#I'd end the world to let you live just a few minutes longer

[vax-merstappen]

Just home fluff with Max Verstappen, like a cozy Sunday

sundays are for racing (mv1)

ooh i love home fluff!! hope you enjoy this, anon!

summary: it is winter break so max is home this sunday, you decide to show him that it's okay to relax and take some time off.

It was the first weekend after the Formula 1 season had ended. You woke up in the bed you usually slept in alone to see that for the first time in a while, your boyfriend was sound asleep on the other side of the bed. It was comforting to know he was home and that everything in your life was together again.

You sat up and looked to the foot of the bed, seeing that Jimmy and Sassy were curled up between you and Max's legs. Your heart filled with joy, knowing your whole little family was back together. You closed your eyes for a few more minutes, content with your current situation. But then you had the wonderful idea to make breakfast in bed for your boyfriend. He had just finished an intense season of racing where he had won his third world championship. You wanted to do something special for him.

You stretched and climbed out of bed, making your way to the kitchen. The cats followed you and you made sure to put some food in their bowls before getting to work on breakfast for your boyfriend. After investigating the fridge, you decided on some toast and eggs, simple but tasty.

It took you a few minutes to make it, but you then assembled all of the ingredients on a tray along with a glass of milk. Pleased with the results, you went into your bedroom to find that your boyfriend was no longer in bed. Instead, Max was standing up and fully dressed in exercise gear.

"Max..." you said with a sigh. "Why are you going jogging?"

"Because I need to stay in shape," he replied, matter of factly.

"But the season just ended? Surely you can have a lazy day?"

He looked at the plate of food in your hand. "Was that for me?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd make you breakfast in bed so you could relax after the season. A breakfast of champions."

His gaze softened and he smiled at you. "Well I guess I can enjoy that before I jog."

He sat down on the bed and you sat beside him, wanting to be close to your boyfriend after being apart for so long. You were willing to spend any moment with him that you could get, even if it was just watching him eat breakfast.

"Thank you, darling. I wasn't expecting you to make me breakfast."

"Just wanted to do something nice for my handsome, incredible boyfriend. But he almost ruined it by going for a jog on what should be a lazy day," you teased.

"Who said today was supposed to be lazy?"

"I did. I always spend Sundays being lazy, you know, staying cozy in the house before I go back to work on Monday. I always relax on the couch and watch movies or your races."

He seemed thoughtful. "Well Sunday is usually the least lazy day for me. Sundays are for racing."

"Not when you're on break."

Max looked you in the eye. "Well I guess one lazy Sunday won't hurt anyone. You mentioned relaxing and watching movies?"

"I sure did."

"That doesn't sound so bad anymore."

You smiled and hugged Max as he finished the last bite of his food. "Let me show you how it's done. But first you've got to change into comfy clothes and not fitness clothes."

You grabbed his plate and set it in the sink. You could wash it later on a less lazy day. For now, you needed to complete your movie setup. You closed the curtains over the windows that the sun was shining through and you turned on your faerie lights that were strung around your living room. You grabbed the bowl of snacks you kept in the kitchen for such lazy days and set it on your coffee table. Finally, you got out your favorite comfy blankets and set them on the couch. By the time Max had returned wearing sweatpants, everything was set up.

"Wow, you have quite the movie theater", Max commented.

"I set it up since summer break," you explained. "The cozy room makes lazy days just so much better."

"I agree," Max said, joining you where you were seated on the couch. "So what movie are we watching?"

"Maybe Gran Turismo? I heard that was good?"

Max smiled at you jokingly. "I thought Sunday's weren't about racing when I'm on break?"

You rolled your eyes. "This isn't what I meant. But we can watch something else instead? Maybe Top Gun? I love that movie and it's similar to racing?"

Max nodded. "Sounds good to me."

You queued up the movie and leaned back on the couch. Max shifted closer next to you and wrapped his arm around you. You leaned your head on his shoulder and watched as the introduction to the movie began to play. With his other arm, Max grabbed your hand. You stayed together like that, simply enjoying the comfort of each other as the movie played.

---

Later that day, you and Max were now laying horizontally on the couch. Your bodies were so tangled together that getting up would be a struggle later. You were three movies into your movie marathon and you had not stood up from the couch once.

"You were right," Max mumbled into your ear.

"What do you mean?"

"Lazy days are great. Maybe I should spend less days worried about constantly training and more days curled up here with you."

"I would love that, Max."

"Just like I love you."

[jhutchh19992]

Breaking Down His Walls

Plot: you‘re dereks girlfriend & you‘ve never seen his soft side. he‘s just the cold, calculating person you still need in your life. until…

tags: no smut, fluff, angst, needy lover, no gender given, no use of y/n, gnr x derek danforth

Derek Danforth was invincible. Or at least, that’s what he wanted the world to believe.

CEO by day, perfectionist by night. The kind of man who never lost control, never let his guard down. He was my boyfriend, but even with me, he always kept a piece of himself locked away. Every moment was calculated, every touch measured, every kiss deliberate but restrained.

I used to wonder if he was even capable of needing someone—really needing them.

I came home late, the apartment dim except for the faint glow of the city lights spilling in through the windows. Normally, Derek would still be in his home office, working on some impossible deal, but the eerie silence sent a strange feeling through my chest.

Something was off.

I found him in the living room, still in his dress shirt and slacks, but that was where the usual Derek ended. His tie was nowhere to be seen, the first few buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows like he had started to unravel and couldn’t bring himself to fix it.

And then there was his posture.

Derek Danforth never slouched. Never rested his elbows on his knees, his head bowed like the weight of the world had finally become too much.

I hesitated. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and for a brief moment, I considered walking away—giving him the space he never asked for but always took.

But then he sighed, low and ragged, and my heart clenched.

“Derek?” I finally spoke, my voice softer than I expected.

He stiffened at first, but when he lifted his head and looked at me, something in his expression cracked me open.

He looked exhausted. Not just physically, but down to his soul.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he murmured.

The words barely reached me, but they hit like a landslide.

“Can’t do what?” I stepped closer, but he didn’t move.

His fingers rubbed his temples, slow and deliberate, as if trying to ease a pain that had taken root deep inside him. “Any of it. The company. The meetings. The goddamn expectations. I’m supposed to have all the answers, supposed to be—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who I am without all of this.”

I sat down beside him, cautious but close enough that he could feel me there. Derek didn’t talk like this. Ever.

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," I said carefully. "You just have to breathe."

His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he would shut me out like he always did. But instead, his shoulders slumped, and his hands dropped limply into his lap.

Then, without warning, he leaned into me.

Derek never leaned. Never let himself be anything less than composed. But now his forehead pressed against my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin, and his entire body seemed to shudder.

I wrapped my arms around him instinctively, pulling him in. "I've got you," I murmured, running my fingers through his hair.

He let out a shaky breath. "I don't know how to stop, how to—" His voice cracked, and my chest tightened.

"Then let me help," I whispered. "Let me hold you for once."

His hands found my waist, gripping tighter than I expected, as if afraid I'd slip away. He buried his face against my neck, his breathing uneven.

For the first time, Derek Danforth let himself be vulnerable.

And I held him, knowing that no matter how strong he tried to be, even the strongest walls crumble when they’ve been standing alone for too long.

Minutes passed, maybe longer. He clung to me like he was afraid I’d disappear, like if he let go, the weight of the world would crush him all over again. His breathing evened out slightly, but every so often, I felt him take a deep, shaky inhale against my neck, as if trying to ground himself in my presence.

I held him tighter.

His hands roamed—hesitant at first, then firmer, more desperate. His fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, then smoothed over my back, tracing slow, aimless patterns as if memorizing the feel of me.

Derek wasn’t usually touchy. He would hold my hand in public, place a guiding hand on my back, but this? This was different. He was clinging. Needy.

And it broke something in me to realize how long he’d been holding it all in.

I shifted slightly, trying to look at him, but he only pressed closer, like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.

I ran my hand down his back in slow strokes. "You're allowed to rest, Derek."

Another shaky breath. Then, barely above a whisper—so soft I almost didn’t hear it—he said, "I love you."

I froze.

Derek never said those words. He showed affection in subtle ways—making sure I ate when I was busy, placing a hand on my lower back when we walked together, remembering things I mentioned offhand. But this? This was something else.

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His face was inches from mine, his eyes hesitant, like he was bracing for impact.

"You love me?" I echoed, searching his gaze.

His fingers flexed against my waist. "Yeah," he admitted. "I do."

A slow, warm smile spread across my face. "I love you too."

For the first time that night, his body fully relaxed against mine, like the words had given him permission to let go.

And I held him, knowing that this—us—was the one thing he didn’t have to control.

[nownahc]

8 and 25 for the prompt challenge with bang Chan or Lee know? Or whoever you think best! I just live for angst.

four months | bcc.

bangchan x reader

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prompts list send in an ask to request

notes. decided on Bangchan (maybe i was biased haha) hope you liked it, but if you want another angst with Lee Know I'd love to do it too! And thanks a whole lot for your request :)

warnings. angst angst ANGST

prompts. “Were you ever going to tell me?” / “When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!”

Four months.

Four months of what if, of possibilities and plans but most importantly, four months of him.

Late face times that turn in either him or you to fall asleep, a smile adorning the face of the one still awake. Small trinkets bought simply because ‘it reminded me of you’. Brushing hands and lingering glances holding the same shared feeling. Friends gathering that has you both separated, each in your own corner of the room yet, as you look across the room and catch his eyes, for a minute you think ‘this person could love me the way I love him.’

Four months spent thinking that finally, this intimate cocoon, this secret world shared between two being had finally been gifted to you, by him. Since the first words shared, the first eye contacts, he had been nothing but the greatest version of what you had always dreamed of. Both of you had decided to take things slow, to simply feel instead of explaining what was happening. Past experiences had proven you both that rushing into things, especially heart related things, could hurt you more than you could endure.

'Were you ever going to tell me?'

In this fleeting moment though, you don’t think your voice has ever been laced with this much despair, with this much… pleading. Stood before you, Bangchan's head hung low. Out of shame? Out of guilt? That you’ll never know. You rack your brain, your heart, to find out the critical point that led to his change of heart. When had your shared road turned into a split one? You feared for a moment that, the moments when you had gazed at him, eyes full of love, his own eyes were filled with… a much different feeling than yours. What if everything you had noticed, everything you had felt as true, was a simple mirage. Were your eyes deceiving you? Was your heart that foolish that, it didn’t realize? Maybe, it had only been you that thought of it as more than friendship. Maybe it had been you who fallen while he had realized that he could never fall too.

'Tell me you were going to tell me… At least, tell me you weren’t going to just, let me love you.'

Silence.

It’s in this stillness that you start to realize that maybe what hurts more is the fact that, wathever this was, could have escalated to something more. There’s a passing, fleeting thought that crosses your mind: gratefulness. Gratefulness that, at least, you had realized soon enough, as to not cause your heart further pain in the future, that he didn't love you, that he never loved you. How far would he have gone to preserve you, to preserve him? How can someone let a being love that deeply when you know, that deep down, they’ll never love you as much. It feels like you’re going full circle in the stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. And again, in an never ending loop.

Only a few seconds passes yet, it feels like you spent hours eyes fixed on the back of his head. He’s there, yet, it already feels like he's some different place, away from you. He can’t even look at you in the eyes. If only you had known that the last time you had met his gaze would have been your actual last time, you would have let your eyes linger a little bit longer. You don’t even know if you want to understand, to hear his point of view of this story. You dared not know if he had loved you too at some point or if he had never felt as deeply, neither of those two possibilities could ever heal your soul, not even a little bit. Both of you had been foolish, that’s a fact. You for, believing that those four months were just the beginning of something greater, prettier, and him for… whatever went through his mind.

Your entire body grieve his presence. Fingers clenching at the memory of his fingertips brushing against them. Skin tingling at the ghost of his warmth when he was just a little closer then friends should. Brain trying to put in a special folder all the words, promises, compliments, supports he had uttered to you. Oh, how your heart had begged for whatever force was in charge of all this, to not have to grieve him, of all people.

‘When you love someone, you don’t just stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!’

Possibly, that's the thing, you can't just stop loving someone so, it only meant one thing. He never loved you. This fact scares you, it's the undeniable sign that, you'll have to forget, forget him, your feelings, and all the what ifs that used to put a smile on your face even in your darkest days. He’s still there, in front of you, yet he’s already a memory bound to fade. In a few days, you’ll struggle to remember the exact tone of his voice. In a few weeks, the feel of his hands on you will be foreign on your skin. In a few years, even his name might disappear from your brain for a few moments. That’s terrifying.

Legs finally working again, realizing that there was no use to do anything else any more, you internally pray that he’ll keep on staying quiet, gaze lowered on the ground. You fear to hear a small ‘I’m sorry’ or worse ‘I meant everything I said’, because you know that if he did, it’ll be over for you, in more ways than one. So you fasten your pace, carelessly gathering your belongings, not daring to linger around him more, not daring to take the time, that felt like a compensation already, that he had cruelly given you. You wish to never hear his name again, to never see his face again. Not out of despise and hate but, out of shame, out of melancholy. Too terrified to know that he’ll feel what you felt with him with someone else.

Soon enough, when your heart won't long for him anymore, not that it doesn't neet it but because it understood that it can't, you'll realize that he was the perfect prince for the fairytale you dreamed of yet, maybe, you had always dreamed of the wrong fairytale.

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[nobibiname]

Dear Elriels & Nessian lovers,

I wrote a thing. This is my first story I'm sharing with the fandom, and I'd love for you to read it (and tell me what you think).

It's a Nessian fluff One Shot with strong hints of Elriel.

I got this idea a while back, and I loved writing it. 3.4k words took me a month to edit, so if I don't post now, I think I'll spend another month editing.

So I can't promise all of it makes sense, but if you read it I will be forever grateful (not on Ao3 yet) Story continues below the Cut.

Every Waterfall in Prythian

Summary: One evening Cassian's Point of View opens up to a world of infinite possibilities.

Word count: 3385 Warnings: somewhat graphic violence (just at the beginning)

With a spear piercing his throat, Cassian's defiance extinguished into a wisp of air. His head fell limp to the side, with a banality unworthy of the final act of the greatest general in all of Prythian. The pink hue of dawn brushed the horizon and for a fleeting moment the chaos of the battlefield shrunk to nothing but Feyre's piercing scream as the light left his once bright, hazel eyes.

"WHAT?!?!" "Oh no baby, they killed you in this one", Nesta reached behind her and lovingly tapped Cassian's cheek. "I probably would have killed you later," she said offhand. Nesta always chewed on her thumb when engrossed in thought, a persistent habit, that her mother was unable to squash. "YOU… WHAT?"

"I mean, If I was was writing this, I'd really want to drag out the despair, you know? At this point both you and Az are still alive. Which leaves a lot of hope for a final victory. You want to slowly erode that hope for maximal drama. So I would have killed you a few chapters later, and Az towards the end. It nails down the heroic climax for Feyre to bring down Hybern. This pacing is off, what are they even doing?"

Nesta and Cassian have carved out an intimate, domestic habit for themselves. They read the same book together, while she nestled in his lap. When she finished a page, she lightly scratched his arm, and when he did, he'd leave the lightest peck on her temple. It wordlessly let the other know, to turn the page. They never agreed on it, it simply emerged as their sweet, yet practical quirk. It was a silly thing to keep secret, but she cherished it so much she never shared it with her friends or sisters. Nesta had now been scratching at his arm for at least a few minutes.

"You would… what.? Nes, they got so many details of the war wrong… and what kind of historical record is this anyway? I am alive and… and why does Azriel get to live longer?" "This isn't historical Cassian, it's fanficton" she said, clearly not fully invested in the conversation. "Fan.. fiction? what kinds of fans of mine would KILL me? "

"Oh it's all the rage in Day. I guess those nerds in Day Court blow off steam from writing, reading and research, by doing more … writing, reading, and well, research. Though, I have to admit, they are still some of the best writers out there" She said and returned her focus to the text. Feyre was just so good in this one, but the rest?

"So, you're saying, Day Court wants me dead?" His serious tone rattled her out of her head and back into their bedroom. Nesta was unsure if she had heard him correctly, they didn't typically discuss politics in bed … wait, didn't he mean Summer? "Oh no, Cassian baby, it's fanfiction." She gently turned around and give him a soft look. The confusion etched on his face was unmistakable and somewhat adorable. Was this really the first time they've read fanfiction together?

"They write speculative stories about famous fae and events in Prythian, with alternate endings, or even diverge from the facts entirely. And usually with completely made up romances, which is frankly half the point." she sized him up carefully, and decided more explanation was needed. "And nobody actually wants you dead, baby. This is just a common device from the Nestelion stans. They need to get you out of the way for the plot, so it's usually some version of you traveling to faraway lands in search of adventure, or sometimes just killing you" She was casually gesturing while talking, this was no big deal, but when she glanced at him, his gorgeous hazel eyes were as wide as saucers "…but you usually die in an honorable way… majestically…. in battle."

"I prefer to be majestic and alive." Cassian mumbled miserably. "So, what are they making room for anyway?" "Nestalion, Nesta and Helion? It's an imaginary, completely made up ship, baby" "Ha! Dream on! Fat chance! I'd like to see that pompous rake give it a real good shot" The redundant phrasing, the overblown swagger… Nesta knew that Cassian was still confused, but now mostly annoyed.

"So… do we ever get together in these stories? Do they write stories about a 'Cassta'?" he awkwardly used his fingers for quotations. "It's 'Nessian' baby, and yes, though usually as a start to Nestalion stories, or sometimes in a thruple with Az or Thesan. I can't say I encourage this, but people rarely ship anyone already in a relationship. This is just a specialty of those Dawn freaks, they really love a good poly story". Nesta threw her hands up defensively, though if she were a bit more honest, she had read a lot of works from the talented "Dawn freaks" and didn't exactly hate them.

"Where do they get these ideas? And Helion and you make absolutely no sense. Who even wants to read that?" He was looking quite a bit puffed up now. She glanced briefly at the manuscript. She really wanted to finish it this evening, but it was time for some damage control.

He looked so delicious, even when puffed out like a tropical bird. Though, his wings were fanning out further than she knew was comfortable for him while lying on the bed. Nesta could definitely help him relax, and she didn't mind this kind of reading break. Lying on his chest now, she tenderly traced her fingers on his jaw while peppering his neck with little kisses.

"Baby, it's Day!" she said as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "They have been writing fanfiction of Helion for centuries in Day Court, it's nothing new. The only thing they love more than their High Lord is worshipping him in writing. They ship him with practically anything with a pulse. They are total, pathetic simps. There's even stories shipping him with the Suriel! The man is insatiable, everybody knows it, and that's how they like him. Do you know how many works of fiction begin, or end with the sentence 'Daddy's home' ? They could dedicate another library to that!" "A small, local library?" every word was punctuated with annoyance. No. "Sure."

Nesta locked into his eyes with a wicked smirk. She saw his lip twitch for a split second. So, he was going to keep pouting for a bit longer. That was fine with her, she could play this game blindfolded. As a matter of fact, she sometimes did.

"It's nothing to worry about baby," She kissed his cheek. "Ever since the war, me and Elain have been the newest hot fae in town" She kissed his jaw, humming with delight for good measure. "Of course we show up in freaky fanfics all the time." She sucked on the delicate spot right under his ear. "Besides, the whole Nestalion vs. Ellion shipwar will end the moment the next hot young babe arrives. An actress, a singer, a young princess coming of age. Tale as old as time." She traced her nose down his neck with a tiny bite and a long kiss at his base of his neck . "Wait, Elain?? Our sweet Elain? "

Really? Now? "There are Elain and Helion stories? Well, what the hells happens in them?" She looked up at him again, a little surprised at all this interest in fanfiction. Generally speaking, Nesta got a kick out of reading any type of story about herself, but she had absolutely no patience for badly written Elain stories. She might have sent anonymous, but strongly worded letters to the editors of the prythian fanfiction archive expressing her displeasure at the truly rotten ones. They might have guessed the identity of the disgruntled reader.

"Well, some version of a magical long forgotten spell frees her from her mating bond, or sometimes Helion finds it in a scroll in a secret room in a library, then he and Elain fall in love. Usually because by accident they both go swimming in the moonlight in the same waterfall, or river, lake, lily pond. People love a lily pond in romance." As did she.

"That's utterly ridiculous. There's no such magic!" Correct, that was the ridiculous bit "Ok, so what about these Nestalion stories? Does he sweep you off your feet at some fancy ball? " he pursed his lips as he pointedly looked at her. "Oh no no, there's no balls. Usually we go on a secret quest to find a scroll or some eldritch magical artifact, and then it rains one night, and we have to stop at an inn. Of course the last remaining room has only one bed. And well… "

"ONLY. ONE. BED!" For a brief moment, Nesta panicked at her shortage of tact. Though, before she could even protest, Cassian burst out laughing. "So you're telling me, the only reason big Daddy Helion has a chance with even a fictional you, is that through a complicated series of events, you accidentally end up in the same bed?" "Well… yeah" She couldn't decide if she was more amused or relieved at this turn of events. Was Cassian actually enjoying this? She felt his roaring laughter through her entire chest, and it would have been comforting if he wasn't shaking the bed. Though she warmed up to the idea of shaking the bed more. Fingers slowly sliding down towards the buttons on his tunic, she kissed the top of his chest.

"So, Elain and waterfalls, huh" She passed her tongue along the swirl of an inky black tattoo, as she fiddled with the first button. "Oh yes, that one is very poplular. Elain and Helion have made love under every waterfall in Prythian." The second button relented. "What? Even in Winter?" Cassian scoffed dramatically. "Especially Winter." she sucked lightly on the skin of his chest. She was leaving blooming marks tonight. "Ok, how do you make love in a frozen waterfall?" Cassian lifted his right arm behind his head and got that adorable quizzical look on his face. She could take a moment to explain that, afterall she secretely loved the waterfall trick.

"You see, Helion has this spell, to allow the frozen water to pass around them, in these crystalline blue ice flowers and she's completely enchanted by their beauty. Also Elain nearly freezes to death, but is rescued by the warmth of his body and he's actually surprisingly romantic with her" Satisfied that the matter had finally been put to rest, Nesta resumed her exploration and hummed into his chest as she traced a hand along the muscles of his arm.

"Ok, but how did she get there?" "Cassian!!" I'm trying something here It was her turn to be annoyed, as she looked up to face him. "You said, they arrive and swim at the lake, or waterfall, separately, and accidentally at the same time. So, before the meeting, how was Elain hoping to swim under a frozen waterfall?" Was it her imagination or was she being… postponed? "I guess, … she was upset because Tarquin ends things with her for some reason of royal duty. She's heartbroken, and craves the opposite of Summer, so she goes exploring the glacial beauty of Winter's wilderness" The End. Can we move this along now?

"Tarquin now?" Nesta's sighed. "Yeah well, Summer is baffling. For a culture with no reason to wear many clothes, you wouldn't believe how prim and proper they are. Obsessed with courtly love and slow burn. Nothing good ever happens until promises are made. Bunch of prudes!"

"You know Nes, I've never pictured Elain with someone like Helion." Cassian mused, suddenly very pensive. Oh? "Really? Who did you picture her with then? " She sat up a bit trying to appear casual.

"Well I guess, if it weren't for her bond, maybe someone like Tarquin? He's uptight, but besides that they have a similar nature." Nesta wasn't entirely convinced this unusual pairing wasnt motivated by his desire to get back into Summer Court.

"But I guess to me it's always been Feyre and Rhys, and then you and me…", he looked at her meaningfully, "the epic legend of 'Nessian'. And then there's Elain and… ha! I almost said Az!" Nesta observed him with unusual quiet as he chuckled at his own slip up. In the unlikely event he knew something that she didn't, Nesta wondered how to pry it out of him. "Yes, that is silly." It was unconvincing, but Cassian didn't seem to notice.

"And what about my dear sweet brothers?" He gave her that naughty schoolboy look of his that she pretended not to adore. "Obviously people are kind of careful around Rhys. He's got a reputation after all. There's some dark romances from some anonymous writers. It's bold, but not as popular" "Aw poor Rhysie, not so many fans for him" Nesta shrugged at that.

"And Azriel? Are you telling me Prythian likes to write erotic stories about Az?" Gods yes, ALL of Prythian "Yes, some of Prythian" His gring grew in devilish proportions. "And this is popular in?" "The lunatics in Winter Court. It's always about shirtless winter sports with them. Brutal skating competitions on frozen lakes. The lovers are always some sort of athletic rivals." Nesta rolled her eyes. Winter has really allowed themselves to become predictable. "Bizzarely, also Spring. The Calanmai stories are… vivid and elaborate. As are the ones on, Samhain, Imbolc, Lughnasadh , the solctices, the equinoxes, any minor feast. Really, any excuse for … large group activities." "And Autumn?" "Never met a kink they didnt like." Cassian's laughter boomed through the room, large and indecent. Nesta thoroughly enjoyed his contradictions; this giant, formidable winged fae, captivated and earnest about sharing her fanciful interests. She gave him a big smile as she slowly wound her finger around one of his raven locks.

"Does he know?" "Yes, but I wouldn't mention it to him." Cassian was positively giddy, and somehow looked more wicked than Nesta had ever seen. "Cass I'm serious. He's aware, but very touchy about it. Last time I casually mentioned it I didn't see him for a week. The first thing he said to me afterwards was a lot of mumbling, which sounded an awful lot like 'saucy wench'. " "From what I'm hearing, the only saucy wench in Az's life is Thesan and I'm guessing…. also Helion?" "Yes, there are Azlion stories as well. Did you even have to ask? No waterfalls though." Nesta sighed deeply. "I mean it, Cassian, he is very sensitive on the subject." "Why though? Unless they're killing him too, it's kind of, flattering no? " "Oh I don't know… It's Az. He has his reasons"

Nesta recalled that one day in Elain's kitchen, sitting on the counter and kicking her feet as she shared her thoughts on the most recent Ellion story. The plot annoyed her, the twist was utterly predictable, the pacing was wrong, and she was incensed. Elain deserved better storytelling than that. She didn't even think Elain was listening. Pretty sure she tuned her out completely whenever Nesta went on about fanfiction, making a sharp point to focus on whisking, folding, measuring and … whatever tinkering baking seemed to involve. Which was the whole reason Nesta was spending the morning in the kitchen. Sunday was for breakfast buns, and this week they were lemon cream, her favorite. She was damned if she was to miss out on her batch, knowing otherwise Azriel would swoop in and devour it without a shred of remorse.

And there he was, walking into the kitchen. Elain smiled shyly, as Az all but ignored Nesta. Sitting pretty on the counter between them, Nesta's head whipped from one to the other as they said hello. She observed nothing extraordinary, just polite, proper greetings, small, polite smiling, and polite questions about today's variety of polite breakfast buns. "They'll be cool in another half an hour" Again, nothing but the quietest smile from her lovely sister. Nesta narrowed her eyes hoping for some glimmer of recognition of Elain's tells. Nothing. There was either nothing to see or Elain had gotten even better at slipping through the cracks with her true thoughts and feelings undetected. "That's alright, I don't mind. I'll wait with you two"

Oh, so he did notice her. "Morning Nes!" He said as if she had been the rude one. Az moved to the little kitchen table and opened the Sunday Velaris Times. Nesta was more than happy to continue with her fanfiction tirade. And oh, they just had to hear about this incredibly well written, steamy story involving Az and a beautiful fae girl from Summer Court. She was downright obsessed, and hadn't even read formally published work as good as this in a long while. This was the kind of story that Elain deserved.Maybe she should reach out to the writer with an idea for a story about Elain, and "then we can finally read something of quality". She was already half way through the very salacious plot, working up to the bedrom scene, when she realized the uncomfortable quiet settling into the kitchen. Elain was pretending to wipe a bowl, that was clearly both clean and dry. It had still managed to slip her fingers and fall with several ungraceful clangs on the kitchen floor. "Oh my, well I guess it's a clumsy morning for me" Elain was rarely this ruffled anymore.

Az went professionally still, no longer flipping through the paper. And while his expression didn't reveal a single change, his shadows swirled in what seemed like annoyance. As much as mysterious shadows could be annoyed, Nesta supposed. The rest was incoherent mumbling. After Az grabbed his share of the breakfast buns in a neat cloth covered dish, he thanked Elain at least twice and actually flew out of the kitchen. Elain threw her a look that was somehow both dirty and embarrased. "Get off the counter…" struggling to be unpleasant, Elain's attemp at a bark came out as more of a yip. "… please, Nesta." Elain promptly handed her a dish of lemon cream breakfast buns, and with some flimsy excuse about proper cleaning, tossed Nesta from the kitchen.

"Yes, so they both appeared annoyed. I wouldn't say they're into fanfiction" She had left out some curious details and her suspicions, but gave Cassian the gist of "Neither Elain nor Azriel cared much for fanfiction"

Nesta had wondered about that interaction ever since. Why did it always feel like there is some quiet, even unspoken conversation she wasn't privy to, going on with these two?

Nesta always felt that she knew her sister and her manner of soft, nuanced interaction with the world. Was she mistaken? She could only speculate Elain's feelings flowed deeper, and warmer than polite conversation would have you believe. She had her theories, but had made it a point to keep them to herself.

"Huh, strange that." Cassian didn't appear to give it much thought, because he finally looked down at her nestled in his chest with a different kind of grin.

"So Nes, I wonder, have you gotten any interesting ideas to explore from these… bracing stories?" Definitely, at least the first couple pages of a long collated list. "Maybe… I might have?"

"You know, Nes, I noticed this room has only one bed." Cassian raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

"Did you, now?" She giggled and felt the kind of brilliant levity that a life with Cassian always promised. "Mhm" His voice lower now, for a moment he just sat perfectly still and smoldering.

Before there was any room for protest, he suddenly grabbed her and in one fell swoop, flipped them around. Nesta gasped at the pure stealth and agility of the move. The war general with the confidence that came from generations of training was hovering mere inches above her and every muscle, every inch of her skin burned with excitement. Her breath hitched in anticipation and she tossed the manuscript haphazardly into a corner of the room.

"You know something else? " He whispered temptingly in her ear. "Tell me" "Daddy's home."

Their joined laughter exploded through the room, before he finally captured her mouth in a wild and promising kiss.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Ghost of You | J. Miller (Chapter One)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Female Reader

Word Count / 3.4K

Warnings / soft!Joel, reader is a widow, in depth discussions and descriptions of grief and depression, will have eventual smut, SLOW BURN.

Authors Note / I AM SO PROUD OF THIS LITTLE STORY YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I've wanted to write soft!Joel for so long so I hope you love it as much as I do! If you do enjoy it, reblogs, asks and likes are my drug so I'd love to know what you think! Also considering following for more!

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. There were days that you couldn’t bring yourself to throw back the sheets of your bed and get up. For the first month, you think you managed to shower three times. No point if no-one was going to see you. You hadn’t left your house since the day of the funeral, life had become a monotonous circle of waking up, soaking your pillow with tears until you made yourself sick, throwing on the same clothes as before and then doing the same thing but led on the couch. 

People had reassured you it would get easier. That each day it would subside, little by little, and you cursed them for being right. The longer you sat with your misery, the easier it became. One morning, a few months ago, you remember waking up, only this time you didn’t roll over and place your hand on the empty side of the bed and cry when you realized your husband wasn’t there anymore. You got up and showered, taking 15 minutes to brush the matted mess of your hair, and you dressed in new clothes. 

You managed to walk to the market hall and purchase food with your ration cards and Maria had almost fallen over when she saw you in the aisle. That was the worst thing though. You’d been absent from life in Jackson for almost six months, and whenever you left your house people looked at you. Some still had those sympathetic eyes, telling you they were sorry for your loss, but there were the others who judged you. How pathetic you were for falling into despair like you had. 

It wasn’t as if he’d met a violent end, he was quite lucky, actually. In this world death came at the hands of evil, whether it was being taken and tortured by raiders, or torn limb from limb by infected. Your husband had died peacefully, drifting off in his sleep in the hospital. The doctors had said it was cancer, which seemed painfully unkind to him. He’d never smoked in his life and was probably the healthiest person you’d ever known, but when was life ever fair? 

You could tell they whispered once you’d passed. How dare she be so upset when my husband was killed on patrol? How lucky you were to have been able to say goodbye and hold his hand as he passed, when someone else turned into one of those things all alone. So now it wasn’t grief that kept you behind closed doors, but shame. Shame at knowing you thought they were right, that not being able to pull yourself together was selfish. Selfish to all the people who had managed to carry on with their lives after losing someone, selfish to the community for not being able to pull your weight. You were stuck and you had no idea what to do about it. 

The only way you could face leaving your home these days was on Maria’s comforting arm. She’d been your friend for years, she and Tommy seemingly the only people who understood you. Didn’t force you to do anything, let you come to your own decisions when you felt ready. No-one would dare look at you or speak in hushed tones whilst she was around. 

The sun was soaking Jackson now, it was summer, and you were grateful for the warmth of the sun on your skin, everything felt better with the sun on your back. With summer came one of your favourites of life’s simple pleasures. Strawberries. In the market you picked up as many as you could purchase after buying your essentials. Maria walked you home, helped you put away everything and then left with a comforting hug. 

You carefully placed a large handful of the fruit in a bowl, rinsing it under running water. You were about to sit down on your couch to eat them, but the sun was filtering invitingly through your front windows. You stripped off your jacket, leaving you in your simple tank top and jeans before opening your front door to sit on the bench on your porch. You had sunglasses resting on your face, Tommy had found them on a patrol trip a few months ago and you were grateful for the safety you felt from them. People couldn’t walk past and meet your eye. 

You were finishing your third strawberry when Tommy walked past, a man you didn’t know on his left shoulder. He took a look to your house and smiled on seeing you sat in a patch of sunlight, he waved, which you return, then he turns to the mysterious man on his left to say something before they start walking over. 

“It’s good to see you out, honey,” He smiled, walking to lean over the railing of your porch, “What’cha got there?” He asked, motioning his head to your bowl of strawberries. 

“You want one?” You asked, picking the bowl up and walking over to meet him, he gladly takes the biggest fruit in the bowl, pinching the spidery leaves off before putting the whole thing in his mouth, “How about you?” You asked, extending the bowl to Tommy’s mysterious companion. 

He takes a strawberry as well, doing as Tommy did, but he takes smaller bites of the fruit, like he’s savoring it, “This here’s my brother Joel,” Tommy speaks, Joel extends his hand and you take it, shaking it softly in greeting, “He arrived a few weeks back, he’s been getting settled with his daught… with Ellie, but I thought it was high time he started pulling his weight.” 

He had a smirk on his face as he said it and you could see the beginnings of a smile on Joel’s face too, “This one’s a real taskmaster,” You say to Joel, a smirk across your lips, “You’ll be wishing we had a retirement age soon enough.” 

“Can’t think where he gets it from,” Joel chuckles, “You were takin’ notes all the time we worked together before weren’t you?” 

Tommy smiles and nods, “Learnt from the best,” There’s another round of chuckles from the men, “Listen, we should get a move on, but I mean it, it’s nice to see you out like this.” 

“Thanks Tommy,” You offer a small smiled, “Here, take a strawberry for the road.” 

Both men take another fruit gladly before the way and make their way back down the street, leaving you on your own once more. You slide the sunglasses back onto your eyes and take your place in the path of sunlight on the bench. You sit there for a while, eating your strawberries, thinking about all the times you and your husband had done the same, holding hands as the sunset, cuddling up into his side when the temperature dropped. You realized suddenly that you weren’t sad. That the tears that usually threatened to fall were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was just a feeling of happiness, grateful that you’d experienced love in a world where it had seemed impossible. Sure, you wished he would reach over and take your hand in his like he used to, squeeze it and place a soft kiss to your palm, but you were no longer ruled by the grief that had consumed you all those months ago. 

*

“She seemed nice.” Joel muses as he walks with Tommy. 

“She’s lovely,” He replies simply, “Just had a pretty rough time of it recently.” 

Joel hums in acknowledgement as his boots hit the ground in time with Tommy’s, “When you said it was good to see her out, what did you mean?” 

Tommy sighs at his question, but not out of frustration like he usually did when Joel asked him questions, more out of sympathy, “Her husband died about a year ago,” He begins to explain, “Nothin’ violent or anythin’ like that, the doctors reckoned it was cancer, but she took it real hard, I don’t think she got out of bed for the first week, and then after his funeral she just kinda withdrew, she’s been all alone in that house for months, refuses to leave unless it’s with Maria because people talk.” 

“People talk about her?” Joel is shocked, in a world where loss in inevitable, what makes someone else’s grief less worthy than others? 

“We’re safe here,” Tommy says, steering him into a building at the end of the street, “But that doesn’t mean people don’t die when they’re out there,” He references his patrol men, he’d lost a few which he would always hold heavy in his heart, “Maria told me once that when she took her to the market a few months ago, some busybody wives were talkin’ about how unfair it was she got to say goodbye, that he’d been sedated and it was easy for him.” 

Joel stops in his tracks, letting Tommy walk in front of him. They’re in the gun store, not for anything in particular, just so Joel knows where everything is so he can stop following his brother round like a lost puppy. His mind inevitably wanders to his own grief in this moment. The pain of losing his own daughter, the all-consuming feeling of ‘what is the point in life anymore?’ without her. The scar on the right side of his face and the hearing loss in the same ear when he’d tried to end it all. He hadn’t been strong, not really. If he hadn’t of flinched that would have been it, the easy way out, as some would have said. He’d struggled for a long time with his survival but that didn’t mean his was worth more than your grief, or yours more than his. It wasn’t that simple. 

“I spoke to them, told ‘em if I heard ‘em gossiping again then we’d have no issues moving them on their way, but I suppose people are always going to talk, they just do it where we can’t hear them.” 

“I’m guessin’ she knows?” 

“Of course she knows, Joel, that’s why she shuts herself away, easier that way I guess.” 

“Doesn’t make it fair though, feelin’ like you can’t leave your house because people are gonna judge the way your husband died.” 

“She’s been better recently,” Tommy speaks, leaning against the table behind him, “Still won’t really go anywhere without Maria, but seein’ her today, it was nice.”  Joel nods his way through Tommy explaining the signing out system for guns, follows him around to the stables where he shakes the hand of the young girl in charge of caring for them and then settles himself next to his brother at the bar for a drink. All the while, he can’t stop his mind drifting back to you and your loneliness, your despair at your loss, or the rotten porch step he’d noticed at the front of your house that might just give him the reason to get a little closer to you. 

*

A few mornings later, there is a soft knock at your door. Your face contorts in confusion, Maria wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow. Leaving the coffee pot to its filtering, you walk slowly to the door, opening it to find Joel stood on your porch, toolbox in hand and planks of wood resting against the railing. 

“Good mornin’,” He croons, “Not interrupin’ anythin’ am I?” 

You shake your head, “Can I help you?” You asked, wincing slightly at the defensive tone of your voice. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but when I passed with Tommy the other day, I noticed your porch step was rotting,” He points to the old timbers behind him, “I’m surprised you’ve not fallen through it already, so do you mind if I fix them?” 

Your exterior softens and a small smile pulls at your lips, “Of course,” You say, “I’m just making some coffee, do you want some?” 

“If you don’t mind sharin’, then I’d love some.” 

You leave him on the porch to get started. Your mug is already set next to the coffee pot, you open the cupboard and instinctively reach for the only other mug you ever needed. It had meant nothing to you when you moved in. It was white and had a pattern of sausage dogs printed on it, but it had always been his. You hold it in your hands when you realise what you’ve done. His face flashes behind your eyes. He’s standing in front of you, his hair tousled from sleep, his voice still low and raspy. He thanks you as he takes hold of his mug, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You set it back in the cupboard like it had burned your palms, reaching instead of the plain black mug at the back of the cupboard. 

You rest your palms on the counter, closing your eyes to take deep breaths, feeling the weight of your body through to the ground. Once you don’t feel the wave of sadness flowing through you any longer, your quickly pour the coffee into the mugs, taking them out to the porch where Joel is currently working to take the rotten boards up, not that it’s taking much work, a little force from his hands and the wood in crumbling. 

“Here you go,” You say softly, setting the mug down next to his toolbox, “I hope you don’t mind it black, I spent all my rations on strawberries this week, so no milk.” 

“Just how I like it,” He says, looking up at you, “Thank you.” 

You take a seat on the bench out front, it’s been a long time since you had the company of someone that wasn’t Maria or Tommy and it was nice to watch him work whilst you sat in the sun. 

“Thank you, by the way, I didn’t realise it had gotten so bad,” You remark, and before you can think about what you’re saying, you add, “My husband always used to handle this stuff.” 

You press your fingers to your lips as Joel’s movement still slightly, he knows what you’ve said, but he continues working, “It’s alright, this is what I used to do before all of this, so I’ve got an eye for rotting wood.” 

“You were a builder?” You asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from your loss. 

“I was, Tommy and I were contractors, worked on a bunch of different sites together, kinda annoying the world ended, we’d just booked a really big job, was gonna pay the bills and then some for once, my daughter had already spent the money on a trip to Disney.” 

“Ellie?” You enquire, remembering the name Tommy had given. 

He shakes his head as he sits back on his knees, coffee mug in hand, “No, she’s not mine by blood, she came along a lot later, I lost my daughter on outbreak day.” 

“Oh,” You say simply, “I’m sorry Joel.” 

“It’s alright,” He shrugs, taking a mouthful of coffee, “I struggled, for a long time, didn’t see how it was fair, but it’s been easier recently, all because of Ellie, and this.” He motions around to the town. 

You’re silent for a while, your gaze flits between Joel working and the dregs of liquid in your cup. You understand in a way. The loss is different, but it’s loss all the same. 

“What was his name?” Joel asks quietly as he’s rooting through his toolbox for some nails, “Your husband.” 

“Mark,” You speak quietly, realizing quickly it was probably too quiet for him to hear, “His name was Mark.” 

“Were you together long?” 

“Eighteen years,” You answer, “He was my neighbour in the first QZ I was in, I’d lost my parents a few years before the outbreak so I was on my own, he moved in a year later and would always wake me up every morning when he stomped about to go to work,” You were smiling, recounting how you’d met, “One morning I’d had enough, I went right over there, pounded on the door and gave him what for. Said I was tired of waking up to the sound of his work boots every morning, and I guess the rest is history.” 

Joel smiles as he reaches for his hammer, nailing in the new boards, “Love at first sight?” He asked, worried at first that it’s too personal a question. 

“Something like that,” You offer in reply, “I guess it just kinda happened really, like most things do.” 

There’s silence between you again as Joel hammers in the last of the nails. He stands up, pressing his full weight on the step, “All done,” He declares, shutting away his toolbox, “Don’t have to worry about you fallin’ through it now.” 

You stand up to admire his handiwork, you must admit he was good at what he did. Efficient but thorough, the step had never looked so good, even when you’d first moved in, “Thank you Joel,” You place a hand on his arm and give it a gentle squeeze, “I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” He bends to pick up his coffee mug and hands it over to you, “Nothin’ else need sorting?” 

“I mean, nothing that risks death or serious injury,” You jest, “But there is something you might be able to help with.” 

You gesture for him to follow you through the house, setting the dirty mugs in the sink as you pass through. You open the back door and motion for him to join you. The garden is a mess, there’s no beating around the bush here. The grass is out of control, but that’s because you haven’t been able to go and get your gas ration for the lawnmower. The decking out back is fine, Mark’s handiwork in the year before he died, but you point to the unfinished table and chairs in the corner, or rather the pile of wood that never got to become the table and chairs. 

“Mark was going to build some table and chairs, you know, so we could have guests over or sit out here in the evenings, but he got sick before he could really start,” There’s a lump in your throat now and you’re willing yourself not to cry, not now, in front of a man you barely know, but nothing you do can quell the feeling inside of you and a few tears fall down your cheek, “God, I’m so sorry,” You sniffed, “I’ve done so well not to do this today.” 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Joel soothes, he pressed a firm hand to your shoulder for comfort but keeps his distance, which you are grateful for. 

He gives you a moment to compose yourself, watching closely as you rub the tears from your eyes and take a deep breath, “It would just be nice to have somewhere to sit where people aren’t going to watch me.” 

Joel’s heart almost breaks at your words. He doesn’t know you, not in the slightest, but the thought that you felt like you had to hide away, in your own community, the place that was meant to make you feel some semblance of normal, was preposterous to him. 

“I’ll build you something, don’t worry,” He reassures, “Tommy has me on patrol for the next few days, but as soon as I can, I promise I’ll build you the best damn table and chairs you’ve ever seen.” 

You laugh now, through the remnants of your tears, “Thank you.” Is all you can manage to say. 

He’s turning around then, you go to follow him, but he stops in his tracks, eyes admiring the trellis against the back wall of your home, full in bloom of sweet peas, “These are beautiful.” He comments. 

“They’re sweet peas,” You inform him, “Maria found the seeds for me, said something about it being good for me to have something to put my energy into,” You shrug, “I guess she was right.”

You reach out and pluck one of the deep purple blooms, “These are my favourites,” You say, turning the bloom over in your fingers before you hand it to him, he looks confused, “Sweet peas are meant to symbolize kindness and friendship,” You explain, “Also fond goodbyes, but I think kindness is more appropriate here.” 

He takes the bloom and tucks the stem into the breast pocket, the petals of the flower peeking out where you can both see it, “Well then, thank you,” He nods, “I’ll see you soon, sweet pea.” 

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[magpiefngrl]

writing patterns: last lines

I love the first lines meme, but what about last lines? I find them as vital as first lines, if not more. A first line should do a lot of things (indicate POV, tone, voice) while also catching the attention of the reader and inviting them to read on. But it can be invisible, just a way into the story, and that's perfectly fine because the story is what will amaze/impress/entertain the reader.

The last line, however, is the last impression: it can be a powerful punch, or it can be underwhelming. It's the vibe, the feeling, the aftertaste that the reader will carry with her when she closes the tab/book. It doesn't do as much work as the opening, but a really strong (or really weak) last line might colour what has come before.

For this game, instead of recent fics, I decided to check my longer fics; the last line of a longer piece of work sort of carries more weight, in my mind, idk.

Rules: write the last line of your 10 longest fics. What patterns can you see, if any? Which ones are your favourites?

Something I noticed: in my longer fics, I often have a short epilogue at the end of the story. Like a post-credits scene. I'm including both last lines for pattern-seeking. Also, a while ago, I'd done a before-during-after ask thing and posted some sequels at the end of a few fics. I debated using only the original ending here, but the sequel's last line is what will stay with readers, so I added both. Finally, The Boy Who Died has a coda but it's so long I'm treating it as a chapter.

I. 9 ½ Days (drarry, E, ~70k)

(story) Harry burrowed closer to him, eyes fluttering open. ‘You’re real.’ ‘I am.’ Draco tangled their legs together. It was snug under the covers. ‘Touch me and see.’

(epilogue) Harry took his hand and together they stepped forward into the green, living wood.

II. dirtynumbangelboy (drarry, E, 39.4k)

(story) ‘Home,’ Harry says, nuzzling Draco’s hair. ‘Take us home.’

(epilogue) He wants them to look smashing at the betrothal.

III. The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy (drarry, E, ~38k)

(story) Draco decided he would be happy to spend his life making Harry laugh, and thrust in.

(epilogue) “Let’s give them something good to talk about then,” Draco suggested, and Harry smiled, bent him backwards, and gave him a proper kiss, tongue and all.

IV. The Boy Who Died (drarry, E, ~27k)

Overthrowing the regime will take a miracle, Kingsley had said in the dark Edwardian manor. Draco had smiled at that and gazed at Harry. Indeed. Which is why we’ll win.

V. The Gift (drarry, E, ~26k)

Before [Draco] casts Nox, he takes a last look at his packed trunk, and then, in the whispering night, he allows himself to dream.

VI. Hush, darling (drarry, E, 23.6k)

But Draco holds Harry tighter — and doesn’t let go.

VII. The Unquiet Grave (drarry, E, 21.5k)

Draco glanced at Harry and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. I have a bodyguard.’

VIII. Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There (drarry, E, 17.5k)

(original) This world was fucked up. It had pain and grief and sick people and dead people and stupid decisions and bad hair days and fear and regret—although it didn’t have Smith in leather gear, which was something. It also had Harry Potter, who buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, and who liked this Draco, the Death Eater Draco, and that made everything worth it.

(sequel) ‘Pull them down yourself,’ Draco said and kissed him.

IX. The Full Monty (drarry, E, 10k)

First, he goes to the kitchen to make sure Arthur is indeed alive — he is, nibbling at some seeds on the counter — but after that, yes, he goes straight to where Potter is waiting, hopefully all soapy and wet.

X. How to Court your Husband (drarry, E, 5,5k)

(original) Their escorts maintained a discreet distance when they arrived and saw what the princes were up to, and twenty minutes later in the palace courtyard, the Fountain spurted a jet of water the likes of which had never been seen before.

(sequel) Harry smiled and stroked Draco’s face. ‘We’re in no hurry, husband.’

Patterns

JFC. I like my epilogues and codas and sequels, don't I? Lord. I don't think I'd noticed it before as clearly as I do now. This isn't even everything: I actually started a coda for The Gift a while back, and I have a half-finished sequel scene for dirtynumb in my folders. I can just never leave off. But it's true: I do love epilogues.

I end with dialogue A LOT more than I start with it. First lines, I estimated a third of them are dialogue, but a good half of the endings are.

A large majority of my endings involve kissing or cuddling or touching in some way. Love language touch anyone?

There's a fair bit of Draco glancing at Harry and smiling.

In the two fics that have a sequel scene, the original ending is, imo, vastly superior to the sequel's. Hm.

Faves

I like the epilogue ending of 9 1/2 Days; the ending of Unquiet Grave, which works better I think in context; the rather poetic ending of The Gift; the original ending of Through the Looking Glass, which, imo, perfectly captures the theme; and the original ending of How To Court Your Husband, which is hilarious in context. Several readers commented on that one.

Tagging

I'll no-pressure tag @lettersbyelise @lqtraintracks @the-starryknight @skeptiquex @etalice @coriesocks @gracerene @citrusses @lower-east-side @hogwartsfirebolt @queenofthyme @writcraft @shealwaysreads @phdmama @stripedroseandsketchpads @sixappleseeds to get the ball rolling-- and of course YOU, reading this! Feel free to tag me so I can read your last lines, I'm ever so curious x

[scarisd3ad]

To the end and back | Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Chapter twenty seven - I miss you, I’m sorry

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[Warnings] - ANGST, guns, shooting, mentions of blood, cursing, normal twd warnings

Summary - after the world ended you were sure you’d never find love again but a certain archer catches your eyes and changes the entire trajectory of your life.

[A/N] - sorry this took forever to come out :(, also this is a little short, but I’m hoping to get chapter 28 out before any other fic updates so there’s a little more for you guys to read.

‘Home’

S3 ep 10

its late when I wake up the next morning, sunlight already is streaming into the prison. I can already hear the hustle and bustle of the other. normally I'd never sleep this late, I was adjusted to being jolted awake in a cold sweat terrified that I'd fallen asleep while on watch. Caseys no longer curled up next to me. I sit up stretching my limbs as I try and shake the tiredness from my body. once I feel awake enough to hold a conversation with someone else, I get up and make my way downstairs. everyone's sat around in a crooked circle, Glenns sat on the ground with a piece of chalk in his hand drawing out something on the concrete ground.

like a reflex my eyes immediately scan the room, searching for Daryl. within seconds I remember he left, my brain replaying every single memory from the moment he decided to leave, to when I had cried myself to sleep. my face drops as I stare down at my feet. my mind is racing so fast I can't even process what Glenn or carl are saying. all I can think about is Daryl, and the fact that I hate him for leaving me. I hated Daryl at first, I thought he was an asshole, then everything changed. I learned to love everything about him. Even when he would sit there with his arms cross just grunting responses at me, I still loved him. but now I just feel naive for ever thinking he was anything but an asshole.

I'm not pulled out of my own thoughts until I feel a hand rest against my shoulder. my head jolts up to see Glenn standing Infront of me. my brows pull together in a furrow as he asks, "are you alright?" I nod my head almost overenthusiastically as I say "no, no I'm fine, just um...I'm a little tired. y'know?" he takes a sharp breath in as his brows furrowed. he stared at me for a few quick seconds as if he was searching for any sign that I was lying. "Well, I'm...I'm going down into the tombs. if you need anything just ask someone." 

-

about an hour and a half later I'm sat up in my cell, like I had been since Glenn had gone down into the tombs. Casey was sat by my side the whole time, unwilling to leave my side no matter how much I begged her to go get something to eat. her head leaned against my side, only ever whispering something every 20 or 30 minutes. it was always something about Daryl though, 'I miss Daryl' or 'Daryl said he'd come back' or 'why did he leave' all just repeated questions I had already answered a million times over again. "He said he was coming back" she muttered under her breath as her arms angrily crossed over her chest "why'd he lie?" I let out a sigh as I look down at her "he didn't lie just something happened that made him change his mind" I can almost hear her brain tick, tick, ticking as she came up with some kind of response. "If my momma and daddy came back, I wouldn't leave you...id make them stay with us" 

I turn my body towards her. I push a piece of her blonde hair back behind her ear as I say "it's different. your mom and dad I bet were really good people, but Daryl...his brother he's a mean guy. and we don't want mean people living with us, do we?" she nods before saying "is Daryl mean? because he left?" I shake my head before cupping her face in my hands and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead "No baby. Daryl he just...he wanted his brother to be happy. and he's the happiest with Daryl" 

a series of stomps up the stairs and towards our cell makes both our heads turn towards the cell door to see Glenn standing in the doorway. I can tell he's angry by the look on his face and the way his fists are clenching and unclenching. "c'mon you're coming with me" my brows furrow as I look up at him. I push myself to the edge of the bunk before standing up, "where?" I ask as I placed my hands on my hips. "Just out" he muttered under his breath. "What why?!" I exclaimed, he takes a deep breath before saying "there has to be a hole somewhere in the fence, I need to find out how these walkers are getting in." Glenn was going to get himself killed. He was trying to prove something to himself, more than us, that he's capable, that he'll be a good second in command now that Daryl's gone.

Are you coming with me or not?" I let out a sigh before looking back at Casey, who was still sitting on the bottom bunk, silently watching our conversation take place. "fine" I muttered. Glenn silently nodded before immediately leaving the cell. I struggled to follow him as he speed-walked down the stairs and out of the prison.

 Are you coming with me or not?" I sighed before looking back at Casey, who was still sitting on the bottom bunk, silently watching our conversation take place. "fine" I muttered. Glenn silently nodded before immediately leaving the cell. I struggled to follow him as he speed-walked down the stairs and exited the prison.

Hershel follows us out. Glenn attempts to ignore him, just continuing to walk towards the truck. "Glenn?" Glenn doesn't even pause his stride; I turn back towards Hershel, giving him an apologizing shrug before continuing to follow after Glenn. "Glenn!" Hershel shouts this time. Glenn finally stops, staying paused for a short few seconds to show Hershel just how angry he was before slowly turning towards the old man. Hershel hobbles himself over our way before Glenn decides to meet him in the middle to continue the conversation.

"You're not going back to Woodbury, are ya?" Hershel asks, Glenn stays quiet for a second before muttering "No, I'm just goin' out there" Glenn is just mad at the world right now, he is not only angry that what happened to Maggie happened, but he's also mad at himself for letting it happen. This whole mission is just to prove to himself that he's not weak. Prove to Maggie he's not weak. "I'll go with ya'll." Glenn shakes his head, muttering "We've got it" before turning around and beginning to walk back towards the car.

"By yourselves. How could you two possibly think that's a good idea?" Hershel asks, Glenn stops before turning back towards Hershel. "I can't just sit on my hands." I stay frozen behind Glenn, choosing not to take part in this argument between the two. "You went on a simple formula run and got the crap beat out of you. Maggie was attacked." Glenn leans forward, shouting, "You think this is my fault?" Hershel shakes his head "no" but there's no talking Glenn down now that he thinks Hershel's blaming him. He just continues to shout, "I did what I could!" 

I step forward placing a hand on Glenn's shoulder "C'mon Glenn let's just go" I whisper, he shakes his head before slapping my hand off his shoulder "NO! he's trying to fucking-" I grab his shoulder tight enough so he can't slap it off this time before cutting him off "no he's not, just go get in the fucking car" Glenn lets out an angry puff of air before pushing past me to the car.

"Why are you goin' with him?" Hershel whispers once Glenn slams the car door shut. Glenn was going to go no matter what I said. There was no talking him down or telling him not to do something. "he's gonna do it no matter what I say, s'better if I go with him. Make sure he doesn't get hurt."

When I get in the truck, I see Glenn with his arms angrily crossed over his chest. Once the door is shut, he mutters, "So you're on his side?" my brows furrow in confusion "What? what the fuck are you talkin' about Glenn?" he rolls his eyes before muttering "Forget about it" and beginning to drive off.

-

We've gone about halfway around the entire prison, and there's still no sign of a hole. Glenn has the window down and his head stuck out the window, desperately trying to search for a hole in either the fence, the building, or both. "Come on, Glenn, there's no- " I'm cut off by the sound of gunshots.

Pow, pow, pow!

It's too close to be chopped up as some survivors in the town nearby, both Glenn and I pause staring at each other almost as if we're asking each other if we really heard that or if we were making it all up in our heads. The pause is stopped by the sound of more gunshots that immediately make Glenn turn the truck around. We're speeding back towards the front of the prison. We both already know who it is. We pulled back up to the front, seeing that a large truck had run the gate down. There's a group of Woodbury men, including Philip, shooting right along the tree line.

Right as were drive back into the prison, we see Hershel stand up, attempting to limp himself towards safety. Glenn makes a beeline towards him, quickly parking the car and running out to help the elderly man. Michonne also runs towards Hershel, helping him up and to the car before we drive off towards the second gate. It seems like the gunfire has stopped once we've cleared the second gate.

I hop out of the car, taking in the scene in front of me. Axel laying lifeless on the ground, a gunshot wound straight through his head, Carol covered in blood with Casey lying limply in her arms. My heart slams against my chest as I try to make sense of it all. Why would he shoot her? How could he shoot her? She was just a little girl. She was innocent. She had no part in what we had done in Woodbury. She didn't deserve this.

Taglist

@rivversin @soul4death @furiousheartpoetry @silicone-bonez @nezukos-number1fan @jai-lovely @maziejay08 @oi-itse @rhaenryawhore @kimbunnysstuff @blipblopper @ramielll @ilyhannah @daryldixonnn @delicatebearpandaopera @daryldixmedown @duckybird101 @0-imjusthere-0 @tanuki-tsuki

[ladytauria]

i love all of the wip snippets that you've posted <3 and i'd like to know more about gen jason sexploration and sladejay gun fucking please 👀

hehehe thank you, i'm glad!!

so jason sexploration is supposed to be a series of moments where jason explores his personal relationship with sex & sexuality... aka, masturbates a lot, lmao.

the first scene takes place when he's 15. the second will take place during lost days, when he's around 17? 18? and then a third at 19, after the events of under the red hood. i haven't picked out ages for the other moments, lmao, and then i'm also contemplating a 'bonus' +1 scene where he has sex with another person... unsure if i will write that with a ship or with an OC tho, if i do it at all.

i think i've shared snippets of it in the past but i don't think i tagged them well, so i will share again!

Jason got his first ever erection almost a year after living in the manor. He’d been sparring with Bruce when it happened—humiliatingly, Bruce had warned him about it before they ever started training. Jason’s only consolation was that Bruce had been just as awkward about it as he was, and they’d silently agreed not to talk about it after.

Jason hadn’t forgotten about it, but… he’d been so sure it wouldn’t happen to him that when it did—

He’d burned with humiliation, and taken the coldest shower he’d ever had.

It’s been almost two years since. Jason still pops boners during training. On patrol. At school, even, like he doesn’t have enough problems. He wakes up with them. It’s—

He doesn’t like it, but—he’s gotten more comfortable with it, over the years. No longer as humiliating, now it’s more… annoying. He’s gotten better at getting rid of them without needing a cold shower, though it’s still the surest remedy.

Lately, though…

Lately Jason’s been curious about… about what it might feel like.

It’s… It’s not that he’s never wondered before, it’s just… everything else always eclipsed his curiosity.

Tonight is different.

Jason doesn’t know what about it is, but— It is.

He doesn’t patrol tonight. His homework is finished. He has both one of his favorite books and the next book in a series he’s reading on hand, just in case this goes badly and he needs a distraction.

He locks his door. It’s kinda weird. He hasn’t—he hasn’t bothered locking his door in… a while. But. He doesn’t want to be caught with his pants, literally, down.

Jason dawdles a few extra minutes, making sure he’s got everything he needs. Towel? Check. Lube? Check. He takes a breath. Holds it. Exhales.

Other people do this all the time. It’ll be fine.

He pulls off his clothes, leaving them neatly off to the side. He… his nakedness feels—almost wrong in the quiet room. He almost wishes he’d left his clothes on, but—bad enough the towel will end up soiled.

He lies back, cock already semi-hard. He drizzles the lube in his hand, almost flinching at the cool of it. He lets it warm to his body temperature before tipping it over, letting it pour onto his cock before he wraps his hand around the base.

It’s—

Weird.

Feels okay, though.

He’s— Jason can’t bring himself to look up videos, or anything. Doesn’t want the history, the evidence on his phone, not when everything about it feels shameful and wrong.

He knows it isn’t.

It’s normal. Healthy, even. Unfortunately all the scientific evidence in the world can’t make the feelings go away.

Jason goes slowly, alternating the pressure of his hand as he strokes, finding what he likes best. Unbidden, his eyes close. He pictures—no one, really. A body. Soft and feminine, hands a little calloused.

His hand speeds up.

Breasts, heavy and round and perfect, pressed against his back. Kisses pressed over his shoulder. A hand splayed flat over his belly, holding him close, holding him still.

“A-ah—“

sladejay gunfucking is a potential sequel for taking a bird in hand, which i actually wrote before i had even really started that fic, lmfao.

it is... more or less exactly what it sounds like, tbh.

“Are you really that desperate?” The sneer dripping from Slade’s words shouldn’t turn Jason on, but it does. “Can’t even wait till we get home for me to fuck you?”

The words hit Jason right in the chest, and he gasps, unsure whether to nod or shake his head.

Slade understands anyway. “Fine,” he growls. He bypasses the traps on Jason’s tac pants. It’s a move that normally wouldn’t be that hot—except he does it with one hand. Jason’s cock throbs. Slade jerks his pants down, yanking them over the swell of his ass, down to the thickest point of Jason’s thigh where they catch. Slade leaves them. He tears one of his gloves off with his teeth. Jason’s belly swoops. “Lube,” he demands.

Jason’s hand shakes as he pulls out one of the packets he keeps in his inner jacket pocket. Slade snatches it from him and tears it open with his teeth. Lube splatters onto Jason’s exposed thighs—he cries out at the chill of it. There’s just enough left to coat Slade’s fingers.

Slade doesn’t bother with any build up. He smears the lube over Jason’s hole, making him gasp—and then cry out as Slade shoves two in at once. He shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle himself.

There may be no activity in this area now, but the last thing he wants is for someone to come running and find the Red Hood being fucked by Deathstroke.

Or—

Fuck.

The way his cock throbs at the thought… maybe part of him does want that.

He can examine that later.

Slade ignores his prostate. He pumps his fingers hard and fast, scissoring them every couple of thrusts. Even with the lube there’s a slight burn. Jason relishes in it, his hips working, riding Slade’s fingers as best he can.

He whines into his fist when Slade pulls out the last time. The whine turns into a yelp when Slade smacks his thigh—the sound loud, seeming to echo in the quiet place. Then something presses against hole. It’s cold, blunt. He looks down, eyes wide, and finds Slade pressing a gun against his hole.

And not just any gun.

That’s Jason’s favorite.

He whimpers.

It’s not in protest.

He doesn’t know how Slade got it out of his holster without him noticing, but he doesn’t particularly care, either. The gun bears down harder. Jason’s rim gives to the force of it. He moans, tossing his head back. It hits the cold, hard rooftop, sending a dull pain through his skull. He hardly registers it; focusing instead on relaxing his muscles to accommodate the pistol barrel being slowly pushed inside of him.

Slade huffs a laugh. “Should’ve figured you’d like this,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “This is meant to be a punishment, Jason. Maybe I should have belted you first.”

Jason whines again.

Both of them know that wouldn’t have done any good, either. Slade has whipped Jason’s ass red and raw before fucking him hard before. All it accomplished was giving Jason a mind-blowing orgasm.

If Slade really wanted to make Jason think twice, he’d do what he did after that time—

Making him sit on a textured mat while writing lines. ‘I will call for back-up if I need it,’ is a phrase imprinted on his mind now.

His ass still throbs thinking about it.

“If—If this is a punishment,” he says breathlessly, “then remind me to—uhn, fuck—earn them more often.”

Slade snorts. “You misbehave enough already.” He rocks the pistol a little more firmly, and Jason clenches around the barrel.

[rea-grimm]

Love doesn’t die 1

You and Cole Cassidy. Two well-known hunters who always work together. Almost always. Until a mysterious client asks for Cole alone. He accepts the mission, but something happens that turns their shared world upside down. You don't want to give up hope that your partner is still alive. But he is no longer among the living or the dead.

You and Cole were hunters of the supernatural that was causing havoc and killing people. You were hunting a demon that you tracked back to a village. 

You went to check in while Cole sat at the bar, pouring drink after drink. As the alcohol took its toll on him, a man with long silky hair tied in a ponytail sat on the stool next to him and ordered a sake. 

"Just don't tell my girlfriend about this," Cole muttered drunkenly after a few minutes of flirting with the man in question. 

Unfortunately for him, you'd just arrived at the bar and heard almost everything. You walked over to him and slapped the hand he was resting his head on. 

"Ow, what was that for?" Cole didn't understand. As you slapped his hand, he lost his balance and slammed into the table. 

"What do you think?" You replied with a question before turning to the stranger. "After you've had your fun, send him to room 9. I'd hate to have to search all over the village for him in the morning," you told him.

"I don't plan on having fun with him," the stranger replied, taken aback by the whole thing. You and Cole had the same reaction and both said at the same time, "No?" Hanzo, as you found out later shook his head and repeated no. 

"Darling, I need to be off. I'll be back later," Cole said after a moment, kissed you awkwardly on the cheek, grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the bar and left. 

"Typical," you shook your head and sat down in his chair. 

"What are two hunters doing in the middle of nowhere like this?" Hanzo asked you.

"The village hired us for a demon case," you explained.

"A demon?" He asked, and you could see him watching you warily. 

"Exactly, but we think it's something else," you replied, ordering your own drink. 

You chatted with him there for a moment longer before you said goodbye to Hanzo and headed to your room. You waited at the bar for Cole long enough. You suspected he'd forgotten himself somewhere, so you left him alone. You'll look for him in the morning. 

In the morning, you woke up alone in your room and the search for your partner began. You tried your luck at the bar, but he wasn't there. You kept looking when you ran into Hanzo. 

"Where's your partner?" he asked you.

"I'm looking for him right now. He didn't even come back yesterday. But knowing him, he's just sleeping off a hangover somewhere," you replied, just shrugging it off. 

At the pub, you asked around about Cole when you got lucky with the landlady. She saw him and even took you to see him. To your surprise, she led you to the barn where Cole was lying on the straw among the cattle. 

"Now watch," you whispered to Hanzo before taking a bucket of water and pouring it over Cole. He was instantly awake and looking around in surprise as he didn't understand what was happening at first. 

"What's wrong?" He asked when he finally noticed you putting the bucket aside. 

"What do you think?" You replied, letting him remember. 

Cole went to his room to wash up and get cleaned up after that. You, meanwhile, went to get some breakfast with Hank, who stayed with you. You both ordered food and drinks and ate in peace until he finally spoke.

"If you want, I could help you hunt," he offered. 

"Sorry, but we don't take civilians," you replied. It was one of your rules when you wanted to protect others. 

"I'm good with a bow. I could be useful," he didn't let on. You just shrugged at that. As much as you wanted to turn him down, he kept offering. In the end, you let him go, but at his own risk.

After Cole joined you, you went to inspect the latest victim. It was just as you thought. It wasn't the demon, it was the witch.

You tracked her to her hut deep in the woods. You got into a fight, during which you discovered that Hanzo was actually a demon. You were surprised by this, but it didn't stop you from fighting. At one point, things looked miserable for the demon, and you saved his life. 

Working together, you eventually overpowered the witch and collected the bounty, which you divided equally between the three of you.

Hanzo was a man of honour and stood by the fact that he owed you his life. And even when your paths diverged, you ran into each other at various times, and he helped you hunt now and then. 

After a while you got a job application, but there was one condition. The applicant only wanted Cole. It was a good job that would make you a lot of money in the future. 

You and Cole made a promise to meet at the same place in exactly one year when the job was finished. Before you said goodbye, Cole kissed you so you wouldn't forget him. 

Cole got to the place that was written in the contract. It was supposed to be a simple job to kill a witch. He even got a reward float in advance. Cole also had the perfect plan to get rid of her. 

He made it to her mansion, and everything went like clockwork. Maybe it was too easy. But he found out too late. A witch named Moira caught him by surprise and before he could shoot her, she stuck her hand in his chest and ripped his heart out. But even without such a vital organ, he was still alive. 

"What have you done to me!" he screamed at her. She only chuckled at his reaction before she cast a curse on him. 

Just as she cursed him, his hair turned white and his skin took on a grayish dead tinge, his eyes glowing green. He fell to the ground, unable to believe it had all ended like this.

"Now go. I'll call for you when I need you!" Moira commanded. Without another word, Cole got up and left. 

When it came to the day of your meeting, you waited there alone all night in vain. You even stayed there for the next two days but in futility. After the third day, you cried and left. 

You'd go in there every year hoping Cole would show up, but to no avail. You denied the fact that he was dead. You even traveled the country trying to find him. But it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. 

Part 2

[starculler]

strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

.

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

.

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

.

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

[threelionsgirl]

kinda shy | ben chilwell

part II of pillow talk

request: “Pt 2 when they’re back in London and they both have distanced themselves from the cup?? AHHHH I just can sense chillys “oh I wanna show interest but I’m kinda shy and thinking about what she said” type thing. Like being cautious about his next move…, or her next move idk??? Either way this piece was incredible!!” warnings: none word count: 681 masterlist | requests are open!

After long physio sessions, Ben was finally home. The Club World Cup title and the trip to the Emirates were cool, the celebration was gigantic, but soon they had to return to London and with the return was also his physio routine after his knee surgery. A few days had passed, and his recovery was going well, but what really didn't get out of his head was his night with Y/N. He had her number saved on his phone and thought about calling or texting like he said he would, but every hour he would come up with something to do to put it off.

They had followed each other on Instagram and every now and then Chilwell was checking out her pictures and stories, but he found it kind of ridiculous because he had the mood to spend minutes of his day on Y/N's profile, but not to call her. Not that he didn't want to be with her again, he really wanted to show interest, but something was making him a little shy, wondering what she was going to say. He didn't even know if Y/N remembered him, maybe she got tired of waiting and could even be with someone else already.

He was sitting on the couch in his living room after having a nice shower with Oscar by his side. The dog was lying with his head on his owner's lap, receiving affection from one of Ben's hands. He stood like that for a while, his hand tingling, until he decided to fuck off and dial the number Y/N had saved there.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hello?" Her voice was soft on the other end of the line, Ben coughed weakly to allow his voice to come out.

"Hi, it's me." He scratched his throat, looking at Oscar as if asking for help.

"Me who?"

"Ben." He paused. She had to remember him. "Chilwell. Ben Chilwell."

"Oh, hi Ben." Chilwell wondered if Y/N was smiling as he said that. He would bet he was. The way she spoke his name gave the impression that she sketched a smile.

"Good to know you remember me." It was really good, almost a relief.

"Of course I remember, but I really didn't think you were going to call anymore."

"I'm sorry for the delay." He whined, hoping that wasn't the reason for the misfortune of all his chances.

"It's okay."

"I really wanted to call you, I really wanted to, but I still didn't know quite what to say." He gave a weak laugh, wanting to cut the tense mood, and I could swear Y/N let out a little air through his nose as well. "I get kind of shy sometimes, I didn't want to be a jerk." Ben confessed feeling his hands getting sweaty, he couldn't remember feeling so nervous, even more so talking to a woman he had already slept with once.

"Cute." Maybe she would have given him another smile, but it was what she said next that surprised him. "Well, I went to a Chelsea game last week, I looked for you, but you weren't there. I was thinking of calling you on Instagram, but since you said you were going to call, I was afraid I'd get dumped." Laughter. Ben laughed, too. He would never blow her off.

"Really? Did you look for me?"

"Yes."

Now he was really happy to hear that the interest was not just coming from one party.

"Unfortunately, I'm not playing because of a knee injury," he said.

"That's too bad."

"Yeah, I'll be out for a while longer." He lamented more to himself than to her. It was awful not to be able to play, but at that moment there wasn't much he could do. "But we can still watch. Do you want to go to the next game with me?"

"Sure!" Ben smiled at the speed and excitement Y/N used to answer. "I'd love to."

"Then I'll text you all the details, is that okay?"

"Yes, but only if you promise me you won't disappear again."

"I wouldn't even be crazy."

[wolfjackle]

Today I needed to get out of the house for a number of reasons, mostly related to current events.

I hadn't slept well, mostly because I live with my Nana and she doesn't realize how loud her TV is when she falls asleep. Usually I can sleep through it, but not last night.

So I stayed in bed later than I like to. Woke up at a reasonable enough time, but stayed in bed on my tablet and phone for a while trying to fall back asleep before giving up on that.

And I really needed to get out of the house.

So I drove the thirty minutes or so to a hiking trail I like. There's two places I can park, and I chose the one that gave the longest walk. Didn't arrive until about 3 in the afternoon.

Well, where I live, it's full dark by 5:30. I knew I'd be cutting it close. But I wanted to do the full walk. All the way to the beach. Sit by the waves for a few minutes after some time alone in the woods.

It was glorious. I didn't care that I was wearing jeans and sneakers. That sand got all over me.

But, like I said. This was the long walk and you can already see night is setting in from the picture. I still had about a 2 mile walk through the woods to get back to my car.

Gorgeous woods, let me tell you. But still. It's getting dark fast.

I realized I probably messed up when I saw how dark the path was getting. When the sun was no longer visible above the trees.

So I sprinted down sections of the path until I was out of breath. Do you know how long it had been since I'd sprinted for no real reason but to do it? It was so much fun. I started by trying to get to the car faster. I kept going because it made me laugh.

There was no one around. The birds were singing their evening songs. And I was running down the trail in the growing dark.

The moon, visible the entire walk, kept getting brighter and brighter. Only half full, but shining bright enough to help with the setting sun.

I get near the end of the trail. The sun has fallen below the horizon, but you can still see it's light just above. And across from it shines the moon. It was breathtaking.

And standing on the edge of the water was another person. They don't see me, but they're watching the sunset and I want to pause and watch as well.

So I called out. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

She's surprised, but happy, to find someone else out just enjoying nature and a sunset. We watch together for a few minutes. Casual conversation about the view and the place we live. Compare different walks and places we like to go.

Then I go out on another limb. I say, "Current events are making me rethink some life choices."

Two hesitant sentences confirm we're both scared of the future with a Trump presidency. She's 84 and looks back on the past and is ashamed that this is what she's left with. But she grieves with me for being young and having to navigate the world we're about to enter.

Not in so many words. We talked around the issues mostly. Just wanting to luxuriate in a beautiful sunset, the knowledge that the ocean is unchanging and eternal, and that there will be life after this, no matter what happens.

But our anxieties sneak in.

As we walk the quarter mile or so back to the parking lot, it gets darker and darker. But the moon is bright enough to reflect of the water and cast shadows if you look.

(My phone brightened the photo. It was so much darker in person. And the moonlight reflecting on the water so much more beautiful.)

An owl hooted in the distance; she couldn't hear it (she spent time in an orchestra sitting next to the tympanis).

We never exchanged names. I considered it. Considered saying "I'm Wolf, by the way." But I didn't. I'm not sure why. And I'm not sure why she didn't either.

But it was beautiful. Standing next to a stranger. Watching a sunset. Discussing the big topics. And the small.

I spent maybe half an hour with her, but I don't think I'll ever forget it.

Nothing was fixed. The world is too big for that. But that moment of connection? It helped. It really, really helped.

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 3 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

"Myaah, keep going!"

"Non, chat. You no longer need to be brushed. Vil, how is Yuu's hair coming along?"

Vil sighs. I've noticed he does that a lot. "Not as well as I thought, Rook. Even though the top layer was absurdly thick, the lower layers don't look much better. This is going to take longer than I expected."

I look up and into the mirror in front of me. Vil has cut my hair short, but the process of detangling the remaining mat of hair has caused the detangled hair to be noticeably longer than what's still a total mess. I'd say the hair he's worked through is about 4 inches, just long enough to cover my ears.

"Say, Monseur Mystery, how did you guess Monseur Chat's name?"

"Well..." I hesitate. Even now, the thoughts of his death still hurt. "When I was living in my world, I found a cat. He was my only friend. He was an alley cat, but chubby- not in a concerning or limiting way, just in a cute way- and he was grey with a large patch of white fur on his front, and his tail faded into black at the end, and... he had polydactly. I think that's what it's called, at least. Do you guys know what that is?"

"Nope!" Grim's reply is cheerful, like an island of comfort in a sea of mourning.

"Well, it's a condition where your limbs split off into multiple limbs. So, a two-tipped finger or extra toe or something. Well, my cat had it on the end of his tail. It looked, " I pause, reaching my hand toward Grim and trying, failing, to hold back tears. "Into three. A trident tail, just like this." I'm holding his tail in my hand now, careful, like he might break just as my voice is doing now. I can hardly speak through the lump in my throat, but I can speak.

"A-and that cat's name was Grim. And he was hit by a car when he was eight, and I've never been the same." I'm crying now, my eyes reduced to floodgates and my voice to a wreck. Vil is hugging me, his arms bringing some sense of safe to me, but that sense of safe pales in comparison to the comfort of holding Grim in my arms. His fur is soft, much softer now that he's been brushed, and Rook has joined the hug.

We stay there, just like that, for what feels like forever. Vil's arms are strong around me, as are Rook's, and I'm holding Grim again, and I don't want to lose him again. I can't. I barely survived the first time; I can't survive a second. The guilt would kill me.

"I guessed his name, too. I didn't know how. It just felt right. But... Yuu, you kind of remind me of someone. Another human. He fed me in my dreams, and his name was Yuu, and we were great friends, but one day he just stopped showing up. I never saw him again." Grim's previously sad face brightens a little, like a tea candle with just enough air to burn. "You look a lot like him, but older. Maybe... maybe he was you."

The tears come back. I let them. This time, they're happy tears, and Grim is crying them, too. Vil allows a few more minutes to pass, just like that, before he lets go and resumes his task of unmatting the other half of my hair. Rook pulls away, too, and waves his magic pen.

A tape measure, like you see tailors using in movies, appears in the air in front of him for him to wrap around my waist with skillful hands. Soon, he's removed the tape measure from my waist in favor of wraping it around my chest, and then my arms, and then Vil tells him off for doing something unnecessary.

I laugh. "Say, Monseur Mystery, have you tried to use magic since you arrived?"

I ponder. "Not really."

Rook chuckles. "Facinating."

"Are you okay with others being let into the room, Yuu?" Vil's voice is soft and soothing. I'm a little jealous, but who cares?

"Go right ahead." The lump in my throat is gone now that Grim is purring happily in my arms, just enjoying the sensation of being pet. Rook leaves the room- still holding his tape measure, I notice- and the door shuts behind him. Surprisingly, I don't hear his footsteps as he walks away, even before the door is closed and blocking my view.

Less than a minute later, the door opens again, revealing Rook, Korrak, and Korrak's familiar, whose name I do not yet know. Rook waves his pen, cleaning the cat brush with magic, and starts brushing the strange oppossum as he brushed Grim.

"Hey, what's your name? I'm Grim!"

"Call me Mandible."

Well, I guess I have a name to go with both of my roommates now. Unlike Grim, Mandible needs only a few minutes of brushing before his fur is even and soft, at which point Rook measures him, waves his pen, and voilá: five small stacks of clothing appear on the counter.

"What are those?" Mandible is already poking at the piles by the time he thinks to ask. I wasn't expecting Mandible to be more talkative than Korrak, but I guess Grim and I are no better.

"Uniforms! The white one is a lab coat for alchemy, the violet one is a dorm uniform, the one next to the lab coat is a PE uniform, the one next to the dorm uniform is a school uniform, and the one in between the dorm clothes and lab coat are some ceremonial robes. All are sized exactly for Monseur Opossum, of course." Rook looks quite proud of himself.

"Myaah, neato! Do I get some?"

"But of course, Monseur Chat! If you'll allow me a moment..." Rook starts measuring Grim just like he did with Mandible, and Vil lets out a triumphant "Hah!"

"Finally conquered my hair?"

"Not entirely, but I'm done with the hard part." With this, Vil pulls out a brush- not a cat brush, just a regular human brush- and starts running it through my hair in a soothing rhythm. Tired from the short day's events, I allow it to lull me to sleep.

[zhnnveuxpasdrmir]

Trying to explain that this quiet, braided anthology of short-short, thought variant, actor driven one-offs is a must-see breakthrough teleplay, a timeless masterpiece!, a work of explicable magic.

I was one of the six people in the world that actually saw this in 2010, but I'd only caught a few bits of it at the time. They were arresting as hell. It's exciting to finally get a chance to appreciate it now, due to the grisly stupidity of all corporate media conglomerates, and the ease of getting high quality archives of unfairly treated past media anonymously on the dark web, along with heroin and guns! 😁

I liked how The Booth At The End examines the fallacies inherent to popular reads of morality, and somehow criticizes specific religious cultures without once mentioning any of them, or admitting to any particular central framework by name. The script is rooted in widely understood monotheist ethics.

It's unrepentant, dour, merciless, and openly, loudly, glaringly deceptive in its candor.

Xander Berkeley. Holy shit. was just unbelievably powerful on this show. Every actor turns in a lifetime achievement award worthy scene, but mr Berkeley is just: setting your disbelief aside, so casually! You believe. The unthinkable is thoroughly plausible in these weency, handy little scenes that.... feel longer. You'll think it was an hour. It was like six minutes.

I don't know fully why this isn't a better known show! Maybe it's too hard to face. If you have an interest in the craft of acting, in show, this little one-sitting binge demonstrates expert theatrical film making.

And these goddamn endings will fuck you up for life!

so here's my theory on the Man, Doris, and the doom of human kind:

oh he's certainly not the Devil. He's a creation of G-D though for sure. As is Doris.

If he has to be a specific character from the stories, he's The Christ, not exactly The Messiah, but something a lot more like christian Jesus if he'd lived on since Resurrection, only through a magical realism lens instead of a worshipful one. The Man is aware of what G-D is, knows it's not what humans think it is. Some say "the wandering Jew" but no: this is not and never was a human.

if Doris has to be a specific character from the stories, she's Satan, or a fallen angel, but let's be real, G-D's ex-favorite, luring the new boy away from G-D's detachment, and into "the trap". I don't agree with the above article in thinking it ended too soon, it ends exactly where it should, where it has to.

because that demand Doris makes is real, and it's one that our planet's conception of G-D has always, always failed. She's right to state this demand, and the Man must comply. Both of them will be literally destroyed by the task. This is shown over and over in both seasons.

The Booth At The End is a genius series of stage teleplays that criticizes flaws in popular conceptions of G-D, how it distorts our perceptions, and how those distort our experience of need. Each "normal" character symbolizes a specific 'mistake' or foible; each supernatural character represents an attempt, by 'history' ambition institution or spiritual quest, to understand and eliminate those errors. The two seasons are a diptych demonstrating respectively How and Why we are trapped forever in a Hell of our own device. 🌞❤️

[destielholmes]

DARKNESS 6 - Part 2

                                                              6

It was getting warmer by the second, my t-shirt was starting to glue to my body, and I just wanted to rip my jacket off. Isaac remained next to me, which confirmed his family was behind his appearance. I was happy he engaged with my little conversation – even if it was just a bit, even if his family made him be by my side – it still made me happy.

While I was struggling with my inability to control my discomfort from the heat and thought Isaac's little stay would end after I had my lunch, he proved me wrong as he told me to follow him outside. I tried to hide my sweating body from my parents as we walked outside. The faint breeze hit my face, which made me melt. I opened my jacket slightly to welcome it in, but it wasn't enough to satisfy my dehydrating body. The taste of the sweetness of the air made me want much more. I want to show you something. He told me as he watched me dissolve within the breeze. Heat wasn't a concern anymore, as he captivated me. I followed him, keeping a safe distance, afraid to scare him off with my voice or annoy him with my figure, I remained invisible. I wanted to explore his little world.

Through the trees we've been that same morning, skipping the blood that the ground drank, he took me away from my safety and closer to my desire. We walked for a while, the same skinny trees kept the landscape on our horizon, but I didn't know anymore where we were. I was lost in that forest, with only my captor to lead me out.

Whilst the fog seemed to be long gone, the heat kept rising, and I couldn't keep my composure. I had to show him again the marks he left on me, and I was afraid he would leave me. I took my jacket quietly, not to disturb his newfound patience. I tied my enemy to my waist and kept the pace. This far away from the house my parents wouldn't see.

When the trees started to fade a new place came to view. Much like my little friend, back at the old house, this one also shone to the sun. But unlike my little friend, Isaacs friend was much bigger, tranquil and unmoving. Down in a small quarry, surrounded by trees, was a lake. The water wasn't pristine blue, but I could still perceive the fish swimming around. A wooden deck was built at the side we came up through, which had a few things laying around, asserting it wasn't abandoned. Isaac helped me down past the rocks and to the lonesome deck. Down there, the air stood still, no wisp of breeze, only peace remained.

Isaac pulled off his shirt, forcing me to stop my cheeks from redden, averting my eyes from him. One more minute and you'll melt. He jumped in the greenish water, making it come to life. He wasn't wrong, I almost looked like I had already disturbed the quiet lake.

I took the jacket away from my waist and dropped it with the rest of the clutter, like he did, and jumped after him. The water wasn't too cold, just enough to take my warmness away. I opened my eyes to see the greenness void. I felt his movements though the waives he made. If I could've held my breath longer, I would have felt all of them. I came up to the surface where Isaac was waiting for my approval. I giggled with ecstasy, and he smiled – for the first time. I made certain to carve it into my memory, so I wouldn't forget this moment. He made me want to live so I could hope for another moment like that.

He turned around, diving into the new movement of the water; I followed. I'd dived deep into it, so I could touch the ground, to understand that it was real. Resurfacing with a found spirit of existence, I let out a scream of joy, that was answered with another scream from Isaac. It was pure bliss, another human communicating with me. Could I be normal too? I felt butterflies in my belly, coldness at the surface of my skin, I felt the air I was breathing... I was alive.

We laughed at our stupidness. I danced in the water, as the leaves danced in the air. I forgot about me.

I couldn't tell how long we stayed floating around, I wondered if I could stay there forever, but my wrinkled-up fingers told me no.

Isaac helped me out of the water, as the weight of my clothes pulled me back in.

I told him that was the most thrilling thing I've ever done. He smiled and handed me a chair. We sat in the sun's direction, waiting for the heat to hunt us again. We felt like completely different people. I wondered if he would let me be his friend. I stole a glimpse of him – water drops shining with the sunlight, glued to his body, others fleeing to the wooden floor. The image of the innocent young boy was being erased from my mind, replaced with him. His cut curls, his new framed features, his frowning face, his muscly body, his pleasant voice... I wanted to drown within him and his peculiarity.

I'm sorry. He spoke. I would have responded if I wasn't drunk with him. The bruises. He clarified. I wasn't sorry. They would keep you with me for as long as they dwelt. I told him not to worry, that I would keep them away from my parents.

He explained that it wasn't his intention to hurt me. I was afraid. He murmured.

I smiled, amused at his statement, and asked if he was afraid of me. He looked back at me – of course.

I pushed him for a reason, and although he didn't want to respond at first, he eventually told me. You took away my freedom.

Copyright © 2023 DestielHolmes.  All rights reserved.

Author's note: Thank you for reading! Btw I've edited all chapter on wattpad and fixed some spelling errors. I encourage you to read it all again because it's been a while too. Don't forget to support the story, like and comment. I would also appreciate if you could vote on the chapters on wattpad. Thank you!!

          ← 2.5                               MASTERLIST                                2.7 →

[pukanavis]

Plum Blossoms and Snowflakes | Plum Blossom 2

Madara: “A big thanks to everyone for coming to our live today~!”

“Let’s get excited and stop Mayoi-san from needing to repeat a year, woo-hooo ☆”

Mayoi: “Madara-san, I would appreciate it if you didn’t say that so loud…”

Eichi: “Yes, there’s no need to raise your voice. I’ve had speakers installed so that you can be heard all throughout the school.”

“In fact, we’re broadcasting across the entire world ♪”

Mayoi: “Hyaah! D-Did you say the entire world!?”

“This is too much shame for me to handle, I want to crawl into a pit…!”

Niki: “Mayo-chan, Mayo-chan. Before you go hiding in a pit, can you do me a favour?”

“I’m feeling hungry, so would you go backstage and grab me something to eat?”

Mayoi: “Huh? But we’re in the middle of a show!?”

Niki: “I’m a danger when I get hungry, I’ll go on a rampage if this doesn’t get fixed!”

“If you won’t go backstage then I’ll just have to eat you instead!”

Mayoi: “Uhm, Shiina-san, I’m not food?”

Niki: “Nyahaha, that mouth-watering scent I’m picking up says otherwise~” 

“Can I take a bite? Just a finger will do!”

Mayoi: “Ah, please get away from meeee!”

Mayoi: —What if it ends up like that…!? Aaah, just thinking about it makes my stomach churn.

Akiomi: Why would you ever pick those people?

Mayoi: I thought it would be better to imagine the worst possible scenario.

Akiomi: I see. Well, Mikejima-kun and Tenshouin-kun have already graduated, and Shiina-kun isn’t even a student here so the combination you’ve thought of is entirely irregular…

Besides, you don’t need to form a team entirely with strangers. Don’t you remember? I said I’d prefer you to find people you don’t interact with often if possible.

I assure you, there’s students out there that want to help you. Even if it has only been half a year, you must have formed some sort of bond with the others.

I’m eager to see what you’ll do, Ayase-kun.

Time: A few minutes later

Mayoi: —I’ll excuse myself then.

(How pathetic of me. I’ve been living carefree without any concern for how my credits have been faring.)

(I need to find people outside of ALKALOID that I don’t regularly talk to…I could ask Narukami-san or Kagehira-san, couldn’t I?)

(The idea of working with people I’m not close to is terrifying, so I can’t even begin to muster up the courage to approach anyone.)

(But I have to form a temporary unit in order to graduate. If I end up having to repeat the year—)

(...That reminds me, Ritsu-san mentioned how he had to repeat a grade.)

(He said it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.)

(Although I’ve been enrolled at Yumenosaki for three years, I’ve only been attending like a ‘real’ student would for six months or so.)

(If I repeated a grade, I could remain a student for one year longer…)

(I might even be able to create the memories I longed for to make my own graduation album.)

(Not to mention, I’d be in the same class as Hiiro-san and Chief—)

Mayoi: (Ah, I forgot about Chief! If I graduated, he’d be left all alone in the Ninja Club!)

(Aah, I couldn’t possibly abandon him like that!)

(I don’t know what I'd do with myself if I put him through such misery…!)

(...)

Mayoi: (...I’m terribly sorry, Kunugi-sensei, but I’m going to surrender myself to the course of fate. I’ll repeat another year without resistance.)

(For someone as socially-inept as me, forming a temporary unit was a lost cause from the very start.)

(This is the best choice. I’m sure of it.)

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