#I'm alive and I'm feeling okay-er

[theood]

I take being kin very seriously as a structural part of my being and also I do think it's a little silly funny. These can and do coexist and I will not be talking about the weeks long kin shifts I experience those never happen haha

[sqgeism]

SPOILERS. hi phainon-ers how do YOU feel after his trailer

"phainon, move!"

335503335 times.

you'd think he'd get better at this, that he'd be able to turn around in time,

but fate has never been kind, has she?

335503335 times he's seen you die for him,

every time before that futile,

and now there is another. your golden blood staining his clothes as you take a sword for him, again, and again, never seeing how it would soon pierce him too. thinking you died a martyr, because you believed in him, that he could end the long time suffering of amphoreus.

but he can't, and he'll soon wake to do it all over again. a loop of his worst nightmare coming to life every single time he fails.

"you die for nothing." phainon whispers tearfully, he doesn't even want to look, he knows whose sword that is. who it will belong to. "i die for everything, phainon.

i'll die for y—"

his eyes close shut as he hears your pained cry, being pulled back and thrown to the side, right next to mydei.

your last act of kindness is to shut his eyes, allowing the prince the slightest ounce of peace.

he can't lose the next loop , he won't.

a pained cry to the unforgiving heavens is his promise, drawing his blade to fight, knowing he'll lose.

"phai? phai! phainon!"

the deliverer jolts awake from bed, a hand at his torso as hushed whispers to relax followed after. "hey, hey, you okay?"

and there you are, uninjured, alive. "yes, i.. i'm okay, angel. i'm okay."

with every second he gets to look at you, his rapid heartbeat comes to a slow. a calloused hand caresses your cheek, and phainon relishes the way you've always leaned into it, as if you need him just as much as he needs you. "i promise you, angel."

he pulls you in, kissing you softly as he murmurs an oath. "it won't be for nothing. i won't allow it."

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[bitters-n-sweets]

seize the moment — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader When a recurring patient returns to the ER after a medical scare, Robby is given another chance to finally ask her to stop running from what they yearned for

warnings: reader has a recurring illness that is unpredictable—i'm thinking epilepsy, but i have no history in medicine to fully dive in and accurately portray that in the fic, again, everything is googled. angst with happy ending. a/n: idk why writing robby is a challenge for me :)))) masterlist

[flashback]

"We can't do this, Robby," you say, "I can't do this to you."

"You're not doing anything, okay? I want to be here. With you."

"You don't know what you want!" You yell, "You have no idea, Robby. This will eat you alive—the anxiety, the worry, the helplessness—it will break you down, and you’ll hate me for it."

"And label me selfish," You bite back a sob, "but I really don't want you to hate me that way. Anyone but you. I'm sorry."

Robby didn't get a chance to say anything, you'd left him.

[present day]

Robby sighs, eyes dragging over the whiteboard. Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but something feels off. The air’s heavy. His skin itches with a bad feeling he can’t shake.

Then the doors slam open.

"We’ve got a known seizure patient!" the EMT calls. "Post-ictal when we found her—had another in transit, two minutes, generalized. She’s still unconscious."

Robby’s head snaps up. He jogs toward the gurney—and stops cold.

"Fuck," he mutters, already moving again. "Trauma Five."

Dana catches sight of her. "Is it—?"

"Yeah," Robby breathes. "It’s her."

It's been four months since Robby last saw you. That last time, you’d had another episode, but he was buried in patients and never made it to your bedside before you were discharged. He knows you’ve been avoiding him — ever since you decided it was better to end things before either of you got in too deep.

Robby’s known you since his early years of residency. It was your first episode, and though he wasn’t the one to take your case, he sat beside you anyway — waited until you woke up, and offered you hospital pudding, the only decent food in the place. He didn’t know why he stayed, not really, but when your eyes finally opened and he saw how scared you were, unsure of where you were or what had happened, he was glad he had. And so were you.

You're stable. Vitals steady. There's nothing to worry about now — you just have to wake up. And Robby's been at your side the whole time, not moving an inch. He’s making sure you don’t slip away this time. Not again.

Robby sighs, his hand wrapped gently around yours. He remembers when the two of you first started flirting — how you used to call him the handsome doctor with sad eyes, and how he’d call you sweetheart. Because you were. Still are, at least to him.

There were moments when he nearly broke — when the weight of it all pressed too hard, when he couldn’t see the point, couldn’t see the light. He was ready to quit, ready to fuck all, walk out of this hellhole and never look back. But then he'd go to see you. And somehow, you were always there—willing to listen, to take in all his mess, his flaws.

Even with everything you were going through, you still smiled. Still lit up the room. You were his light. You still are.

Then Robby finally worked up the nerve to ask you out. Years later. You were—unfortunately—hospitalized again, but the silver lining was that it gave him the chance to ask if you’d be his girlfriend. You said yes, gleefully.

The two of you went on a few dates, sweet and slowly getting to know each other. But after a few months, reality started to sink in. You realized Robby couldn’t have a normal relationship with you. Your condition wouldn’t allow it — no roller coasters, no jump-scare horror movies, no late-night parties that bled into sunrise. None of the reckless, youthful things a guy his age was supposed to enjoy.

And Robby said he didn’t care. Said he didn’t mind missing out. But you’d heard him turn down one too many party invitations, brush off plans with friends like they were nothing.

You told him to go, insisted you were fine on your own. But he always chose you instead. Always.

You were grateful, truly. But the guilt sat heavy in your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder if one day, he’d start to resent you for it.

That's when you broke up with him.

Robby lifts his head when he feels the faint twitch of your fingers. You’re stirring, slowly adjusting to the harsh hospital lighting as a groan escapes your throat.

"Hey," Robby calls out gently, "How are you feeling?"

You shift and can finally see who's hovering above you. The earthy, woody smell lets you know it's Robby right away. "Hey Robby."

"Hey sweetheart."

You want to scold him for calling you that, but you're still tired to do so.

"I'm here." He whispers.

And you look at him—really look at him—and wonder why he’s still doing this. Why he won’t let himself be happy. There are plenty of women out there who could give him everything he deserves. A simple life, a normal one. The kind that doesn’t come with unnecessary emergency room visits and fear tucked beneath every smile.

But he’s here. Still choosing you.

"You've been avoiding me."

"That, I have." You smile, guilty.

"And I'm still here for you. Always will."

"Robby—"

"Rest." He kisses your temple. "You're still recovering. We'll talk about this later."

You sigh as he steps out.

You're dischared a few hours later, and you try to sneak out without Robby catching you, but of course that's impossible.

As soon as you’re done changing and ease the door open, you bump right into a solid chest, and you hold your breath, knowing it's Robby. You don’t even have to look up to know his arms are crossed.

"Just gonna leave again?" He asks, visibly upset.

You wince and glance up at him, already forming some half-hearted excuse. "I didn’t want to make a scene."

"This isn’t a scene," he says. "This is me trying to talk to you. Something you’ve been avoiding for months."

You sigh and glance away, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. "Robby, don’t—"

"No. You don’t get to do that again," he cuts in, softer than you expect, but firm. "You don’t get to almost die, make me sit here all night thinking I’m going to lose you, and then walk out like none of it happened."

Your throat tightens. "It’s not fair to you."

"And you think just standing back, watching you go through this alone, not being able to hold you after—it’s somehow better?" His voice cracks. "You’re the reason I lose sleep, and the only thing that makes any of this feel worth it. That’s what you are to me."

You swallow hard, your gaze locked with his.

"Why won't you let yourself be happy?" Robby asks, and it hits you like a gut punch—for a second, you almost laugh at the irony.

You let out a breath. A long, shaky thing that trembles in your chest.

"It’s not that I don’t want to be happy," you say quietly. "I just… I don’t want you to end up hating me."

Robby flinches like the words hit harder than he expected.

You press on, voice barely holding steady. "People don’t stay. They try, at first. They say it doesn’t matter. That they can handle it. But then it gets hard—too hard. And they leave. And I get it, I really do. But I can’t watch you do that. I don’t think I’d survive it."

He’s silent for a moment, taking in everything you've said.

"I’m not them," he says. "I’ve seen what this looks like. The good days, the terrifying ones. I’ve been here for all of it. And I didn’t stay out of pity, or because I felt obligated—I stayed because I wanted to. Because I care about you in a way that doesn’t vanish when things get hard."

"So let me take care of you, okay?" His forehead nearly touches yours. "Let me be the one who’s there after nights like this. The one who holds you when it’s hard. I’m not here for the easy parts. I’m here for all of it."

"Are you sure?" Your eyes blur with tears, but you don’t look away. "Because I really don't want you to regret this—"

"Oh my god—"

Robby can't take it anymore and pulls you to him. The kiss is slow, making up for years of aching and near-misses. His hand cradles the back of your neck like you might vanish if he lets go, and you press closer, grounding yourself in him.

When you finally part, you're both a little breathless, foreheads touching.

"I’d rather fight for you than ever wonder what it would’ve been like to love you all the way."

[zepskies]

Headcanon: When You're Having His Child...

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: This one is requested by @cevansbaby-dove, and is kind of a continuation of this imagine: When you have morning sickness.

Tags/Warnings: Potential fluff overload.

HC: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would act while you're in labor.

Dean Winchester

Oh, sweet man...

Dean does the thing where he pretends he has his shit together.

He's really trying, for your sake, for his own, and to save face around Sam and Eileen and Jody and everyone else in the hospital waiting room.

They can see it, and he knows it: he's freaking the hell out.

When he's in the room with you, he's either helping you, holding your hand, waiting for you to be dilated enough to start the whole "having a baby" process, or pacing around on those bowlegs, occasionally dragging a hand over his mouth in that telltale nervous gesture.

"Babe, come 'ere," you say with strain. That last contraction really took it out of you. "You're making me even more nervous than I already am."

Dean goes to you and smooths a hand over your hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. How're you holding up?"

Tears well up in your eyes, but you try to breathe through it. You're overwhelmed, you're in pain, and you've been in labor for several hours already.

"We're ready for this, right?" you ask, squeezing his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed and makes sure you look him in the eyes.

"We're about to find out," he says, with a bit of teasing. But his gaze is steady when he brings your hand up to his lips. "You don't gotta worry about anything. I'm gonna be with you, come whatever, okay?"

You smile, because you don't just believe him. You know.

Because after years of fighting together, surviving together, living together, you know that this is just one more adventure you get to go on with him by your side.

Now, Dean would rather not see all the gritty details of the birth, but he stays in the delivery room, letting you squeeze the shit out of his hand. He's not going to leave your side. He's wiping sweat from your brow and encouraging you, being whatever kind of support you need.

After the baby's born and the nurses bring her back all cleaned up, Dean holds his daughter for the first time.

He has tears in his eyes. For a long moment, he doesn't even blink. He stares down at that small, perfect face. Already he sees some of your features in her.

He can't put into words how he feels. It's overwhelming in his chest. But one thing is certain...

Dean's never been more grateful to be alive than in this moment.

He blinks, and the first of his tears fall. He brings her to you, sitting down carefully on the edge of your bed again so you can hold her. You're beyond exhaustion, sweaty, and weeping, but one thing is certain...

You've never been more grateful for Dean than in this moment.

You turn to him, giving him a small smile. He returns it, and he leans in to give you a gentle kiss.

"Do you have a name picked out yet?" one of the nurses asks.

You and Dean share a look: his imploring, yours knowing.

"We're not naming her Baby," you warn him.

"Aw, come on."

Beau Arlen

Round 2! 🫡

Beau runs the gambit from excited, to anxious, to freaking the hell out, and back to excited.

This is "Round 2" for him. His second child. But he's had reservations about being an "older" father to a new baby. (He's pushing 50 at this point. No matter how much he keeps in shape, he still feels his age in his bowlegged knees.)

You've assured him that plenty of men have children at his age.

Regardless of his insecurities though, you know he's still over the moon. Beau has always wanted more kids, deep down, and now thanks to you, he's getting his wish.

He's the man who's "prepared for anything."

When your water broke, he already had your to-go bag ready with everything you might need.

But he continues to ask you questions from the moment he's got you out the door to the drive over to the hospital, and even in the lobby.

"You thirsty? You comfortable like that? How's the pain? Just breathe, baby. I gotcha. Watch your step now. You hungry? We've got protein bars in the bag, unless you're cravin' something else. First things first, let's check in. Oh, I hope we can getcha in a private room. Let's see--oh damn, they sure are packed today, huh? Okay, how're you holdin' up? How's the pain, level of 1 to 10? Yep, got it, hold my hand. Just breathe through it. I gotcha."

Bless him. The man means well, but he's driving you freakin' crazy.

"Beau, I know. If you don't take a breath, I'm gonna pop you in the damn nose."

He tries not to smile at your grumpiness. "...Okay, I hear ya. Let's just get you into your room."

He rarely leaves your side during the entire labor, just to get you anything you might actually need. The radio at his belt occasionally goes off for work, but he apologizes, having forgotten to turn it off. He put Jenny in charge while he's gone.

"Let's just hope the precinct's still standing when I get back," he jokes. He finally turns off the radio and takes it off his belt, to your relief. And he returns his undivided attention to you.

Beau witnessed the birth of his daughter Emily, so he's no stranger to being in the delivery room. He even ventures past the curtain when your son is born, breathing air into his little lungs and letting out a powerful cry.

Beau laughs with tears in his eyes. "That's my boy."

When the nurses place him into your arms first, Beau supports your hold and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. "Good job, honey. Good job."

"I know," you tease weakly.

Beau chuckles. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and looks down at the small bundle in your arms and his.

"We have a son," Beau says. His eyes are red and shining. "I have a son."

"You have a son," you nod. You look over at him and lean in for a kiss. He obliges you, and rests his forehead against yours afterwards.

Life is meant for moments like this, he thinks.

He's damn grateful it's with you.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Readers of Strong as Blood in the BMD-verse will recognize some of this HC...

This day has been a long time coming, for both of you.

He smells like cigar smoke when he comes back into your recovery room. For which you have no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Butcher and M.M. outside the hospital. 

Ben was with you for most of the lead up to the birth, but you actually agreed that having him in the delivery room wasn't a good idea. He never did well with you in pain, and with his temper, he might just scare the shit out of the doctor and nurses.

He strides toward you though, when he enters the room. He lays a hand on your head and another on the baby's tuft of brown, downy hair.

"We have a daughter," you tell him, with a watery smile.

Part of him still twinges with disappointment. He didn't react well when he found out you weren't carrying a boy, his future son.

(You'd given him enough hell that he never brought up the subject again.)

But that all fades away when he looks down at his daughter's face.

He carefully sits on the edge of your bed, but he's suspended in time. His chest tightens in a way he's never experienced before.

It's almost like pain, but not. Not at all.

He brushes a thumb along the baby's soft cheek. He's almost hesitant to touch her, knowing how fragile she is.

"Beautiful, like her mother," he says at last. And he means it.

He earns your smile.

"Flatterer," you accuse. You know you look as wrecked as you feel. Somehow, none of that matter's whenever you look at your child's face.

You look over at Ben with a shining smile. His lips twitch. He leans in and meets your lips with a kiss, slow and deep and intimate in this quiet little room.

“You okay?” he asks you, after he pulls away. “Got everything you need?”

He’s become even more protective, of course, but also more attentive to you. Especially in the last few months of your pregnancy, seeing how uncomfortable you've become.

It warms you every time, when you consider how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he can be.

It seems that fatherhood is beginning to soften him, even before he begins. You quirk a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you say cheekily.

He snorts a bit loudly at that, and you shush him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expects nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answer his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considers you, a slightly gentler smile curving his lips, and he nods.

“All right,” he says. In this moment, he realizes that his entire world is in this room.

He’d never admit it, but it's a terrifying thought, for a man who once had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stop the path of his thoughts when you ask him, "Want to hold her for a while?"

Ben perks up at attention. He's a bit uncertain on how exactly to hold the baby, but he can't lose face and tell you that. So he just accepts the bundle when you place her in his arms.

As he looks down at a small face that already has some of his features, he inhales a faltering breath.

It's the first time you ever see true tears in his eyes, despite how much he resists. One manages to draw a path down his cheek. 

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, sweetheart,” he says. It elicits a knowing scoff out of you. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looks up and finds the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes. His smirk softens around the edges.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he says.

AN: All right, I'll stop. 😭 I hope you enjoy this one, fluff overload and all! Who was your favorite this time: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 💜

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[vaspider]

i hope this isn't too weird but im really feeling like I need an older queer to tell me straight up: am I going to be ok? im a queer teen in the u.s. and with *gestures vaguely* all this...is it gonna be ok? are me and my queer friends gonna be ok?

I wish I could tell you for sure that you're gonna be okay. I can't guarantee that. I can't guarantee that for anybody. It's gonna get scary. Some of your friends are not gonna be okay. You might not be okay from time to time, or for a while. I don't know. I know that it's gonna be hard. There will be beauty in there to be found, and you're gonna need to get good at finding it, and you will if that's part of what you focus on.

One of the things that my family tries to do as a matter of course is to look for reasons to say shehechyanu. If you're not familiar, it's a bracha/prayer that Jews say every time they do something for the first time each Jewish year. So the first time you light the Shabbat candles, the first time you cross the border into another state, the first time you sit down for lunch with a particular friend, whatever it is. This is true of negative experiences, of course, and I find myself saying shehechyanu when I'm ... I dunno, at the ER for the first time each year, too, because the poem translates to:

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of the world, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this season.

So whatever I'm going through, I am trusting that I've been sustained to this point for a reason, and that I'll be sustained to the next thing for a reason, too. But it's not a passive thing -- it's not like, 'well, it's all in HaShem's hands, He'll make that choice.' By saying shehechyanu, I'm choosing to sustain myself. I'm choosing to say that I got here and I'll get to the next thing, too. Me and my people, we got here, and we'll get to the next thing, too.

You're gonna have to find your way to do that, and I trust that you will. I trust that you're up to the challenge of what these years are gonna be, because you reached out when you were afraid, and you asked someone for help. I'm sorry it took me a while to answer this, but like. You've got the instincts and the skills to get through this, starting with "I asked for someone to help me."

Asking for help from each other is the first thing an infant does: we cry. We say, I'm scared, this is new and terrifying, please help me. So find the people you can help, and the people you can ask for help. That's how we get through.

[shusha520]

In short, in general, the idea came to me quite suddenly when I was making another animatic, the idea is that Macaques after death became like something of a restless spirit, and Wukong is more emotionally and psychologically crushed after Liu-er's death, through his fault, in fact, Macaques for the first three hundred years just roughly speaking, he mocked Wukong by sending all sorts of gags there (I've already gotten bored with this animation too, hahaha), for example, when he was taking a bath, the Macaque got bored and created the illusion that it was a pool with the blood and corpses of his fellow journey. And Wukong hadn't slept properly for almost 100 years because of nightmares and eternal anxiety, he decided that he was completely crazy and had a tantrum. This was the key moment when the Macaque gave up. Aw, okay, how can you hate this jerk if he looks like a beaten puppy. Although he was still resentful that Wukong had killed him

In general, now the Macaques just play pranks sometimes, to hide the peaches, to trip up there, so nothing special.

And when he was resurrected by LBD, there was no hatred for Wukong as such, but Macaque is a good actor. Now he's alive, which means he can get Wukong again, and then there are a few events from the series, and so on and so on.

I'm still thinking about how they'll reconcile.

Another favorite of mine in this AU is that Wukong cannot see the spirit of the Macaque, even with the eyes of truth, but sometimes he felt someone's presence, but these were such rare moments that he often forgot about it. True, over the past hundred years, after the conclusion of the BDK, these moments have become more frequent, but Wukong has thrown off his crazy the state after the battle.

And the sweetest thing was, while Wukong was rummaging inside himself again, the Macaque was trying to distract this stupid monkey from his sad thoughts. Hey, he's the only one here who has the right to torture Wukong! What the hell is the Bull Demon King rebelling about!? Wukong had just started sleeping well, and here he was again? The macaque waved his tail irritably, he never really liked the brotherhood. The ghost sighed, don't care, there are more important things to do. For example, Wukong, which is frowning in a dream again. Macaque flew up to the golden monkey and placed his ghostly palm on his forehead, sending some of his magic, calming him down. Wukong's face immediately relaxed, and he unconsciously reached for the ghostly coolness. Macaque grinned, Wukong is still the same. Without thinking for long, the dark monkey left a short kiss on the king's forehead, after which he moved behind his back and hugged him. The advantages of being a ghost are that you walk through objects. Cons: you can't feel the warmth from someone else's body. At this thought, the Macaque frowned, but then shuddered at the unexpected warmth. Wukong released some of his magic, giving it to him. Unknowingly. Huh, what a fool. Macaque wrapped Wukong more tightly in his arms.

Sleep well, my king, I will always be there for you.

[holorform2009]

丂ｲﾑ尺ｲ

Pale and slender fingers carefully peeled the leaves one by one, delicately opening it slowly, aware of what is inside. Then a loud cry erupted once it revealed, inside were two little infants in the green tulip-like-leaf. One was a flower and the other is a leaf.

Both of their eyes opened and their gaze landed on a woman, their cries slowly fades into smiles and laughter upon seeing the woman and she can't help but softly smile to what she found in the forest. Gently, she picked the two infants in her arms she's thankful they're so little that she can easily hold them both but she is surprised how small these two can be. Both of them fit snuggly in her arms just right.

The one with flower giggled and the leaf one reached their tiny hands up to her face, the woman can't help but coo st the little ones. And so, she start naming them.

"I shall name you... █████ and [████]...."

When you opened your eyes the first thing that greeted you was a splitting head ache, making you groaned at the feeling like your head is about to split in half, you move your hand up to your head to massage your head ache only for you to feel a bandages around your head, you slowly sit up but then a metal bump into your forehead and you whined at the sudden impact making your head ache worse than it was before. You hear the grass softly shuffle and feel an awareness of presence not far from where you sat.

"Oh thank goodness, you're alive."

Startled by a man's voice you flinched slightly and he seemed to noticed it immediately. "Oop, Sorry fer startlin' ya kiddo. Din' mean to scare ya" you shift your gaze and saw a grey skinned man with a yellow-orange helmet and a dark grey hoodie. "Uhm.. Hi?" You suddenly feel stupid for saying that. "Don' worry kiddo, I don' bite." He chuckled lightly. " 's yer head fine? Ya hit yer head from that health dispenser." He pat his knees as he stood up and approached you, now crouching beside.

"I'm fine mister, thank you for asking. But.. where's coolkid..?" For a second he went silent before responding. "Tis nothin' to worry 'bout that boy, kiddo. Guest can handle him." He lift his hand to lightly pat your shoulder.

"Who is Guest.?"

You tilt your head at him. "Ah.. right, Guest was the one who brought ya 'ere to be healed. Said he found ya injured by coolkid's doin'." Oh... right you remember now. He almost stab you with his sword but he still got you injured by a brick if it weren't for Guest to save you, you would've been dead by now. He stood and moved away a bit to start placing one sentry beside the health dispenser.

The noise of building a sentry made you covered your ears by how loud it was, once he was done he looked over his shoulder only to see you covering your ears. "Oh! I din' know yer ears were sensitive, my bad."

You lowered your hands and shrugged "Oh it's okay but what is that?" You pointed at the machine. "That's called a sentry to shoot down the killer and it also alert us if he is nearby." Wait, killer? Who's he? Now that catch your attention.

"Killer..? Someone wants to kills us? Why?"

"Right, you din' know there's a sick game goin' on..." Now that got you worried when says it that way, he's expression changed to something pity as he looked at you. A child like you shouldn't be here, what kind of sick joke did IT do now? He thought to himself. "Me n' the others will try to explain to ya once the round 's over. Fer now we wait fer the time to reach zero." You nodded at his words, he then sat beside you as his legs were criss crossed.

"Say what's yer name kiddo? The names Builderman by the way." You looked up to him as you move your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around it.

"I'm [Name], it's nice to meet you Mister Builderman."

"Builderman 's fine kiddo, no need fer that yer makin' me sound like 'm old." He chuckled and ruffled your hair which you reacted by slapping his hand away. "Oh—" Surprised, he retracted his hand.

You averted your gaze, he was being so nice to you and you just slapped his hand like that? But you didn't like someone– especially a stranger you just met touching your head... only your mother is allowed to pat your head. "Sorry... I uh– don't like that." You muttered and didn't want to make eye contact with him anymore, embarrassed by your actions seconds ago. "That's alright, I should've asked fer yer permission."

"Builderman! There you are!"

Your ears perked up by a new voice so you looked up and see a man with yellow skin and a white shirt that says; 'Blame John' running up to said builderman and you. You wondered who is John... "I was looking everywhere for you and— who is that..." His voice trailed off as his eyes landed to your smaller figure beside builderman and his eyes seemed to widen in horror at the sight of you. "No.. It can't be..." He's not hallucinating that's a literal child he's looking at! IT is so cruel to the child, just what did they do to deserve this? They shouldn't be here at all...

"I know what yer thinkin' Shed'.." Builderman sighed as he look down at you and you looked back at him before immediately looking at the other guy, still in shame of what you did a minute ago.

"This poor little fella was found by Guest 'n brought 'em 'ere to me." He explained as he gestured his hands to you. "Elliot 's down so he came to me instead."

"They appeared in the middle of a round? IT is really heartless tonight." He furrowed his brow and gripped the handle of his sword tighter. "Well at least the timer 's 'bout to end." Builderman's expression changed. "How's Guest? The last time I saw him he was distractin' the killer." He eyed Shedletsky. "He's still alive, don't worry." As both adults talk to each other you silently stood up and move away from them a bit, all of this make your head hurt the more you keep hearing about this killer and round thingy. It's all confusing to you really.

You want to leave and go home already, you're feeling homesick all of the sudden. You let out a tired sigh as you feel the headache came back to you and it is becoming worse, then suddenly you hear the clock chimed throughout the atmosphere. When you looked up you saw a timer that reads; 0:00 you tilt your head at this. Is that the timer that builderman talked about?

Before you knew it your vision went black in a blink of an eye.

[mrsjellymunson]

Too Hot To Handle

Written for the @steddiemicrofic June prompt ‘hot’ | WC: 315 | Rating: T | CW: Mentions of food/eating and drinks/drinking, minor personal injury | POV: Eddie | Tags: Pre-Steddie, awkwardness, fluff

September 

“It's gonna be hot next week, let's go to the lake before autumn!”

Steve's nodding, and Eddie agrees with Robin, but all he can consider is how much of a golden opportunity this is. He mumbles,

“You kn–”

“C’mon, dingus, vamoose. These tapes don't rewind themselves!”

Okay, not this time. But definitely soon…

October 

“I'm too hot, boiling alive, I swear…”

Steve's pirate costume is indeed mainly artificial fibres, but Eddie ponders using this to his advantage.

“You know wha–”

“C’mon, hustle up! We're gonna miss all the good candy!”

Eddie mumbles how he's gonna kill Dustin one day…

November 

“Shit! That's really fuckin’ hot!”

Celebrating Friendsgiving, Steve drops the cast-iron dish of potatoes. Is this finally Eddie's opportunity to reveal his feelings?

“You know what el–?”

“Get it under the tap! Shit, please don't need the ER…”

This time, Eddie's cut off by Nancy offering first aid. Annoying sure, but, y'know, fair…

December 

Eddie buys Steve mulled wine as the gang browse Hawkins’ Christmas market, claiming socially-sanctioned booze is the only way to tolerate the tacky commercialism.

“Fuck, I burnt my mouth. Why’s it lava-hot??”

“You know what else is–?”

“Yay, carols!! Let's join in!”

Eddie adores how El’s embraced every holiday tradition, but seriously??

January

Eddie's ready to give up. The universe obviously doesn't want him flirting with Steve, or thinks his technique’s appalling. But what else can he try?

Steve's making hot chocolate in his kitchen, and for once it's just the two of them. He pours, takes a sip.

“Fuck! Too hot! Almost burned my tongue off, jeez.”

Eddie blurts out, quick, pitchy and way too loud,

“You know what else is hot?!”

Thrilled, he almost misses how Steve turns, intrigued, simultaneously trying to cool his mouth.

“I'm thorry, whath?”

Eddie snorts, looking coyly at Steve, pulling hair over his pinking cheeks as he finally gets to say,

“Uhh… You…”

Thanks so much for reading! ☕️

Taglist (open): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland @evileyeandthecattywhumps @3rd-conchord @bellalillyrose @katethetank @justalotoffanfiction

[lightfromthelostland]

Okay, everyone, I went down the The Pitt to ER pipeline rabbit hole and I Need to talk about the Carter Family Dynamics and specifically the elements raised by Chase Carter. I'm gonna be calling Carter John even though it's weird because everyone in this post is a Carter, haha.

Firstly, the situation with Carter's parents is a lot. His mom's multi-episode arc clearly shows that she basically got trapped in the moment that Bobby died, and she seems to resent the fact that John didn't get stuck there too. "You were exactly where you've been my entire life - you were somewhere else" is brutal but apparently factually accurate if his parents couldn't be bothered to come see him for three weeks after he was literally almost murdered by a patient. Like, my parents have way fewer resources to work with and they would be there in absolute minimum amount of travel time were something like that to happen to me. I did see some comment the other day about it being sexist that John is more willing to forgive his dad's screwups than his mom's but, friends, "she was disappointed in you as a father and as a man" is a hell of a thing to say to your father about his recently deceased mother, if you have forgiven that man for his absentee parenting. I think the continued contact with his dad was more a feature of his father making a decision to at least try to change and continuing to show up, while his mother continued to do what she (they) had always done before, which is hiding from the feelings.

But. That thing John says to his dad comes after his grandmother skips right over his dad - and any other relatives who might have a claim - and leaves the entirety of the Carter family fortune (and the ancestral home) in John's control. Which brings me to my main point, which is - the Carter Family Dynamics are real weird, and nothing makes that clearer than the introduction of Chase Carter.

So. The Carter Family is super rich and they have a lot of built-in expectations with that, as rich people often do. For this reason, John has received a great deal of disapproval for his pursuit of a career in medicine, which is bizarre from the perspective of us normal people, for whom a doctor in the family would be something to be proud of. He gets cut off from the family money for a while because he wants to continue to pursue it without them holding anything over his head. His grandmother repeatedly tries to talk him out of it. Chase says he's pretty much the only family member with a career outside of the family holdings, and as such, he's something of the black sheep of the family - or is he?

When Chase shows up, he makes it very clear that John is the Anointed One. He's the one that John Carter Sr. has always wanted to take over when the time comes. And apparently, this is still the case despite his medicine based rebellion. And that's weird for a number of reasons.

Firstly, let's talk about the rest of the Carter family. As previously mentioned, John's dad is very much alive. Logically, he would be the first choice to take over, you'd think. But beyond that, John had an older brother. He has at least one cousin (Douglas) that we know for absolutely certain is older than him, and personally, I interpreted Chase as being older as well, though not by much. He also, maybe, has an older sister who we never met and who may or may not exist. (As far as I can remember from my binge watch, the only mention of her is when he tells Benton that his parents are visiting her for Thanksgiving, prior to Benton inviting him to his family dinner. My personal headcanon is that she doesn't actually exist and he was just covering the fact that his parents couldn't be bothered to be around for the holidays.) In a family dynasty like this, the older boys would seem like the prime candidates, and yet.

Also, this is a good time to talk about how these older boys make John's name kind of weird. Even if you ignore Chase and Douglas as not being in the Main Line, Bobby still exists! Why is the second born son the one that got The Third-ed? I saw something in a fic speculating that the choice was an attempt to curry favor by John's parents, which would make some sense, but also implies the presence of significant dysfunction in the family even before John was born, let alone before Bobby died. I have questions!

SO. It is strange that John would be the Chosen Grandson, purely from a dynastic standpoint. Now, on the other hand, I love John Truman Carter III with my whole heart, and he demonstrates throughout the show that he is a) very smart b) very capable of setting a difficult goal and following through on it even the face of opposition (ironic that this trait that makes him a desirable heir is Also the reason that they're frustrated with him) and c) able to turn on the social graces and charm the general public in the specific way that the family wants. I can see how they would focus on him based on personality but there is still his dad! Who even the younger generation (as spoken through Chase) is ignoring as a stepping stone at best and a non-candidate at worst for inheriting Head of the Family status.

And that's not even getting into the way John seems to have simply supplanted his father in his grandparents' affections. John has a room in the house and feels comfortable adding a home gym without discussing it with his grandmother. John is the one who has a giant portrait of him hanging in the foyer (yes I know from a Doylesian perspective this is for the giggles of Anna and Carol stumbling across it, but like, that painting is canonically there). John's parents stay in a hotel rather than at the house when they're in town for Senior's funeral. John is the one who handles Gamma's home care after her accident, and the one who goes for a drive with her after Senior's funeral, and the one she leaves all the money to. He's the one being recruited to hand out checks at benefits even though he still hasn't given up his day job. There's a lot going on!

Anyway, clearly I have a lot of feelings about this, TLDR: Carter family dynamics are seriously whack.

Please discuss.

[theshiniestgemstone]

Hello,

I had an idea if you’re interested.

What about Gideon having an accident and is in the hospital, like when he had the neck injury, and reader is like very worried about him. The Gemstones, Jesse and Amber, are there and they see how much the reader actually cares about him. Because they just thought the reader was with him because of money and status. So they weren’t always the nicest to reader.

-🐾

"Are you okay?" Jesse asked, furrowing his brows. "You're going to end up digging a hole in the ground from all that pacin'."

You glanced over at him. "'m sorry. Just nervous, is all." You sat down in a hard hospital chair, feeling the nausea curl.

Amber, who had never really once looked at you without the faintest tint of disgust, softened. You called her an hour ago, far too shaky to drive yourself to the hospital. You were shocked when she agreed. She pulled up to you at a rest area on the side of the highway, silent the rest of the drive.

Since arriving and receiving almost no word about Gideon's condition, you'd excused yourself twice. The first time to throw up, the second time to dry heave into the bushes outside of the hospital. You’d barely made it back inside the waiting room before Jesse intercepted you with a bottle of water and a nervous glance. Now, sitting beneath the flickering fluorescent lights, your hands trembled against the ridged plastic as you twisted the cap.

Amber sat rigid beside you, her knees crossed, fingers tapping rhythmically against her phone screen until, surprisingly, she put it down.

“You know,” she said, not looking at you, “he’s tougher than he looks.”

You blinked. “I know.”

“Stupid, too,” Jesse added, trying for levity but unable to mask the tightness in his jaw. “I told him that stunt work was gonna get him killed eventually.”

You swallowed, throat raw. “He wasn’t even supposed to be on set today. He just- he said he wanted to finish early. Said he missed home and wanted to see me. I'm so sorry, you guys."

Amber looked at you this time. Really looked. Her expression unreadable, but no longer cruel. “You called me.”

You nodded.

“And not your people? Your manager?"

You swallowed. "No. I knew you'd understand."

Something flickered in her eyes. Not quite approval, but something warmer than disdain. Before either of you could speak again, the heavy ER doors creaked open. A nurse appeared, holding a clipboard and scanning the room.

“Family of Gideon Gemstone?”

You all stood at once. Amber’s hand brushed yours, a brief, grounding touch. Jesse inhaled sharply. You stood behind them. He was their son after all.

The nurse nodded once, then led you through a maze of sterile hallways and quiet murmurs. The scent of antiseptic stung your nose. You walked ahead of Jesse and Amber, pulse thudding like a drum in your ears. Every second that passed without seeing him felt like a tether pulling tighter around your ribs.

Then you saw him.

Gideon lay still beneath stiff white sheets, the hospital gown loose across his chest, his curls slightly matted with sweat. A bulky neck brace held him in place, keeping his head turned slightly to the right. His face, usually animated and boyish, was pale. Bruised. But his chest was rising, steady. He was alive.

Your knees buckled. A sob caught in your throat as you made your way to his bedside, dropping into the chair with trembling hands. You reached for one of his and cradled it between yours like it was the last good thing in the world.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Gid, baby, it’s me.”

For a moment, nothing. Then his fingers twitched.

You gasped when he squeezed gently, the motion barely there but unmistakable. Your eyes brimmed over, tears falling freely as you leaned forward, forehead resting against the side of the bed. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered. “You scared me so bad.”

Behind you, Jesse cleared his throat. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. You were rooted to the moment, to the proof that he was still with you. That he came back.

You didn’t notice Amber sitting until the quiet sound of her sniffling broke through the silence. She stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded tightly around herself. But she wasn’t looking at Gideon.

She was looking at you.

Her expression had crumbled, not into pity, not even into sympathy, but into something raw and stunned. Like she was seeing you for the first time. Her eyes shimmered, and when she blinked, a tear slipped free and traced the line of her cheek.

She said nothing. She didn’t need to. You could feel it.

For the first time, Amber saw the love you had for her son, and it silenced every judgment, every sharp look, every word she hadn’t said but always meant to. And slowly, she nodded.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not quite acceptance. But it was the beginning of something.

[jeanzoriley-cod]

Phoenix was nervous. He was always nervous. There was almost always a subtle shake in his hand, almost always a heavy feeling in his chest. It came from working the way that he did. It couldn’t be helped.

This, though, was different. Worse. He stood outside of Jeanz’s office door, listening in to hear if there was anyone inside. He was mostly listening for other people, but also trying to hear if Jeanz was in.

He should leave. Pack up his stuff and go. Stop bothering everyone else around. He had already bothered Garrison and Ghost, interrupting them those days ago and forcing Garrison to have to drop everything to help him not bleed out. Why should he bother Jeanz, too, when he was sure that she hated him?

He had a face mask on, his eye was still bruised (although less so now), and he was wearing a pair of scrubs given to him by one of the nurses. Surely he’d be able to slip off right now, never to be seen or bother anyone again. He’d have to find his boots, though…

- @phoenix-gone-dark 🌌

(Hiii Genaaaaaaa) (evil cackling in the background intensifies)

Jeanz was indeed in her office, working on some paperwork as she quietly chatted with Clara, letting her know how she was doing and what she had been up to, within reason of course. Clara was happily telling her about what was happening at the farm, how all the animals were doing and everything. She was incredibly glad to see Jeanz again, even if she had new scars, at least her sister and mother figure was still alive. Clara went silent for a moment, just enjoying being around her sister again, then she furrowed her brow, turning her head to look at the door, which clued Jeanz in. Jeanz stopped what she was talking about, noticing how Clara looked at the door. She stood up, walking over to the door with her footsteps making no noise. She opened the door, ready to scold some dumb rookie, only to freeze, her eyes going wide at who was on the other side of the door. She couldn't believe her eyes. Phoenix. The last time she heard from him, he told her to forget about him. She had a breakdown that ended up with her scratching the shit out of her arms. He looked different from when she had last seen him, but she knew who it was, even with the mask and scrubs. Without thinking, she pulled him into her office, shutting and locking the door. Clara watched carefully and cautiously, her hand moving to her boot on the leg that was curled up under her, right where her knife was. "Nix," Jeanz breathed out, looking him over with concern. "Are ye okay? How did ye get 'ere? What happened?"

(Hi Adrien!!! I'm still side eyeing you, just fyi.)

[oceansprompts]

text message prompts

[text] You okay?

[text] GO TO BED!

[text] hey you better be alive in there

[text] SOS save me please holy shit

[text] call me this date is going so bad

[text] I have way too much shit to do.

[text] Honestly I'm really worried about you.

[text] Why are you trending on Twitter?

[text] Please let me come over and pet your (pet).

[text] We are in the same building, you could come talk to me.

[text] It's not going to work out.

[text] This is a terrible idea.

[text] people have fetishes

[text] They really do crucify anyone these days huh

[text] I don't know why but that really means me want to stab you

[text] That movie was awful.

[text] For the love of god please help me

[text] I fucked up. I fucked up really bad.

[text] I'm blocking you.

[text] YOU ONE BRAINCELLED BITCH

[text] I regret swiping right.

[text] Everyone lies on their dating profiles.

[text] That absolutely can't be an actual picture of you.

[text] This forced open my third eye and I saw the devil

[text] I'm like a child in line for the newest fucked up disney ride

-

[text] That's just all fucking sorts of fucked up

[text] Why are we here? To suffer? Every other day I get messages that cause pain

[text] In the department of old man fucking, we've got you beat.

[text] have you gotten any work done?

[text] I am beyond shame, try again

[text] You left your left your underwear at my place.

[text] Don't you dare put this on Facebook.

[text] My brother in Christ you're being haunted

[text] I want to wring you like a wet towel and slap you against a wall

[text] The mind is weak but the body is funky

[text] I'm a zombie the law can't stop me.

[text] Jealous of my massive honkers

[text] We left you to die to play minecraft

[text] She would never ever take away one of these stupid fucking hats

[text] I puked all over the Uber driver's backseat.

[text] I just took a screenshot of that and posted it to Reddit

[text] You said you'd be right back and it's been months.

[text] Can't we talk about this face to face?

[text] Yeah, you'll come learn I just have a thing for milk

[text] Why did you like one of my pics from 2014?

[text] Now's as good a time as any to exchange nudes.

[text] Why would you send me an eggplant emoji?

[text] I write five paragraphs, pouring my heart out, and all you reply with is k?!

[text] Who would dare to lie on the internet?

[text] When I die, please delete all my shit off the internet

[text] He's so hot, I briefly started texting like a straight person

[text] And because I'm god and I've decided that; no, in fact, I'm not done.

-

[text] I know you love bloopy reggae jams, now is not the time.

[text] You better not be standing catatonic in your room again.

[text] God has abandoned his children but unfortunately for you I pay child support and I will smite thee.

[text]: My neighbor just told me he can fix my water heater for 50 bucks. I’m skeptical.

[text]: Do you have any idea how much it costs to buy apples? I paid 10 dollars for 6.

[text]: I mean, I wouldn’t say I have a problem with buying Squishmallows..

[text]: Hey, so you know how you told me no dog? *sends pic* I don’t do well with no’s.

[text] Stuart Little is a bitch and Remy could take him any day.

[text]: My roommate just said that Lola Bunny is hot. I’m moving out.

[text]: Hey I posted that vid of you drunk, singing Ariana Grande, wearing all black and people said not to do it again. Sorry.

[text]: Do you think the price is ever right? Like, I feel like it’s not.

[text]: I booped your nose. Boop the last five people you texted or–nothing happens really.

[text]: I’m actually in the ER and it’s a long story that involves Best Day Ever from spongebob.

[text]: I fucking hate you–wait you’re not my ex. Who are you?

[text]: You ever ask yourself if birds see a bee and just go ‘wow a bee’? im high.

[text]: sometimes all i think about is–sour patch kids. bet you thought it was you.

[text]: I love you—not as much as I love my dog. But still a lot!

[text]: I found a cat on the way home and now it’s mine. But it hates my guts so this should be fun.

[text]: I have questions about the marvel cinematic universe…how long do you have?

[text]: why do donald duck and winnie the pooh not have to wear pants but other people do?

[text]: Hey you know that show floor is lava? I may have turned the apartment into that..this isn’t a joke, btw. the floor is sticky.

[text]: I bought too much soap off etsy and now I don’t know what to do with it…I smell like Captain America.

[text]: On a scale of one to ten, how many drinks would you need to sleep with me? This isn’t a tiktok trend…or it is.

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 20:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Medical Whump, mention of needles. Got some nice fluff in this one though ❤️

--------------------------------------------------

Pain.

Excruciating and white-hot.

It pierced with daggers that chiseled through your bones, burrowing their icy blades deep inside. It ripped you away from the tantalizing grip of unconsciousness.

“No… please…” The unconscious plea slipped over numb lips, as nothing more than a weak cry.

That peaceful serenity had so nearly been yours, but cruelly, you found it no longer so easy to fade. Voices carried loudly, echoing through the cavern. Shouted orders cut through your skull like a hatchet, exploding with a nauseating, icy sharpness. Rockets fired behind your eyes, jumbling their words between that constant, shrill ringing.

“Tech! ….ere…”

Hunter's voice rumbled, muted behind that deafening noise. Despite the tumbling chaos of fragmented thoughts and twisted noise, one thought repeated, focused and unmuddled.

Alive. He's alive. He's alive. He fell too, but he’s alive.

You found your hand drifting almost as an instinct, finding purchase in the ground, nails carving desperate paths through the dirt.

Alive. He's alive.

An icy panic drove its claws around your throat, wrenching ragged gasps from constricting lungs as your searching fingers found only cold rock.

Don't leave. Don't leave me here!

The nothingness you had so desperately craved before no longer felt peaceful. Instead, it loomed ominously below, violent and cold.

You could feel it clawing its way up your throat, pulling you relentlessly back down as though punishing your resistance.

No! You wanted to scream. I won’t leave them! You couldn't do that to Hunter. Not now. Not after everything was alright again.

Blinding, piercing waves of icy fire shot down from the base of your neck, ripping a choked scream through gritted teeth, as you tried to turn your head in an urgent attempt to find the man whose voice you clung to so desperately. A pair of strong, steady hands, held your head, stopping any semblance of motion. Tears, sudden and unbidden, trickled down your cheeks before you even realized you’d been crying. A part of you knew why he held you, so still and unmoving. The prickling electricity of pins and needles down your limbs were slow to fade - a consequence of your sudden movement. Purposed, shallow breaths did nothing to dull the sharp, grating agony that flared from your chest at every breathy whimper.

“Hey…shh… Don’t move.” He rubbed gentle circles along your jaw with his thumbs. “I know it hurts… I know. I'm right here, okay?”

You knew that voice. It felt safe, it was something to hold onto.

Hunter.

The deep baritone of his voice cut through the fog.

“Breathe. Look at me. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

“A-again…” came the whispered response, lips twitching into some semblance of a half conscious grin. Some part of you registered the ironic humor in your situation, having been in the same predicament only hours ago.

Hunter gave a small huff, unable to stop the brief smirk of relief. “Yeah again. You gotta stop doing that.”

Your eyes drifted closed again, unable to bear the burning intensity of his headlamp any longer. He seemed to realize this and reached up to direct the beam away from your face.

“I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

“...can’t… too dizzy.” It felt like you were yelling, trying to be heard over that damn incessant ring.

“I know, cyar'ika. But if you keep your eyes closed, you have to keep talking to me, okay?”

The ringing was growing nearly unbearable again, drilling through your head, ripping and tearing your thoughts to shreds, pressing, squeezing until you were sure if it kept on, you would burst. Hunter’s voice was fading in and out in an endless cycle. The darkness behind your eyes whispered seductively once again only to be forced back as reality sunk its poisoned fangs deep into tissue and bone. Voices echoed down into the crevasse where you lay, concerned sincerity distorting into deriding laughter as if to mock your futile attempts to stop the pain.

Hunter called out to one of them.

“... on't…. move her…et!”

“...er…have to… help…”

Nimble fingers felt like sandpaper scraping on already raw skin and then a light, assaulting in a forced agony with blazing daggers.

“... pupils un… head…jury”

Tech. A distant part of you knew that voice. Always analyzing, ever observant. Careful but quick.

What was he saying?

There was a brief pause in which even that horrible noise had dissipated as though granting you one last relief. One last comfort before it came roaring back in the full force of overloaded senses. You could feel their frantic touches, voices overlapping one another in some sort of garbled nonsense.

Hands clenched over your leg. They gripped your head, over your chest. Ripping you violently to a blinding focus. Tearing, pulling and twisting daggers of ice into explosions of white hot pain. Hands ripping, tearing at clothing. Hands everywhere, feeling, gripping, holding you in place though you tried desperately to escape - lips parting to beg them to stop, that it hurt too much, but no words would come.

Stop! Please stop! Hunter, make them stop!

And it did seem to stop, though slow and fleeting. That nauseating intensity blurred dangerously with the icy chill, settling through your bones in a gentle numbness - the body’s merciful way of protecting nerves that fired and sparked beyond their perceived capacity.

Maybe it was the weakness of wishful thinking, or maybe it was some lingering strength fueled by a need for control. Whatever the cause, that infantesimal sliver of relief brought with it an inkling of hope that maybe you could survive this - like you were dangling from a precipice, waiting for that outstretched arm to pull you to safety.

“C'm… ack… can't lose…. plea…”

There were hands again - gentler this time. Fingers running through your hair brought a sense of comfort, though muddled and distant voices cut like blades as they danced and echoed through the rocks.

“...ere you go. Good. …ay with me, …kay?”

The iron grip that pulled you from the edge, that baritone whispering.

“Good, cyar’ika. Breathe. Listen to my voice.”

They were Hunter’s hands that gently held your head again. Steady and strong - yet kind and grounding.

That deeply penetrating hurt once again wracked violently through abused bone and seizing muscle, blooming through a daze as though attached to waking consciousness. But at least it was something to hold onto and the touch of Hunter’s ungloved skin was something that made sense in this tumult of fractured thoughts and heightened senses. A feeling of peace - a cool breeze on burning skin.

***

Hunter watched as your eyes rolled back into your head, fading once again into a pained unconsciousness.

I’m sorry. He wanted to shout. I’m so sorry.

Tech scurried about, kneeling over you - packing you securely splinted, while Wrecker had taken over holding your head steady. All he could do was stare - dazed as if watching the scene unfold from above like some sort of cosmic intruder.

It should’ve been me. I should’ve protected her - cushioned the fall. Something. Anything.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, tugging him gently back. Echo’s face swam before him, concern written on his features. “You okay?”

First confusion, quickly swallowed by a sudden anger that overcomes the sudden realization of his own aching side. How dare you! How dare you look at me when you should be focused on her!

“I’m fine.” Hunter snapped, the sharpness of his words matching the shooting pain that accompanied them.

Echo narrowed his eyes, Hunter was lying, but he nodded curtly in professional acknowledgement. He’d deal with him once they were safely back on the Marauder. He turned back to where Tech had finished securing the makeshift stretcher to cables that acted as a pulley system that would allow him to safely bring you up and out of the pit without causing too much unnecessary movement. He grimaced at the agony etched onto your face, heart aching in his chest at the way your eyelids fluttered open and closed. Fear. Pain. Confusion.

Echo didn’t have to imagine what that felt like.

We’ll get you out of here soon, he thought. You looked so fragile, so young - so vulnerable. Did I look like that when they rescued me?

“Echo, we're ready.” Tech’s matter-of-fact tone pulled him from his thoughts.

“Good. Let’s get her out of here.”

***

I am dead. Dying. Living. Unknown.

Flashes of a distant reality, all edged with an all-consuming torment; blurry glimpses of stone and rock; that treacherous, dusky sky; Tech’s helmet and cold, unforgiving plastoid. Hunter’s hand still clenched tightly in your own.

Floating. Moving. Securing. It all pulled you along as if rocking you to sleep. The agony that gripped every part of you was unbearably cruel and cold - but as long as those strong hands stayed by your side, there was hope.

A piercing, stabbing pain shot through your neck suddenly, drawing a barked cry from a dry throat. You jerked away, only to be held fast by those same comforting hands.

“Traitor.”

That mumbled annoyance protesting the betrayal of comfort, drew a soft chuckle. “Sorry, cyare. You’ll be okay.”

The awful, burning sensation that traveled down through your veins, soon felt warm.

---

Hunter watched as you fell asleep. Your exhausted muscles finally able to relax despite how securely you lay, splinted and immobilized, wrapped up in a blanket and thoroughly packaged by Tech’s meticulous hands.

“I’ve contacted Rex and he knows of a medical facility we can take her to safely.” Echo spoke as he strode over to the rack where Tech had settled you. He stood awkwardly before falling instinctively to a resting stance, arms loosely tucked behind his back.

Hunter nodded stiffly. “Good.”

Echo shifted, “You should get some rest, Hunter.”

“I’m fine.” The immediate reply was sharp and decisive, meant to scare away any sense of logic or concern that might take him away from your broken form. But Echo was not so easily swayed. He doubled down.

“You’re not.” He stated. “You can’t take care of her if you don’t take care of yourself.” His lips pulled tight in sincerity, eyeing the Sergeant up and down. He had worked with Hunter long enough to see through the callous facade. Hunter was a good squad leader - listed among the best that Echo had worked with throughout his career - and like a good leader he’d always put the needs of his squad above his own. It was both a strength and a weakness. “You need to rest, Hunter. At least sit down and let me take a look at your side.”

Hunter shook his head and leaned forward, grunting as he brushed a stray hair from your face. He could hear Echo’s words and the truth that they carried, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to make his hand move from where it curled around yours. He could feel the pain of his own injuries but they paled in comparison to yours.

He was of no consequence. You were his world.

It felt like he was standing on a cliff face and some mockery of doubtful anxiety convinced him that if he let go of your hand, he would fall plummeting further and further away.

He didn’t want to respond. It was too hard to admit that he was terrified - too hard to admit that he'd grown so accustomed to working with you, living with you, and that the prospect of losing that connection would be like losing a part of himself.

It was you who’d been there silently beside him as the weight of the rapidly changing galaxy tore apart everything he’d ever known.

That was why he couldn't let go.

You mumbled something in your sleep, eyes fluttering open.

Another pair of hands set the quivering muscles of your body on edge for an instant before loosening at their familiar touch.

“Hey, shhh… It’s just me.”

“Hun’er?” Your words came slow and unfocused, slipping out unfiltered and raw.

“Yeah?”

“...love you too…”

--------------------------------------------------

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[silverameco]

Secret Relationship - @wolfstarmicrofic - 746 words

What Sirius didn't forseen, is that a secret relationship implied a secret break-up. Hidden love meant hidden sadness when it was all over. To be completely honest, he never thought it would end at all. He should have known, though, that he would find a way to ruin everything.

It had been a week. A week since Remus said I can't keep doing this. I don't want to be your secret anymore. A week since Sirius was stuck with the secret tears he shed every night, and the awful knowledge than the boy he loved was so close all the time - across the bedroom, the classroom or the dinner table - and yet so far away.

He didn't know what to do. They were so good together. Like friends, but better. All those secret meetings, passionate kisses behind closed doors and heated moments in the intimacy of silencing spells, all of it made Sirius feel more alive than ever. And now it was all over, because of him.

Nobody knew about them. Because he was so scared. Of the world, of himself. So scared he couldn't let himself take Remus' hand in an empty corridor, he couldn't show all the love he felt, couldn't tell the world about how amazing Remus was. But he wanted to. He really wanted to. He didn't even realize Remus drifted away from him, until it was too late. And now he didn't know what to do to fix it. He couldn't tell anyone about it, because nobody knew about them. Because it was like it never existed at all, even though it felt like the only real thing Sirius ever lived.

Well, it was without one James Potter to count on. He was cornered in the dorm one evening, before they went down to dinner. Sirius was sitting on his bed, James joined him and began talking before he could think about fleeing.

"Oi you wanker, what's up with you and Moony ?"

"Um, nothing ?" he felt himself flush with the blatant lie.

"Sirius. You've both been looking like miserable sods for days, and you're barely talking to each other."

Sirius didn't answer, and kept his eyes fixated on his hands, playing with a loose thread from his bedsheets. He didn't know what to say that wasn't a lie. It didn't deter James.

"You've both been so happy these past months. I thought-"

At that, Sirius raised his head to look at James, eyes wide and beseeching. Maybe he wanted someone to know, after all. "You thought ?"

"Well, that you were together."

He said it with a soft voice and a kind smile. Like maybe, it was all okay. Except it wasn't, because they weren't together anymore. He felt the tears welled in his eyes.

"Oh, Pads. What happened ?"

Next thing he knew, he was pulled into a hug, and Sirius was sobbing into James' chest.

"I- I ruined everything. Because I w-was so- so scared. And now he d-doesn't want me any- anymore."

"Padfoot, listen to me. I don't know what happened exactly, but I know that Remus has been looking at you like a lovesick idiot for years. You can't ruin that. I'm sure it's fixable, okay ?"

Before Sirius could answer, the door opened on no other than Remus himself. Sirius straightened himself, hastily wiping his tears.

"Er- sorry, I-"

But then their eyes met, and it was like Remus didn't know what he was going to say anymore. He seemed lost, looking at Sirius' teary face like it was hurting him. Sirius noticed that the circles under his eyes were darker than usual. He wanted to erase them. Before he could think about what he was doing, he got up and stepped in front of Remus.

"Moony." he said in a small, tentative voice, that he barely recognized as his own.

"Yeah ?"

Sirius took a deep breath. "I love you. I want to be with you. I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't. I'm not sure I'm ready to tell everyone yet, but I don't want us to be a secret either. So, if by any chance, you still want me-"

And then, Remus' lips were on his, just like that. Like they've never been apart in the first place, because they shouldn't be. James was cheering obnoxiously behind them and it felt right, because they were too good together, loved each other too much to be a secret.

[allmyworth]

More headcanons! (Because Boboiboy Tumblr is looking a little too dry..)

Hello again, I return because I am starved for content, but why not throw out some while I'm at it? !Kokotaim gang edition!

>They like hanging out at the TAPOPS-U a lot because they are teenagers and once you give a teenager a space where only they have access to- You should've seen it coming, honestly.. >Yaya is fully aware that her biscuits could kill a whale but refuses to accept that fact and admit that her friends are right. She will force them down someone's throat and take that gamble of whether or not they end up in the ER. Or die. Either or-- She is willing.

>Gopal may not be book smart, but he is street smart. His grades may not be A's, but underestimate him for a second and the next thing you know-- You fell right into his genius trap and left gaping. The gang usually looks to Gopal for a plan-- As absurd as some of his plans may be-- They actually seem to succeed to work better than what was originally planned! >Boboiboy gets emotional very easily. Like, easily. He has a soft heart. Show him a sad film and he'll be the first to tear up. Boboiboy used to be very ashamed of the fact that he couldn't control his emotions and fit into society's definition of a 'man' and used to be quite heavily defensive, sassy, and sarcastic because if he wasn't-- He'd cry. But! He's learned that he is safe around his friends. They would not judge him if they spotted him with red rimmed eyes, just a silent understanding and the kind act of trying to cheer him up. He is still very much sarcastic and sassy-- But it isn't to hide anymore. >Fang came to the horrifying realization that he views Gopal and Boboiboy as his older brothers and Yaya and Ying as his younger sisters after the fight with Kaizo. Did he tell them? No. Is he still going to drift off to the sounds of their voices only? Yes. Is he still going to feel a gaping hole in his chest whenever he goes out on missions with just his brother? Yes. Is he going to dream about them once he eventually out lives them? Yes. Is he going to desperately try and keep their memories alive despite it being more and more futile as he ages? Also yes. Don't try to corner him on this-- He will summon a shadow squirrel to crawl into your pants. Don't test him.

>Ying has learned to shut down whenever something pisses her off. She doesn't really want to do this, but she'd rather shut down than lash out and hurt someone again. She hated being pissed off and misdirecting her anger onto her friends instead. Now? She stays quiet, silently brooding and distancing herself. Her friends reassure her that it's okay, that she's still growing up, that she'll learn to control it-- But she doesn't want to hear it. She'd rather isolate herself than make Boboiboy cry again, or make the rest of the gang uncomfortable, or make Yaya upset, or be the reason why laughter wasn't permitted whenever she was around and brooding. Ying knows, Ying understands, Ying learns, and this is the best she can do. Even if she yearns for Yaya to come into the room and just sit with her, just hold her, just let her breathe, to breathe with her.

Those are the headcanons I'll write so far and maybe next time I'll write up some more! These are just headcanons and if you don't agree with them-- That's completely fine! Everyone is entitled to their own opinion! These are just what I like to imagine in my little hellscape I call; my brain.

[o0chiyami0o]

Second chance:

Pt 1. The Saviors

Lil warning before we start

Listen uh, I'm making a series because uh I want to. Judge me or not, I have a K9 dog with me(totaly a dog). But anyway other that I'd hope you all enjoy this lil series of mine, the reader have a bit of personality and hit of same backstory from a character, I'm not gonna really reveal who I was refering to but I'd love for you lots to keep guessing 'till someone guess it right:). Also, I'm not good with their accents so I might just slip in some the words I know, sorry.

Everything is dark and you can't even see a thing, is your eyes even open? Are you even alive? You keep asking yourself that. Your lungs feel full as if water were filling it each time you tries to took a breath.

Soft murmured can be heard but from where? You can barely make up the words they're saying "Poor soul" "Barely reach late twenties" "lord forgive this soul". And some you couldn't make up, soon the soft murmured became more louder and the voices adds up.

Your eyes finally flutter open only to meet with blinding white light as you can't feel yourself breathing, yet here you are, awake but the blinding light make you second guess it "Poor soul, it's not your time yet. I'll bring you back there but not at the same place you use to be. Be as brave as you're before." the voice say, sound so soft and soothing but something about it make you feel unease.

Before you could quest whoever's voice was it, you soon felt like yourself falling. The blinding light is no longer in view as you find yourself in a what seem to be a bulding with a gasp escape you once you feel yourself breathing again.

"What.. the fuck" you breath out as you clutch into your chest, everything felt so wrong and different as your eyes flick everywhere. The sounds of people yelling, screaming, gunshots and more chaos. Just what the hell is happening here? You ask yourself as you stand up on your feet before a groan escape you, everything hurts.

You look down at yourself before took a notice the bruses and wounds on your body which make your eyes widen 'What happening?' You repeat in confusion, you didn't have time to think before the door, that already broken anyway, kicked down by a male "Captain, foun' someone" he say, talking to the mic that were resting on his ear.

You took in his appearance, a soldier, what you can see from his uniform as his hair.. is somewhat unique for a soldier. Whatever it is, make you tense up once you saw his uniform. "Yer okay, bud?" He ask as he approach you, clutching the gun he holding while he keep his guard up.

You just continue to stare up at him, your mind telling you to fight or run but you remain still with body tensing. One time you're drowning and the other time you're here. Weird.

"Gee, could use a medic, kid" he say as he crouch down in front of you. Kid? You ask youself, this man doesn't seem to be older than you in any thought. "Come, let me help ya" he says as he put away his gun and carry you up in his arms. An arm behind your knees and the other behind your back.

"S'tense, wha' happened to ya, Lass?" Ask the man as he keeps his focus straight, running toward what seems to be a helicopter. His question remains unanswered as you keep your guard up when he steps into the vehicle only to meet four other men with the same uniform as his.

The sight make you tense up even more than you should which make the man who holding you took a notice of it "found 'er still breathing in one of the building. The other already left with the others suvivor" the man explain to his team as he sit down on the barely enough space in the vehicle.

"This is why I told 'em to check every building even there's no call out for help" mutter a man who sitting across from you, seems to be the oldest if you take in his appearance but look can always lie. "The medic is busy, let 'em be" say another man who offer you a sympathic smile.

The man who still holds you in his arms shift slightly to help you have a comfortable position while all of you fit in the small space "we're going" a gruff voice say from the pilot seat before the helicopter start do lift off from the ground.

"S'tense, where did ye find 'er?" Ask the man from across of you, tilting his head slightly as his bear shifting every time he start talking "one of the broken building, colaps as soon we leave. Lucky 'er" say the man who still holding you in place, giving his teammate a grin.

"Lass look traumatized" say the other man, who give you a softer gaze as if trying to help you ease up, that didn't help thought. "Wouldn't imagen wha' happend there, the town were turn upside down by tha' maniac".

That gets your attention as your gaze flick to the man who just talk. A maniac? Surely they just being overzealous but nothing is impossible to you anymore.

———

You can't remember shit. You're now in a medical room where they tend your wounds and bruses. They ask you your name, you say your name to them but it feel wrong to say as if it's wasn't even your name to begin with.

When the medics leave the room to let you heal, you hear the door of the room being open to reveal the man who save you "how 're ye doin' lass?" Ask the man as he approach your bed. Staying silent as you look up at him while laying down on the bed "not much of a talker are ye?" He ask, after a while he notice you're not going to answer him.

He soon called out your name with a grin on his face ",heard they called ye' that" he say as your head nod comfirm his words which make his grin widen when he knew you're not fully ignoring him. "Call me Soap, Bonnie" he say as he watch your expresion, wich to his supprised, you let out a short laughter.

This fact make him tries to pull out more of your laughter from you by making some jokes in hope to ease you up, some were so bad that manage pull out a louder laughter from you.

But soon it come to an end when one of the nurse tell him to leave you to heal, you watch him walk out of the room as he give you a grin before leaving the room.

You now left alone in the medical room, you glance to your side to find an open window that reveal the night sky. You look outside from your bed, looking at the stars as you still confused what will happend next since you know nothing of this place neither how you got here.

The stars held no answer for your questions as you found yourself slowly falling asleep, maybe tomorrow will answer at least some of the questions that have been flooding in your head.

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