Oh...kay..." Strom did his best to move past one or two odd questions surfacing in his mind. "Well that narrows down which dorm you're in, at least."

"How so?"

They stepped back out into the late afternoon heat, onto the main road through the Gate District. The burning sun barely touched Jak, deflected by his wet clothes as if he were wearing his own air conditioning. He decided to pretend it had been intentional. Just in case someone asked why his clothes were all wet.

They were led towards the end of a row of houses built into the city wall, leading to an impressibly high flight of stairs into some kind of coliseum. Strom did his best to explain as he led them up the stairs, but he wasn't usually the guy they called for rookie orientation for a reason.

"It's um. So- okay look. The Arena sublevels are divided into three floors: the hospital, the armory, and the barracks. Barracks are split between militia, citizen candidates, and teenage Squads."

He didn't explain Squads.

"You're going to end up in that last one -- probably Dorm 4, that's where they put orphans or unregistered foundlings."

"Orphans?!" Daxter chirped indignantly. Then he paused. "I mean. I guess it's accurate, but you didn't have to say it!"

They didn't end up in Dorm 4.

The Resident Advisor took one look at the slightly dusty, slightly soggy, boy and ottsel and assigned them to an empty bunk in the second hall, Dorm 2. Jak was handed a canteen and a folded set of sheets before being unceremoniously ushered down the hall and into a sparse dorm room holding two bunk beds. For the moment, it was empty.

"Lights are out at 9 bells, no exceptions unless you got a case of the screaming meemies," the RA said gruffly. He pointed at a bottom bunk without sheets -- Jak's, apparently.

"You're responsible for keeping that bunk at least clean enough to pass weekly room checks. Check the schedule on the wall if you want to know when mess hall is open. If you miss that, you can hit the markets, but you're on your own for paying for it."

Jak eyed the bunk uncomfortably. He was responsible for maintaining this bed? He probably wasn't even going to be here that long! He cringed when the RA pushed a twelve by six metal box across the floor with a terrible scratching sound.

"That's your footlocker. If you want a lock, get it yourself. You kids keep losin' em and now we're out." The RA snorted. "But most of the squad in your room is on home rotation this week, so you only have to worry about maybe Sam stealing your stuff. He won't, by the way. Too busy training."

He turned to go, then turned back quickly. "Oh. Gotta confiscate your gun mods, so don't lose your marbles when you get your gun back plain."

"The rot you do!" Jak protested, "I earned those!"

"Don't care." The RA shrugged. "None of your dormmates have and I don't want 'em getting ideas about "borrowing" em."

With a stern warning not to start any fights, and to not miss allotted mealtimes if he didn't want to go hungry, the RA keft Jak alone with Daxter. They stood in the center of the room, blinking incredulously.

"Well..." Jak said after several seconds, "It's not a cell."

"Or an alley," Daxter agreed.

He hopped down and examined the mattress. Nothing fancy, but it was miles better than they were used to.

"Here, gimme the fitted sheet."

"What's a fitted sheet?"

"The one with the stretchy corners." Daxter pointed. "That's the one that goes on the bottom. Wraps around so it don't get pulled off if you roll around a lot."

"...oh. Weird."

Jak handed the thing to Daxter and watched in fascination as his friend set about attaching one corner at a time. It looked difficult.

Before he could offer help, his talk-box activated. That was a bit of a surprise. They'd been traveling for two days already and nobody had made a peep. Daxter had thought they'd have noticed the first time he turned off the location tracker!

"Jak! Jak, where are you?!"

Samos. Jak's stomach churned.

"Don't know," he answered flippantly. "I think we just got put in an orphanage."

"Don't be ridiculous! Get out of whatever nonsense you two knuckleheads have walked into and get back to Main Town! Something is going on, and I need time to investigate without those blasted Deathbots shooting at me!"

"Life's hard."

"What did you just say?"

Jak scoffed, feeling a little of the bubbling anger of dark eco in his core.

"You can't handle a little gunfire? You didn't have an issue making a couple kids walk into it daily. You'll figure it out."

"How can you say something so horrible to me?! I raised you to be a hero, Jak! You sound like that mercenary!"

Jak snorted."Well good. Sig's the only adult in that city I still trust."

Samos sputtered for several seconds in helpless, bewildered anger. Then he gathered himself.

"Get over yourself, Jak! Lives are at stake! I don't care what you're playing at, you turn around and get back here before something worse happens!"

Jak rolled his eyes. The sage sounded like Ashelin. He tossed Daxter the top sheet and studied the foot locker, wondering if he should use it.

"Nah, can't."

"What do you mean "can't?"

Jak shrugged as if Samos could see him. As if Daxter hadn't placed a piece of tape over the lens when he got tired of the spying.

"Oracle says I'm not done out here. Wherever "here" is. Lay off, wouldja? The Precursors sent me out here!"

He listened to Samos's stunned silence a moment before dryly asking, "Did you think they only spoke to Onin, or-?"

"But-" the old sage stammered, "But why would the Precursors send you from us when our need was greatest?"

"Probably because yours isn't the only city in the world? There are other people out there, Haven can get over itself," Jak flung the sage's words right back at him.

"What makes you think there's anything beyond the walls other than ruined wastes?"

"Those eco shipments for Praxis were coming from somewhere," Jak reasoned. Then his voice darkened to match his mood.

"There's no law that says I can't investigate. Sandover may have turned into Haven, but that doesn't mean I'm chained to it. You people already tried that, remember?"

"Jak!"

"I think the Precursors want me to find out who else survived," Jak said, though he wasn't sure that was it at all.

"I'll let you know if I find any sages."

"But Jak-!"

"Have to go, Samos. That hall monitor guy didn't say comm calls weren't allowed in the dorms but I need this thing, so I'm not taking chances."

He ended the call before Samos could make more than an outraged cough. When he looked down, Daxter was watching him with a funny expression.

"What?" he asked, a bit defensively.

"Nothin," Daxter said, unconvincingly. Then he gave a bittersweet grin. "Just never heard you stand up to Loghead like that before."

Jak looked away. "Should've been fighting him from day one. Like you. You knew he was bad news from the start, didn't you?"

Daxter rubbed his arm ruefully. "I um. I don't got a lot of memories of my folks. I was pretty little when the shark got em. But I remember my old man saying "Never trust a man who won't apologize to a kid", and then Samos came through dragging you. An'...an' you cried that whole first day, kept pointing to the sky and making a circle with your arms. And Samos ignored you."

Jak swallowed hard. "I don't remember that," he said softly. "Or much of Sandover at all now."

He sat down on the floor next to Daxter. The thanks he'd given Samos just weeks ago sat sour in his stomach. The real person he should've thanked had been right there beside him and he'd overlooked him just like Samos always did.

"Daxter?" he said gravely, "Thank you. For everything. All of it. I wouldn't be here without you."

Daxter leaned against his shoulder. "Well duh," he joked, trying to lighten a somber moment, "Heroes don't leave their sidekicks with weirdos! It goes against the bro code!"

Then he sobered.

"For the record, I don't blame ya for not knowing he had his hooks in ya. He um. I mean, you were real little, y'know? I think you maybe stuck with him at first because he was the only familiar face, and he used that against ya."

Jak laughed bitterly. "I wonder if I'd have had the guts to say all that if he was actually here?"

Daxter recognized the beginning of a spiral and elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Well he ain't! And we're not gonna will that into existence with what-ifs!"

He scurried up onto the bunk and spread out in the middle of the mattress.

"Ahhhh! Hey, are you gonna know which morph gun is ours when we get the key to that gun locker?"

Jak pushed him to one side and, after a moment's debate, unlaced his boots.

"The stock on mine looks striped because of all the tally marks on it. The others are completely blank."

"Oh! Didn't see that!"

Reluctantly, Jak took off his goggles and gauntlets and dropped them into the foot locker. At least if it didn't have a lock, he could get them back out at a moment's notice. His knife and amulet he kept on him.

The Call hadn't subsided. He still felt it, and he still didn't know what it meant. So for now, that seemed to mean staying in this hostel/barrack/orphanage combination with more Wastelanders than he'd ever known existed. At least they were Wastelanders and not soldiers. He would've slept on the streets before letting them put him in a dorm with soldiers.

The wall schedule said that the cafeteria didn't open until 6 bells after noon. That left roughly an hour before they could find out if they were allowed to take anything from it.

For a time, Jak occupied himself by polishing his channeling ring with his damp scarf. Daxter tried and failed to braid Jak's hair, but the condition it was in was just too poor.

"Pal," Daxter said reluctantly, "I don't think these mats are comin' out."

Jak sighed in resignation. He'd wanted to avoid this -- the only haircut he could remember had been a traumatic buzzcut because a KG accidentally spread bugs through the cell block -- and got himself a spot in the cell two doors down from Jak when the bugs spread to Errol. (Who was absolutely hideous with a buzz cut, and was in utter anguish about his "beautiful hair". Couldn't have happened to a nicer person. It had been the absolute highlight of Jak's entire year.)

Jak took his knife, sheath and all, from the back of his belt and held it out to Daxter.

"Do what you gotta do," he groaned, "Just don't cut it all off."

The roommate who wasn't on "home rotation", whatever that was, came back midway through the haircut. In his state of exhaustion, he didn't actually see Daxter.

"Your...hair is falling off," he mumbled in confusion.

"It's on purpose," Jak said.

"Oh."

Sam leaned against the door to pry off his boots, then blinked.

"Wait, what?"

"He's getting a haircut, doofus!" Daxter sniped.

"Ohhhhkay, the kangarat is talking." Sam dropped his boot and stared with very wide eyes. "Cooooolll coolcoolcool everything's cool."

"Ottsel, not rat," Jak corrected. "Daxter is sensitive about that."

"...uh-huh..."

Sam swung a gear bag up over the top of the top bunk bed post. With little effort, he swung himself up the ladder after it. Apparently he shared the bunk Jak had been assigned.

"Are you new? I don't remember you," he yawned.

"First day here," Jak admitted, "still dunno what's going on."

Silence for a few seconds. Then, "So...does that mean you came from Outside?"

"I guess? Don't know how I got here from Haven, but I'm not complaining."

"Oh."

Sudden Sam was leaning over the rail of the bunk, spiky blonde hair falling in his face.

"No kidding? Me too! I mean, I ran away from Kras, but. Stowed away on a cargo ship and got caught at the docks."

Kras. The name was familiar. Something to do with racing, but Jak hadn't been paying attention.

"So you planning on the Arena too?" asked Sam.

"I still don't know what the Arena is," Jak said pointedly. "Is it for races?"

"See, that's what I thought at first!" Sam exclaimed, "But apparently the only races they do in there are Leapers. It's kinda a community place? Big meetings, festivals, executions, games, theater, combat trials-"

"Festivals?" Jak was mildly intrigued.

"Executions?!" Daxter was not.

"Yeah man. Though to be fair, there's so many ways to die normally outside the walls that it takes a lot to get the death sentence around here. You have to do something really bad for Lord Damas to kill you himself. Like "engaged in the slave trade" or "abused a kid" or "betrayed the city to enemies" kind of bad. Stuff that dishonors a warrior's name for life. Otherwise he gives you a chance for pardon in combat trials."

Jak squinted up at their temporary roommate. "How...does that work, exactly?"

Sam rolled back onto his mattress with a noncommittal sound.

"Depends on whatcha did I think. Smaller offenses you gotta fight a metalhead. Bigger offenses get you more than one metalhead. If it's bad but not death sentence bad, you fight other Wastelanders who already know how you fight."

"Remind me not to get on these guys' bad sides," Daxter stage-whispered.

"So then why would I enter the Arena if I didn't do anything wrong?" Jak pushed.

"Oh yeah, that's the other thing. Civvy candidates who want to be permanent residents gotta prove they can survive the three main dangers of the Wasteland: enemy shooters, treacherous terrain, and lava. So the king makes us do combat trials simulating those conditions until he's satisfied that we won't like. Immediately die if he lets us outside."

Jak considered this for a moment.

"Fair enough," he decided.

"No??? It's not??" Daxter finished slicing off the last mat and gave Jak an appalled look. "Precisely none of that is normal!"

Jak swept the clumps of hair onto the floor and leaned back to let Daxter continue braiding what was left.

"So...you prove you can handle yourself, and they let you stay?"

Sam reappeared over the rail. "Well, you also gotta prove you're willing to work. They don't like lazy people out here, everybody does at least one thing that keeps Spargus operational, even if it's just sweeping the sand out of the stables -- which is about all they let me do on account of last time-"

"What happened last time?" Daxter asked as he finished tying off three fishbone-braids.

They could almost hear the wince.

"I...kind of...failed so hard at wall patching that I dropped an entire bucket of wet clay on a district representative. He got a concussion. It was bad."

There was a chagrined silence, but then Sam rallied. "So yeah, I'm not allowed near construction equipment anymore and I can't switch chores yet. All kids get maximum one job a day, but you get to pick what you do once you either turn nineteen, or get through the third trial."

Wheels were beginning to turn in Jak’s mind. He'd never given much thought to the future, but what if he just. Didn't go back to Haven? What if the crisis ended and he didn't go back? Might be nice to have a place like this on standby.

"So that what the grouch-in-chief said you're training for?" Daxter asked.

"Yep! Already got my first amulet and gun mod!" Sam said cheerfully. "First full trial hurts like a son-of-a-cob, but at least Scatter rounds are non-lethal."

"No they're not?" Jak sputtered.

"Yes they are?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "Scatterguns are what they give kids and civvy candidates because it's not live ammo?"

"No," Jak argued, "You can definitely kill with Scatter rounds. It just takes like six shots."

Sam stared at him with wide eyes.

"What the rot, dude," he whispered.

"What?!"

"You're telling me you've killed people with a practice gun?!"

"Well- well Haven doesn't know they're practice guns!" Jak defended.

"Okay..." Sam grimaced. "Well. Don't do that in your first trial. Only way anyone is supposed to be able to die is if they try to prioritize hunting an opponent over avoiding lava."

"None of this is making me want to try this Arena thing!" Daxter complained.

"What's the second trial?" Jak ignored Daxter's complaints.

Sam looked a little unsure suddenly. "Yellow eco trial. That's um. That's going to be my first combat to the death. And not many candidates signed up for this month's trial so it's just me and three others against a Marauder crew they captured."

"Marauders?"

"Colonists from the mainland," Sam explained. "They're wannabe Wastelanders and I'm pretty sure they're all insane because they run around out there with no shirts, ever. They also run most of the slave trade between Haven and their colony."

Jak's eyes darkened.

"They're slavers?"

"Yep." Sam shuddered. "I've seen some of the survivors brought back when the Wastelanders raid their camps or when Marauder defectors start a riot. They've been through it. And like half the Arena Guard are survivors of the Marauders, so the ring isn't where you wanna end up if you're a blood merchant."

"It's not the guards they should worry about," Jak muttered darkly. Before Sam could ask what he meant, he looked up. "So if you get through three trials, then what?"

"Full rights as a citizen, same as if you were born here."

There was a glint in Jak’s eyes that only Daxter could see, and it Concerned him.

"Ja-aak, nooo-" Daxter groaned, but he knew it was useless.

"I'll go in with you, when they do the trial," Jak offered. "World could always use one less slaver."

"For real?" Sam raised his brows. "You've only been here a day, dude. You need to do some training before you're ready for that."

"Haven's an active warzone," Jak retorted, "and I got forced onto the frontlines for a year. I'll be fine."

"I mean. If you're sure," Sam relented, "I wouldn't mind the company."

"I would," Daxter grumbled under his breath. "I have some objections!"

So, it turned out, did Damas.

[delta-piscium]

@steddie-week day 1: Hunger | 1.1k words cw: light angst in that Steve is a little sad/dealing with some mental stuff but like hurt/comfort (not EDs which mental stuff combined with the prompt word might make it seem like, hunger is used as a metaphor)

Sometimes Steve doesn’t talk to anyone for days. He just shuts himself in his room and hides, barely leaves his bed. Pretends he doesn’t exist, or that time has stopped and he’s the only thing that exists.

Sometimes, he’ll go back too soon, feel bad for the ignored calls and drag himself out of bed to see the people who matter most to him. But it won’t feel warm and soft those times. He’ll be too raw and It’ll feel like they’re grabbing his insides and eating them. Pulling his heart and brain out of his body and devouring them without letting him eat theirs in return. 

Usually, he’s okay with that. He knows his place, he knows that’s what he’s for. For other people to get fed. And he’s happy to feed, to do that for them. 

He loves them, of course he’s gonna give himself over. It’s just that sometimes they take too much. They don’t know they do he thinks, they don’t know they’re eating him alive. That he’s presenting himself on a silver platter and letting them take take take, and that sometimes they take too much.

That’s why he disappears, so he can grow back. So he can give more. Because if he stops giving he's afraid they’ll get tired. He won’t be useful, he can’t give when he’s like that. He starts craving, he starts wanting. He feels starved and wants to take and feed too, and that’s not part of the deal. He’s not supposed to eat, he’s supposed to be eaten. So when he turns hungry and ravenous he hides, he isolates. 

Robin is the only one who truly gets this about him, who doesn’t take and demand. She gently accepts the things he gives and never without giving too, forcing him to stay whole. It’s overwhelming and sometimes he has to hide from that too, he doesn’t know how to deal with the force of it. He’s so used to the constant hunger it’s a shock when it’s gone but he’s gotten better. And anyway, he and Robin are part of one whole so whatever is given or taken between them is never really gone. It stays with both of them.

Robin is the only one, or she was the only one he should say. Because now there’s Eddie. Eddie who gives and gives and gives, almost as much as he does. But who doesn’t seem to dwindle and dim like Steve does. Who doesn’t seem to starve or hunger. Eddie who notices when Steve does, when he stumbles and gets greedy. Who holds him up and makes him whole with a look, a touch, a word. 

Eddie who breaks in through his window when he shuts himself in his big empty house and lays with him in his bed, softly telling Steve stories and running his fingers through his hair. 

It’s wonderful.

It's the worst. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna end up as empty as me,” Steve tells him, whispers it into the dark. “That you’re here now and you’re giving and I’m taking and you’re gonna be the one left with nothing.” 

Eddie doesn’t respond immediately but hums in acknowledgment, lets him know he heard and is thinking. 

“This is good for me too,” he says eventually, “being with you and resting. Getting to be here for you when you never used to let anyone but Robin be. It’s good for me too.” 

“It can be good and still drain you.” Says Steve, knows it to be true. He doesn’t resent giving the way he does, he loves it, it’s good. It drains him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “this doesn’t drain me, you’re comforting me too. It’s balanced.” 

Balanced. That’s what Robin tells him too. That’s what Nancy sometimes asked him for when they dated and he couldn’t let her see the cracks. That’s what he wonders about with his other friends. 

He doesn’t usually know how to do that. He doesn’t know where the lines are. He doesn’t understand how Eddie knows. 

“You let me give, and I let you give, so it’s balanced. We don’t take from each other, we gift and we receive. It’s balanced. You have to let other people give sometimes too, Steve.” 

It hits something deep in him, the last words. He knows this, he doesn’t want to know it. 

“I’m afraid they won’t. if I open myself up to it. If I ask, I’m afraid they won’t.” He says it so quietly it’s almost inaudible but Eddie hears. 

His hands still in Steve’s hair for a moment before moving again, gently scratching his scalp. 

“I know baby. But that’s not fair, they want to give too. If they knew how much they took without giving back they’d be heartbroken. It’s not fair to you or them.” 

Steve lets Eddies words wash over him, he knows he’s right. They’d be nauseous with it. His sweet wonderful friends and family would be crushed.

“Sometimes it will happen, maybe,” Eddie continues when Steve doesn’t respond beyond a sharp breath in. “Sometimes people won’t know how to give after only getting but you gotta let them try. Sometimes they’ll learn and adjust, sometimes they won’t and you’ll have to deal with that. But you can’t starve yourself like this because you won’t let them try.” 

"What if I take too much?"

"Then they talk to you, like you should talk to them."

“When did you get so wise,” Steve snorts, his voice is tight but he makes the effort, tries to lighten the mood. Deflects, like he always does. 

Eddie lets him, a little, knows Steve has to. But he’s still serious when he answers.

“Wayne is like a never-ending well of insight and digging around in everything, never lets me get away with shit.” 

The opposite of Steve’s parents who were the first to take from him and never give, never look into his eyes and tell him to eat. 

“He’s a good guy,” Steve tells Eddie instead of weighing him down more than he already has. Instead of acknowledging and relieving the hunger pang that strikes him at the thought. Even now, here, he doesn’t know how. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I’m here to relay his wisdom, like playing telephone with whatever stuff he teaches me. The things your parents took away from you.”

Eddie still knows, of course, he does. He always knows.

“And what do you get?” Steve has to ask.

“I get you. I get everything.”

Steve smiles, turns around to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t feel empty when Eddie kisses him back, hungry. When he takes and devours. 

[froizetta]

Superbat Week Day 2: Ordeals on the Road

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Fandom: DCU Pairing(s): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Length: 5.5k Chapters: 1/1 Summary:

The last time they’d shared a bed, they’d had sex. Afterwards, Clark had lain beside him, the world feeling fuzzy and pleasant in the wake of it. He’d tipped his head towards Bruce to see that stern profile relaxed, hair a mess, skin glowing with exertion, a soft smile playing about his lips.

He was everything Clark wanted. And Clark had thought to himself, very calmly, that he couldn’t do this anymore.

(or: The Only One Bed fic that literally no-one asked for.)

[venice-1987]

TDPtober 2-love

Summary: Corvus reflects on what he loves

Pairings: Soren x Corvus (Of course its Sorvus, its me writing this :P)

There was much traced into the lines of his memory. The way the chill of autumn was drawn into the lungs, refreshing the body from the heat of summer. The way the leaves became dry and brittle underfoot, nourishing the earth for the coming spring. A home in the alleys of trees, off beaten paths and into the thickets, where the greenery sheltered him like a warm blanket. 

He had dedicated himself to remember his parents, the home cooked meals from his father, carefully spooning the dish onto his empty plate. A mother, and her barely contained love in a crushing embrace, laughing as he tried to breathe and flailed, pretending to attempt an escape. He remembered their pride when he was recruited to be among Amaya’s scouts, and the same shine in their eyes when Soren had accepted him as a crownguard. 

And Soren. It felt like if anything had made itself at home in his thoughts, it was him. Some things good. The way he leapt into hugging Corvus in the mushroom forest. Some things bad. The tired lines under his eyes after the return to a burned home. Some things terrible. The wailing sobs, inhuman screams tearing at his throat at the loss of a sister, not literally, but through change. She had become unrecognizable, and he grieved in privacy until Corvus had found him. 

But nothing came close to everything Soren had done in love. It felt as if he tried to forget, that a core part of his mind would be lost, and he wouldn’t be the same, lobotomized and left changed. The laugher Soren always seemed to bring, the smile tugging at his lips when he looked eagerly to see if he had succeeded in bringing a little bit more joy into Corvus’s day. They way he had taken Corvus’s hand, correcting the positioning on the sword, helping him improve a little more. The way he took note of when Corvus was overwhelmed, and the gentle way he guided Corvus to safety. The way he was kind. The way he pushed Corvus to become better just by virtue of being good himself. 

There was one day Corvus would never forget, that encapsulated everything he knew Soren to be. It was a bad day for the both of them. Corvus had taken the destruction of Katolis poorly, the home he had come to love had gone, which made him think of the homes and the people he had left behind. He realized that he had sunken into his solitude too readily, not writing like he should have. The resounding guilt multiplied the tension in his body with the sensory overload that the refugee camp had become that day. But there was ceaseless work to be done, and he ran himself ragged that despite it. 

When he saw Soren around camp, he knew his captain was doing no good either. He wondered if this time, it was because of Viren’s haunting memory, or the lingering reminder of a once familiar Claudia in every broken stone, in every hidden pathway that was not collapsed and used in recovery missions. He had once led Corvus and Opeli and Barius and later the young king Ezran out of those passages. He wondered if, then, Soren had recognized that his family would never be the same as it once did. 

Corvus had returned to their shared tent expecting Soren to be curled on his sleeping mat, wanting to be left in peace. He did not expect Soren to be there with a plate of peanut caramel pies, one of his favorite treats, and some strange looking curved stick with two wads of cotton on either end. He sat crossed legged, his shoulders hunched over in clear fatigue and his smile tired. But it reached his eyes. When he spoke, it carried the weight of the day in its softness. 

“You looked stressed today,” he said. “I asked Barius to make these, and I made this. I call it a noise-stopper. You put it over your ears.” Soren held up his invention, waiting for permission. When Corvus nodded, he leaned forward, setting the cotton pads gently over Corvus’s ears. It did not stop the noise completely, but it provided a hefty shield against what made noise overwhelming in the first place. The texture felt nice on his skin, too, much like the sheep’s soft wool that made the clothes he wore. 

Corvus did not know what to say, so he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Soren’s in a grateful kiss. At that point, their tentative relationship had not gone anywhere past hand holding, and looks that said ‘I’m starting to see you as something different. I’m sorry it took this tragedy to finally notice.’ He did not think the kiss would be rejected, and he was glad to see it returned with the same energy he put into it. Neither was surprised in the development, but it was nice to have confirmation. Their sleeping mats had been gradually drifting closer to each other every night for the past two weeks, and they finally closed the distance completely that day. Corvus’s head tucked into the crook of Soren’s neck as they fell asleep, both knowing they loved, and were loved. 

[rimeswithpurple]

Carry On Countdown Day 27 - Gift