#Lys Writes Fic

[flyingwide]

hello @cruelfeline it's Worse Time

Starling remained on one knee, unmoving, until the door closed with an unremarkable click. There was a moment of perfect stillness, then two, and then he collapsed forward, barely catching himself on his hands. Frey was at his side before she had even made the conscious decision to leave her hiding place.

"Fuck," she said as he wheezed, his eyes closed and head hanging down. She reached out with one hand to get a better look at him but had barely brushed his chin with her fingertips when she pulled back sharply. The collar was pulsing rhythmically, its points more pronounced, larger. Though it remained gold, black tendrils splintered out over the skin underneath.

"It's not you," he assured her, turning his head her way though his eyes continued to flutter closed against his will. He gestured carelessly towards the door and almost fell forward with the motion. Frey caught him by the shoulders and helped him sit back. Both of them together were able to shift him enough to rest his back against the foot of the couch, despite him being predominantly dead weight (and Frey had never hated that phrase more than at that moment).

Starling leaned his head back, eyes closed, and she was able to really look at him. He looked exhausted, which should have been impossible. The collar continued to pulse and it seemed like the tendrils had spread. She was afraid to touch it; she knew what her touch did to it. Her gaze moved up from the glint of it to examine his face. It was then that she noticed the same inky black tendrils at the corner of his mouth.

Going up on her knees next to him, she angled his face towards her. Starling didn't fight the motion, letting his head loll in her hands. She brushed her thumb over his lip; it came away sticky and slick. Horrified, she looked from her hands back to his face, finding his eyes open again as he watched her solemnly.

"Is this... blood?"

"Apologies," he said with a ghost of a smile. "I hadn't meant for you to see that. I know you like to forget I'm me."

"Don’t," she said sharply.

[lostelysium13]

as sure as ferrets are ferrets

Rating: G

Fandom: Forspoken

Relationship: Cuff & Frey Holland

Tags: Canon Divergence

Words: 594

Summary: Alfre sat in her little tower, curled up with a book. They were good friends, her and her books; they had to be, once all the people left. This one was her favorite. She loved Alice and her adventures in another world, loved the silly Mad Hatter, loved the trickster Cheshire Cat, even loved the Queen of Hearts. The Queen of Love, she'd called her once. Her mother had laughed at that. Now her mother didn't laugh at much at all and locked herself away from her daughter.

[romanyeva]

Just had to talk a friend down from a two cakes crisis. Her cakes - meaning her fic - are absolutely fine, but she felt a little down and checked out the rest of the dessert table. She got caught up in the whole comparison thing. "Oh man, this fic is way better than mine 😞."

And hoo boy, have I ever been there. When I was writing prolifically, I just wouldn't read. I couldn't because I knew I'd go into that fic measuring mindset and declare myself the loser, have to step away from the keyboard and stare out the window a while. And if I had an exchange deadline? Absolute worst timing.

Not everyone goes through that of course, but it's more common than you think, even with so-called established writers. I've seen people delete wips or even their whole account over that burden of doubt. So here are some possible tips to crawl out from under that burden:

Table it. You're done for the day. You've been staring at that cursor for too long. You have no perspective on your work anymore. Go do something else: play with your dog/cat/fish, go for a walk, eat something, go to bed if it's late.

Re-engage with the source material. Watch an episode, read a chapter, listen to that podcast, whatever it is. Find that voice in your head that sings in harmony with the source.

Read positive comments left on your previous work. Trust what they've told you. Because the liar here is your doubt, not your readers.

Hit up that friend you trust and ask them to tell you your strengths. Even if you don't believe it right now, you have strengths as a writer. Maybe it's worldbuilding, maybe it's dialogue; your friend will give you concrete examples. You don't need a beta right now, that will come later.

You're not alone. This is a community. Even if it's a rarepair or gen fic in a niche fandom - and especially then! - someone will be so happy that you brought that cake to the table.

[fernisfreaky]

Why do I keep thinking that Optimus, Megatron, and Ratchet from Prime were in like a throuple before the war?

BECAUSE IT'S TRUE!!!

[inthehouseoffinwe]

AU where even after death our favourite Finwëions are being stubborn as ever so a new solution is found. Finarfin just wanted to help his grandson in law.

Fëanor and Fingolfin are being stubborn as ever

It’s been three ages, their wounds are healed, they’ve made up and understood most of their deeds

But they cannot for the life of them get along, and everyone, from Mandos to their children and people, know that if they’re released in their current state, things will go right back to how they were

Even if their people are kept in line by their kids, it’s a very explosive situation

And in all honesty, Námo feels like they’ve put poor Finarfin through enough without this addition

He can’t keep them here forever. The halls aren’t meant to be a permanent residence unless it’s by choice, and they’ve started causing chaos in here too

…but speaking of the sons of Finwë

Finarfin himself isn’t doing particularly well right now. He feels great guilt for his inaction over the last two Ages, especially as Tyelpë and Ereinion turned up with their own tales

Then of course little Celebrian

(Doesn’t matter how much everyone tells him they’d genuinely be lost without him and his actions. The Noldor especially would’ve been outcast and alone. They needed a stable ruler, not another revolutionary. And the work he’s done is more impactful than either of his brothers ever managed)

Not to mention he’s still furious at his brothers despite what he’s convinced himself of

…and misses them greatly.

Truth be told, the Valar owe him a lot.

So they offer him a choice.

Ereinion’s skilled with managing all kinds of people and people don’t have a problem with the kid, so for a time he’ll be the High King

Finarfin is overjoyed at the chance to help his granddaughter’s family. Elrond is dear to many across all factions, and his children too.

…He’s less overjoyed at the news his brothers will be joining him if he agrees.

Nevertheless desire to be of use for once wins out and he accepts.

He gets a week or so to say his goodbyes and prepare for the journey. Asking around, particularly asking the third age elves who’ve recently arrived and Celebrian most of all, gets him the clothes and supplies he needs to somewhat blend in.

They’re still his colours (though he has none) and his symbol is carefully hidden under the cloak.

And he heads to the Hall’s Opening.

“For what it’s worth, Arafinwë, I’m sorry for the additional baggage. We’ve asked much of you, but hopefully this at least will benefit us all.”

Námo is kind when he stands and opens the gates.

“I know you’ve missed them too.”

The soft whisper dissipates into the wind with the Vala and now two figures are walking out. Tall. Broad shouldered. Eyes shining with light.

Clad in their usual blue and red, weapons strapped to their backs and hips.

Fëanaro and Nolofinwë have returned at last.

Before he can say anything there’s a whirl of light and the three elves are swept away.

Aragorn did not sign up for this

A bright flash of light all but blinds him, leaving three figures in its wake.

Three very tall. Very Elven. Figures.

And if that’s not enough, they look strangely familiar. Like he should know them from somewhere.

“That damn Vala! He couldn’t have warned us!”

And now they’re speaking Quenya.

“He did. It’s not his fault you don’t listen to anyone but yourself,” the one clad in blue says viciously.

The third elf, the only one with blond hair, groaned and glared at the two others. Aragorn winced at the look, thankful he wasn’t under it, though neither of the others so much as flinched.

“You’ve been back how long?” He scoffed. “And here I thought I missed you.”

To his credit the one in blue showed some regret and bowed his head. Beside him, the red one huffed, but it was much less heated, and his hands clenched into the leaves around him.

“Forgive me, Arafinwë,” the blue one said.

Aragorn’s hand found his blade. It couldn’t be…

“Depends what you want forgiveness for, Nolo,” was the cold reply, tinged with hurt.

No way.

But it was there. The uncanny resemblance to the portraits he’d seen in his books as a young boy learning his history. This was no doubt Fingolfin, and beside him Finarfin. Which only left-

“My feud with Fëanaro has long tainted our relationship, little brother,” the blue elf- *Fingolfin* replied bitterly, glaring at the third elf. “I’d like to start again.”

“Well I’d like you two to shove your issues aside for once and try and get along!” Finarfin hissed back, and his older brother’s eyes widened. “How long will you keep fighting?! How long will you divide your people, your children! How long will you make them suffer for your egos?!”

Aragorn expected Fëanor to scowl, angrily proclaim his youngest half brother had no right to speak that way, but the elf only glared into the floor. Fingolfin stared into the trees and Finarfin turned away, eyes clouding with pain.

Only to stare right at Aragorn.

“Fëanaro, Nolo. Swords up.”

To their credit the elves immediately stood and followed Finarfin’s gaze to Aragorn. The Ranger carefully stepped into the light as the three sons of Finwë stared him down.

“It is not polite to lurk, stranger.” Fingolfin said in the common tongue and Aragorn vaguely wondered if he’d been taught it in the halls. He put his hands up, free of weapons, and lowered his hood.

“Forgive me, my lord Fingolfin. But I had to identify if you were friend of foe. You appeared in a strange manner wearing faces of old, and the enemy is skilled in his deceit.”

“You dare accuse us of being Sauron’s creations?” Fëanor’s eyes lit with a fell fire and Aragorn would have shuddered was he not accustomed to seeing much worse from his own father. Elrond could be… rather terrifying when he decided he’d had enough of his son’s’ shenanigans.

“He was being cautious,” Finarfin retorted. “Something you could learn from considering how your life ended.”

“I didn’t know what Balrogs were!”

“The great Fëanaro admitting to not knowing something, have the end of days come at last?”

“Some would say his presence here is an indicator of that,” Fingolfin muttered as Fëanor scowled at the blond. The scowl turned to him and he met it squarely. “I said what I said.”

The situation was fast unravelling and Aragorn had Nazgul on his tail. For all his training in Elrond’s house, nothing had prepared him for dealing with three Princes - Kings??? - of the Noldor at each others throats. Sending a prayer that this wouldn’t get him skewered, he whistled sharply and the three elves spun his way. He raised his hands in apology.

“Orcs and other fell beasts roam these lands, my lords. I’d advise a quieter argument?” He grimaced at the two stunned faces, wondering when it would turn to explosive anger that ended the line of Elros once and for all.

But Finarfin tilted his head, a small smile playing about his lips.

“It takes great courage to step between the arguments of the House of Finwë. What’s your name, stranger.”

The Ranger bowed his head.

“The trees have ears, my lord, I’d take you to an Elven safehaven before telling you that. But for now, you can call me Strider.”

[mamoonde]

thinking about a canon div au where lwj goes to yunmeng jiang the summer after gusu lectures, walks in just in time to see a sweaty half-naked wwx, his dirtied training robe left hanging around his waist where it's tucked into his trousers and belt, tousling with equally sweaty and dirty junior disciples (only a handful of them are in equal states of undress).

wwx spots him half a minute later, right after demonstrating the proper archery stance to another disciple. the moment he does, he blinks, then brightens, dropping the bow to make his way towards lwj.

all six feet (how is he suddenly so tall?!) of him, sunkissed skin, toned chest and stomach bare and gleaming with sweat.

lwj can hardly breathe. his right hand is a tight fist behind his back. he imagines his frayed tether to his sanity in his desperate grip.

wwx is in his usual teasing lwj mode, especially now that he's a solid 2 inches taller than lwj (for at least the summer), back turned to his silly shidis shooting kites, revelling in lwj's attention—

his hand moves before he can think, snatching the arrow in midair an arm's length from them.

lwj had been so preoccupied he hadn't even noticed it before wwx had suddenly turned and seemingly plucked it out of thin air.

wwx clicks his tongue. "watch it, guys; i can't have lan zhan thinking i'm a crappy teacher!" he chucks the arrow as though it were a spear, where it lands dead center at a target.

lwj desperately recites the gusu lan precepts about restraint and proper conduct in his head. mostly, he would like to – needs to – lie down.

"but you are a crappy teacher!" one of the disciples retorted. "you all but left us for dead the moment you saw some handsome gongzi!"

"what, am i supposed to choose you stinky lot over a handsome er-gege?!" wwx snorts then turns back to lwj with a grin.

please don't notice my traitorous body, please, please, please, lwj prays desperately.

"sorry about that, lan zhan! these guys still only hit about half the kites—oh? do my eyes deceive me?" wwx leans closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

before lwj can step back to safety, wwx's hand grazes the tips of his ears. end me now.

"my poor dear lan-er-gege, has the yunmeng sun already given you sunburn? your ears are as red as my hair ribbon!" wwx cackles, then grasps his sleeve, tugging him towards the pavilions. "don't you worry, i'll take good care of you, lan zhan! shijie should know where to get salves to soothe the stings."

lwj swallows, wanting to collapse right there and then if that wouldn't only add to his mortification. he eyes the lakes. maybe if he could just stay there the entire summer...

[flyingwide]

When the fire and smoke cleared, she was the only one left standing. Or what passed for standing. Bracing herself on a rock, Frey let her knees collapse. She tried to slow her breathing; the harder her heart pumped, the faster she'd exsanguinate. "Ow," she said pitifully, pulling her hand away from the gashes and immediately wishing she hadn't when she saw how much blood coated it. "You need to heal yourself," Cuff demanded. He sounded very far away. "I will," she promised, though the words fled from her mind as she slid further and further until she collapsed on her side in the dirt. "I will." Will what? It was hard to remember suddenly. Her head was fuzzy. "I think I need a nap," she admitted. "No, no, no. Frey, stay awake. Frey, listen to me for once in your life. Do not go to sleep." "But I'm so tired." "I know but you have to stay awake." It was hard to keep a grip on any thoughts. Part of her heard the desperation in his voice and responded in kind but her mind felt like the times she'd run up a cliff only to find no handholds, nothing to cling to. Nails scrabbling over smooth stone, only a shower of dust to show for it. She screamed as something clamped down tightly on her wounds, hard enough that the pain sent shockwaves through her whole body. It brought her back to wakefulness, enough to reach for her magic when Cuff yelled at her again to heal herself. She felt skin stretch and stitch together and her breathing got a little easier. Then the world went dark.

I love - love - the concept of Cuff using himself as a way to support Frey through serious injury. Twisting and contorting himself to stabilize a broken limb, for example. Or reaching out with multiple bands of metal to wind tightly around a heavily-bleeding wound, keeping pressure on it until the battle is over, and Frey can either seek human help or at least get herself to a refuge to recover.

Mm.

There's something deeply soothing about the two of them recovering after such an event. Frey exhausted from the blood loss and the sheer shock of it. Cuff just as spent because maintaining such a consistent physical form is incredibly taxing on him. Both just like... mentally leaning on one another as they rest.

Eventually, when she's able to, Frey quietly begins to clean her own blood off of Cuff's coils.

[simp-ly-writes]

Okay but Price on a road trip would 100% be the guy to stick his hand around to the backseat. Shaking his palm around upwards for snacks to be poured in as he drives and you voice out navigations from the passengers seat. You turn around to watch the rest of the boys all huddled up in the back- shifting around and fighting one another for space as you snap a picture for the album.

[jujuscrolled]

last christmas

☆ pairing: ex! suguru x gn!reader (if i slipped up PLS let me know)

☆ synopsis: last year suguru had broken up with you claiming it’d be for the better but the year had progressed and everything was the same. did he think so to?

☆ content: angst/some comfort, mentions of drinking,

☆ word count: 3K

The cool air nipped at your cheeks, a slight shiver running down your spine.

You watched as children laughed, snowballs held tightly in their hands before getting flung at their friends. Across the street from them; the hazy, warm lighting from a small bakery illuminated the snowy ground. The town was busy, people finishing some last minute Christmas shopping or enjoying each other’s presence bundled up to keep warm despite the cruel chill that swirled around you.

You shivered again.

You’d only been gone for a year but it seemed like everything had changed. The shops were different and the people were older.

You sighed, tugging your sweater closer to your body before walking towards the bakery that Satoru had told you he’d meet you at; he had wanted to pick up some cinnamon rolls for his party and since you had denied his offer of picking you up at the airport you’d compromised on just meeting halfway there.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. It’s not like you hadn’t kept in contact the entire year but now he was here, in the flesh and inviting you to his annual Christmas party insisting that you’d never missed one before so why start now?

Truth be told, you did always enjoy his parties and it was always nice to see everyone together, but this would be the first year - the first party- after you and Suguru had broken up.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that day, having been sent off to Paris by your job and honestly, you hadn’t wanted to.

The memory had burned itself into the back of your mind; the muddy slush beneath your feet, the rain pelting your skin as you stood outside Suguru’s house and the aching in your chest as he ripped your heart out and stomped on it.

Despite that he had tried to cover you with an umbrella, insisting that you come in because you’d catch a cold. It had made you angry, the way he had talked to you so gently like he hadn’t just torn you to pieces minutes prior insisting that it’d be for the best if you spilt up.

You grit your teeth at the memory, hand hesitating in front the door before you fought through it and pushed it open. The bell above the door chimed loudly, alerting everyone in their of your presence including Satoru whose bright blue eyes had immediately lightened as they landed on your bundled up figure.

“Hey!” He greeted, enveloping you in a warm hug before guiding you over to where he had previously been standing in front of the wide display of treats the bakery had to offer.

Beautifully decorated cakes and stuffed croissants were lined up neatly next to other perfectly crafted sweets. Satoru’s heaven surely.

“How was your plane ride?” He asked, the arm that he’d swung over your shoulder squeezing you gently as he looked at you.

“So long. I think I’m gonna be jet lagged for months, honestly.” You sighed, watching as they packaged the pastries Satoru had chosen before you had gotten there.

“I thought you were just getting cinnamon rolls?” You asked, arching a brow as they packaged yet another flavor of kikufuku.

“I did! The rest is for me - you know I can’t help myself around kikufuku.” You couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Of course.”

Once the treats had been paid for you both walked to his car, him opening the door for you and entrusting you with his beloved sweets. The car ride was comfortable, spent talking about your Paris experiences and him catching you up on what you’d missed while eating a few of his kikufuku that you’d hand him.

“You’re gonna spoil your dinner, Toru.” You teased as he reached for another one, he only shrugged mouth full of the cream filled mochi.

“My stomach is an endless pit, don’t you worry.” He said through his mouthful.

“Thank you for helping me by the way. Everyone else was insisting they’re too busy to help me set up.” He huffed as you both walked through his front door, treats half eaten and cheeks burning from the snow despite only having been outside for mere minutes.

“No problem, happy to spend time with you.” You replied, allowing him to remove your jacket only for him to fling it onto the couch. He didn’t own a coat rack, you don’t know why you assumed he’d keep your jacket safe.

The two of you decorated his living room, stringing lights across every surface and sticking candy canes in random places. The tree in the corner had clearly been decorated by children; you assumed Satoru had let the neighbor’s kids help him since their father hardly ever had enough time to do things like that with them. You cleaned up the coloring books and crayons that they had left too, placing them in their designated corner.

After about an hour the place looked like a Christmas store had thrown up in it, even going the extra mile to place mistletoe on each doorway as a little gag for whoever ended up under it.

“Shoko said she’s on her way with Kento and Haibara.” Satoru shouted from his bedroom as you finished up the last of the details on the dining table. You glanced over at him, watching as he made him way to the living room, clicking on the television and pulling up one of those fake fireplace videos despite the fact that he had a real fireplace. (“The cleanup is annoying, plus Megumi likes playing around there and I don’t want to be responsible for any mishaps!” he’d say whenever you reminded him.”

Soon after you heard some knocks on the door before it flung open. Shoko had a bottle of wine in her hand, comically large and clearly hard to carry seeing as she had both arms wrapped around it.

“Y/n! You’re back!” She said, making her way straight towards you and pulling you into a side hug to avoid the wine bottle getting in the way.

“Got back this morning, Toru wanted me to help with the decor.” You replied. Kento and Haibara hugged you too, placing their things on the table. Haibara had brought a bucket of fried chicken and Kento had brought some homemade rolls saying he’d gotten the recipe from a bakery that he often visited.

The four of you mingled as you waited for Utahime and Suguru to arrive, your stomach in knots as the time passed. You weren’t sure what to expect, despite knowing that with everyone around it wouldn’t be likely that it’d be awkward but the awkwardness was the least of your worries.

You hadn’t seen him in an entire year and despite having mostly healed from the breakup, having little to no hard feelings, you still had a tiny ache in your chest whenever you remembered the look on his face when you told him you hated him. The both of you knew it wasn’t true, it had been words spat out during high tension - words meant to wound.

The doorbell rang and Satoru made his way over, welcoming Utahime with a one-sided hug before she ran to you, pulling you into a hug and asking you about your trip.

“Suguru said he’s running late because the girls refuse to go to bed.” Satoru said as he typed on his phone, presumably replying to the message.

“Shall I serve us some wine then?” Shoko asked already making her way to the kitchen.

As everyone drank their wine and chatted you got lost within your mind again, unable to stop replaying the memory you’d tried so hard to get rid of. It was strange really, you’d hardly had time to think about anything other than your job your entire year in Paris but being back had clearly reopened the wound you’d thought you’d fully healed. Seeing everyone again had your mind reeling.

Biting your lip you contemplated just going home and avoiding facing your fears. You were back for good, what was the rush?

As you opened your mouth to excuse yourself, a loud knock on the door had everyone cheering, knowing it could only be Suguru.

Your world spun as the door opened revealing Suguru, looking gorgeous as ever. Inky black hair tucked neatly into a bun. He wore a white knitted sweater and black dress pants, gauges still in his ears and purple eyes immediately landing on your figure nestled between Shoko and Haibara.

You quickly looked away, fingers tugging on the fabric of your shirt in attempts to soothe yourself. You definitely weren’t ready for this.

“Hell yeah! Let’s get to eating!” Satoru cheered, arm around Suguru’s shoulder as he led him to the table, the rest of you following suit.

As everyone served themselves, you stood idly behind Shoko waiting your turn and thanking the heavens above for Satoru distracting Suguru. You knew he’d want to talk to you and you weren’t even ready to see him so talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do.

Despite that fact, you could feel his lingering gazes on you and it only made you drink your wine quickly in attempts at easing the growing anxiety.

Shoko and Utahime made it their mission to distract you and they did a fairly good job at it, telling you stories about things they’d done while you were gone.

Unfortunately, the fuzzier your mind got the less you paid attention, only seeming to notice the way Suguru’s eyes stayed on you. Every time he had sensed a lull in your conversation with anyone he would try to get your attention but you wouldn’t let him - quickly engaging in different topics with whoever would listen. It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to him, you just didn’t know if you were strong enough to get through a conversation without crying. And you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself like that your first night back in Tokyo.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened.

You had excused yourself about two hours into drinking, your hazy mind amplifying every sound, every conversation and ultimately overwhelming you.

You’d never been much of a sociable person, limiting yourself to your small group of friends but after being isolated for most of the year, being so busy with your workload that socializing was the least of your worries, it seemed like you’d lost the ability to handle so many interactions all at once.

As you leaned over the bathroom sink, taking in deep breaths to cool yourself down, a knock sounded at the door. Thinking it would be Shoko or Utahime checking on you, you opened the door only to be face to face with the last person you’d want to be alone with.

“Please don’t close the door on me.” He said, raising his hands as you gripped the door tightly. You only frowned at him, glancing around to see if anyone else was coming to your rescue.

Only an empty hallway greeted your vision.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me so you don’t have to. I just… I know it’s not my place anymore but I could tell you were getting overwhelmed so I couldn’t help but come and check on you.” He said, eyes taking in your every feature and successfully rendering you speechless.

“I’m fine. Just…” You stopped, not needing to elaborate since you knew he could still read you like a book. It made you uneasy.

“Here, let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” He said, moving to the side so you could exit the bathroom. You could only hesitate.

“Promise I won’t talk to you if you don’t want me to.” He said, eyes begging you to follow him.

Letting out the breath you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding, you flicked off the light and exited the bathroom, allowing him to lead you to Satoru’s room and out onto his balcony.

The cool air felt good on your overheating body, Christmas lights from the houses around you twinkling under the night sky. Suguru handed you a throw blanket before leaning on the railing to look down at the snowy landscape.

“How was Paris?” Suguru asked. You glanced over at him but his gaze only stayed on the scenery below you so you relaxed a bit.

“It was fine.” You replied, feeling a bit awkward.

“Just fine? You do realize you were in Paris, right?” He mused arching a brow at you causing you to bite back a smile.

“Uhm.. Well, yeah but I didn’t exactly have time to sight-see.” You said, letting out a breathy laugh. He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head, “can’t say I’m surprised… Did you at least see the Eiffel tower?” He asked.

“It’s insane in the night time when it lights up and everything.” You mused. Suguru watched as your eyes brightened with the memory.

You don’t know how long you two just stood outside, admiring the scenery and recounting stories here and there before he cleared his throat during one of your silent moments causing you to flinch at the sudden noise.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, not meeting your gaze. You looked away from him, throat tightening as your heart rate sped up. You felt like throwing up, an apology was the last thing you needed right now.

He sighed at your silence. “I needed to apologize but I couldn’t find the right time to do so before you left and texting you an apology seemed like a shitty move.”

You blinked at his words, brows furrowing as you tugged your blanket closer.

“I know this is selfish of me but I mis-“

“Stop. Please. Just stop…” You whispered, vision blurring with tears.

“Y/n.”

“No, Geto.” You reiterated, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Please don’t cry over me.” He murmured, hand hovering over your hand that had been gripping the railing so tightly in attempts at grounding yourself, but ultimately he pulled his hand away leaving you your space.

You sniffled, turning to glare at him. “Then either stop making me cry or look away.” You hissed causing him to frown.

“I never meant to make you cry…” He said, “then why do it?” You scoffed, wiping at your tears angry that they’d been stubborn enough to fall.

“I-“ he paused, reaching for you again but stopping himself when you leaned away from him.

“Because i’m an idiot. That’s clearly the only right answer. I’m not worth your tears, Y/n.” He said. You bit sniffled, letting out a small scoff.

“And yet here we are again, Geto.”

“Please don’t call me by my last name. We may have broken up but I still want to be in your life. Even if it’s only as friends.” He said. You were growing frustrated with your traitorous tears; every time you’d wipe them away they were replaced with fresh ones.

“I don’t want to be your friend. Can’t you understand that? You broke up with me - I think I deserve some space.” You said, swallowing the sob that wanted so desperately to escape.

“I don’t want to be friends either… I made a mistake letting you go.” He said causing you to furrow your brows and look over at him. He was already looking at you, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears that he had also been trying to blink away. It made your stomach twist into knots, bile rising in your throat.

“What kinda sick game are you playing at, Geto?” You hissed.

“It’s not a game, I swear. Breaking up with you was a mistake. I thought it would be for the better - we were both getting so busy and I wanted to you have someone that could be there for you whenever you needed. Instead of trying to be better I gave you up and I’ve regretted it every day. You’re all I’ve thought about this entire year…” He said. You felt hot tendrils of anger wrap around your chest, tears now flowing freely as you’d given up on wiping them away.

“Screw you.” You spat, turning away to leave but he only grabbed your wrist, tugging you gently towards him.

“Let me go, jerk.” You said, pushing away from him but he only held you tighter within his embrace. “Please just hear me out.”

“No! Dammit, Suguru. You can’t just come in to my life again after what you did to me.” You sobbed, struggling against his embrace but it never faltered.

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m a selfish idiot.” He said, holding you as you broke apart in his arms. “I hate you.” You cried.

“I love you. Always will. Even if you leave me again.” He murmured.

You hated how easy it was for him to snake his way into your heart again, but you guess he had never really left. There had always been a Suguru sized hole in your heart and you hated it.

“Is there any chance at all for us again? I promise I won’t make the same mistake again.” He practically begged, pulling back to look at you.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at him anymore because you didn’t want to give in. But you knew it was helpless. You’d never hated him. You could never hate him because you would have to stop loving him first. You couldn't give up on him despite your best efforts. But now that the opportunity was here again, you were scared. You didnt think you'd be able to handle a second break up with him.

“Suguru…”

“Please. We don't have to jump back in all at once.”

You let out a sob, allowing him to wipe away your tears as your body slumped in his embrace, you were tired of fighting.

“We’d have to start from zero, Suguru.” You mumbled shakily. He nodded, holding you tight.

“We’ll go as slow as you need me to go.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[roger-that-cap]

seven summers

bradley bradshaw x fem! reader

this my first fic in what feels like a century for a completely different fandom. i have been gathering up the courage to do this again, and i've been sitting on this for about two months now. take it easy on me y'all i feel like a sixty year old veteran re-enlisting right now and i have NO idea how to reload my weapon

warnings: absolutely none! well theyre a little sad for a minute but nothing that tumblr can't handle

word count: 5.9k

Loud spaces weren’t really in your list of favorite places. You could tolerate bars more than you could do clubs, though, and your best friend took that into consideration when she planned the night out for you two. The music was loud and the people were starting to get rowdy, but at least no one was grinding on you or begging for a dance. That was always when you would wrap it up for the night, shaking your head at even thinking that it was a good idea. 

“Thank you,” you told the bartender, an exceptionally gorgeous older woman who always seemed to have a meddling look on her face. Her hair was lightly waved around her face as she looked you up and down for a second. You thought she was going to say something, but she just nodded at you once with a small smile before you turned away again, facing the crowd of people you were about to delve back into. You were just leaving the bar top with a soda (you were the DD, as always) when you tripped over someone else’s huge shoe. 

“Oh, shit,” a manly voice said as you tripped, and hands caught your arm before you fell over all the way. You looked up and saw a blond man in an achingly familiar navy uniform looking down at you, and your eyes narrowed as his eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry.” 

His uniform nearly brought you to a scene of painful flashbacks. You knew you were bound to run into attractive men in uniforms so close to a base, but there was an air about this man that made you feel like you were almost running right through the mist, right through the shadow of a man that you once knew, and a man that wore that very same uniform as he walked away. 

You loved Alexandra, your friend you met through other friends. The only downside was that she was in the Navy, and that meant that you were almost always surrounded with memories of your ex boyfriend when you were with her. Him and that stupid uniform that stole him away. 

“No worries,” you said after a few seconds, smiling at him. “It’s crowded here.” 

“Oh, nice tattoo,” he said, and your hand immediately went to your collarbone, where the one tattoo you had rested. It was a nicely done tattoo of a honeybee, a mark of your past. Something you probably should have gotten removed, but every time you tried to convince yourself, you gave another reason to not get it removed. Deep down, you knew why you couldn’t go through with it.

“Thank you, I got it a while ago.” That was all you could say as memories flashed in your mind, but you managed to smile. 

“You look really familiar,” he said, and you noticed that he also had an air of confidence to him as well as familiarity. He was an attractive man, almost too perfect. And he had a smile that you knew lured girls in far too often to be completely innocent. 

“I’m kinda new to the area,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe we’ve run into each other at the grocery store or something? Or if you’re a frequent flier at the hospital.” That happened a lot. People you had never had as your own patients would sometimes recognize you, especially if they were often there. 

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked you up and down one more time, almost like he was genuinely trying to figure out what his own mind was trying to remind him, before he nodded his head at you with a small smirk and a toothpick between his lips and left just as quickly as he came. And then your friend was taking his place, jabbering on about something as you tried to clear your own head. 

You never wanted to be one of those people that lived in the past, and for the most part, you weren’t. You lived in the moment. You loved to make new memories, find new things to do, and meet new people. You loved meeting new people. However, the problem with meeting new people, especially men, was that there was that one guy from that one specific relationship that you had gotten yourself in that made it feel like everything was all for nothing. 

Bradley Bradshaw. 

You didn’t even know exactly what it was. You had been in plenty of summer flings that were passionate and fun, but you got over them easily enough. You had met so many people, loved and lost, and they all stuck with you in different ways that all felt sweet in one way or another. But Bradley? There was something about him that stayed with you in a different way. The thought of him kept a lingering taste of something distinct on your tongue. 

In a way, he was the biggest waste of time you had ever spent your life on. There were two years that you shared being officially together, but it felt like forever. You should have known he was trouble the second you saw that military-grade mustache, and the confident walk he always had. You should’ve known he would cause you some pain the second his eyes and his smile proved to be a deadly combo. You poured so much love into that man in a short time in the grand scheme of things, and looking back, it was as much of a waste as it was a privilege. 

For a while, you prayed for his return. He had broken your heart right before he left for his deployment, but that didn’t mean that you wanted anything to happen to him. You prayed for a while for him to come back safely and then come right back to you, and then that progressed into you praying to never see him again. You wished for his safety, you always would, but you never wanted to hear anything about him ever again unless it was saying that he landed safely back on US soil. After that, you wanted his name to be gone with the wind and buried with the dust of time. 

Either way, he was in your thoughts forever and always, regardless of how many summers passed or how many people there were after him, how many you had met to pass the time. And as you stood in the middle of the bar with Alexandra, you were frozen in shock as you realized that you probably manifested the very fighter pilot in front of you.  

He had seen you first. He was surrounded by attractive people in uniforms that you knew had to be his friends, and when you caught the eyes of the very blond man that you fell over before pointing at you with the angle of his head, your jaw dropped a bit. The man from earlier looked at you and slapped Bradley on his back, giving a blinding smirk before saying something to him that you couldn’t hear. 

You were sure you looked silly standing there, freezing up the second you recognized him with a pool stick in your hand. You felt all the tension in your body work together to keep you as straight as a board. You blinked when your friend nudged you, completely oblivious to the mini panic attack you were about to have, and you swallowed and looked away like it didn’t nearly hurt you to stop looking at him. 

You felt like you were drowning. 

“You’re not tapping out or anything, right?” Alexandra asked, narrowing her eyes at you. “We’ve barely been here an hour, and you already have that uncomfortable look on your face.” 

“What look?” You managed to murmur, completely aware that he was still looking at you. His gaze felt as familiar as it had back then.

“The one where you’re looking for escape routes,” she teased, even though she was starting to look concerned. “You do it all the time. Hey, are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” You said, way too loud to be normal. “I’m good.”

You prayed he didn’t approach you. He had plenty of distractions on his side of the room, lots of friends to talk to even though it was obvious they were trying to get him to go over to you. You were hoping that he would never come up to you or look your way again, but you were sick to your stomach when you realized that him walking away would mean he didn’t care nearly as much as you did. 

You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to understand that none of what you were seeing was a dream. 

“Hi!” A woman’s voice from behind you said, and you turned around. You saw a woman in uniform smiling politely at both you and Alex, and you assumed that she knew her, but then her attention was on you. “I’m sorry, I just had to come over and say I love your dress.” 

You were a simple creature, and one of your fatal flaws was that you were exceptionally friendly. That easily, the tension left your body as you spoke to the woman. You smiled kindly at her. “Thank you! I got it at a thrift store, but you can check the back to see where it’s from if you want!” She grinned at you, and then you saw her eyes wander to your hand. 

“Oh, your ring is pretty, too!” The woman said. “When’s the wedding?” She joked, and you laughed. You wanted a big wedding, back then. Back when you could see the groom in your head, imagine the words he would say, and even imagine your first name combined with his last: Bradshaw. But that was nothing now. 

“Thank you! You’re so sweet. It’s from my mom though, she gave it to me a few years ago.” She gave it to you, her big, shiny ring that her first husband had bought her just as a gift. Instead of pawning it, you begged her to have it. It had no sentimental value to you at all. It kind of looked like an engagement ring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It warded off men for the most part, and it was a piece of her. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet. I’m Nat! Most people around here call me Phoenix.” 

You grinned at her and shook her hand before telling her your name, and you knew right then that you liked her. She was extroverted, but very polite. Just your type of person. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too!” She smiled at you before she continued her walk to the bar, and you didn’t think anything else of the nice girl in uniform.

The next few minutes went without any issues at all, and you felt like you could ignore the situation at hand and have a good rest of the night with Alex before it was time for you guys to head home. 

“Hey.” 

You weren’t hearing his voice. You just weren’t. You made your next shot in the game and ignored him. 

You could feel him get closer to you, so close you could smell his cologne. Your eyes watered when you realized it was the very scent you picked out for him all those years ago. He still wore it. 

You heard a very manly throat clear from beside you, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give it up. “Hi,” he tried again, and you breathed through your nose and finally turned around, looking face to chest at him before you looked up. 

He was smiling down at you. He was smiling down at you as if nothing had happened, and no time had passed. You smiled back at first like muscle memory, but then your face dropped to a frown almost immediately. His smile fell, too. He nodded at your friend in acknowledgement, but she was too busy eyeing him up and trying to decide if he was a threat to you or the night to know that he was being friendly. 

“Bradshaw,” you said, and his frown got deeper when he realized you called him by his last name. He hated that. You weren’t in the Navy and you had been together, you and he always insisted you reserved the rights to using his real name. Not his call sign, not his last name, but the one his parents had given him. “It’s been a while.” 

“Bradley,” he corrected gently, almost like he thought you genuinely forgot, or like you threw out his first name from your personal dictionary. As if you could ever forget a detail about him. That was the blessing and the curse that he left you with. “You look-” he stopped talking for a moment, and you could have sworn that you saw an ocean of fondness in his pretty eyes that shouldn’t have still been there. “You’re still so beautiful.” 

Your words felt caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that his tan made him look beautiful. You wanted to say that he had filled out so nicely, and that his scars still fit his face perfectly. You remembered kissing them while laying in the summer sun and you remembered kissing them under the tiny Christmas tree you guys had bought together and plugged in. You were both so broke it only had about ten ornaments on it, but that never mattered. Never to the two of you. “You… still have that mustache.” 

“You always liked it,” he said, a small smile coming back into his expression, but you didn’t give one back. 

“So you’ve kept it growing in hopes to run into me?” 

“Maybe I have,” he answered, and you blinked at him. He had always had a flirty personality. 

You just blinked. “Uh, yeah. That’s nice.” Was it? It was opening every old wound you had ever had. Every wound that was partially healed by another person’s fleeting kisses was being torn right back open by one sighting of Bradley Bradshaw. 

“It’s- it’s amazing to see you, how have you been?” 

You were becoming more and more confused. How in the hell was he being so chipper? Maybe chipper wasn’t the word, he was being polite. Or, maybe it was that he wasn’t falling apart like you were. How? How was he managing politeness when you were hardly breathing? The thought that he would walk away from the conversation like it never happened made you irritable and defensive at the same time. “Why do you care?” 

His brows furrowed, and he was looking at you as if you were saying all the wrong things. “Because I care how you’ve been.” 

“Why?”

He took a look at your friend, who was still staring him down. “Uh, can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you pursed your lips together. 

“No, she’s good right here,” Alexandra said, and you gave her a small smile. 

“No, it’s okay, he’s fine. He’s big, but he’s harmless.” You saw his chest puff up in just the slightest at the mention of his physique, and you rolled your eyes. “We can step outside, but I’m not going home with you.” 

“Okay!” He said, a little too loud for the setting, and you fought back a smile at how excited he was just to talk. You squashed the fondness down. “Okay, uh, come with me.” 

The second your foot hit the gravel outside, his fingers were touching yours. The touch was innocent, but you still yanked your hand away. He backed away understandingly. “Force of habit, sorry.” 

And it was. You remembered his little quirks. You were always pretty independent, and he had always been touchy and protective, so the compromise back then was that he would lay off while you were inside of a building, but he would hold your hand and guide you all he wanted to the second you walked outside. 

“I- uh, I wanted to talk about us.” 

“The past?” You said, crossing your arms. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he said slowly, like he was just then realizing he was treading on very thin ice. 

“We knew each other,” you corrected, fully aware of your friend piecing the situation together by the expression on her face, and you gave her a look that held promises of filling her in. 

“Don’t be like that,” he said, coming a little closer, and you felt your eyes burn when you smelled his familiar scent even more. Your tradition of buying men cologne that matched their personalities had died after Bradley. It was something you didn’t really understand why you did it yourself, but it was fun, and Bradley loved it. He was the fourth guy you had done it with, and he was the last. It just didn’t feel right with anyone else, and it was simply something else you kissed goodbye when you and Bradley went your separate ways. 

“I’m not being any certain way.” 

“I would definitely say that we know each other,” he said, a short chuckle dying on his lips, and you could hear the hurt in his voice.  “We were together nearly every day for two years. We’d sit on the river and on the beach and talk about everything for hours. We road-tripped cross-country. I remember everything you ever told me back home, and I remember the last summer we had together like it was yesterday.” 

You looked back up at him with eyes that you knew had to be full of sadness. “That was four summers ago.” 

You saw it set in with him how much time really had gone by. You watched his eyes widen and his lips poke outwards as he breathed out. “Wow.” 

Had time really not passed for him as slowly as it did to you? 

All you could do was swallow and turn your head away from the breeze. “Yeah.” 

“Do you have a boyfriend now?” 

Part of you was so thrown by his question and his lack of tact, especially because he had been such a good flirt back then. Maybe time had changed him. “I’m married.” 

Immediately, he shook his head with a small smile. “You’re not.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, even though you were enjoying the back and forth. It felt so familiar. “How would you know that?” 

“That was the first thing I checked before I came over,” he admitted, and you cocked your head at him. “I looked at your finger and saw the ring before you even noticed me. And then I asked Phoenix to go over to you and make sure it was what I thought it was, and I was right.” 

You gasped. You should have known that that stupid nickname was a damn callsign, the glaring beacon of a person that meant that they were a pilot. And pilots were… they were hard to love. 

“I knew that if I came over to you, there would be no way I could hold my tongue from trying to win you back, so I had to make sure you weren’t married first, at least. But I’m not even sure that would’ve stopped me,” he muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes. 

You were still a little bitter over him sending one of his friends to talk to you, and how well he knew you. He knew you never would have responded to a random man the same way you did Phoenix. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”

“I’m praying.” And then he sighed. “I don’t have anyone either.” 

You would have laughed in his face if you weren’t so gutted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Considering you broke it off so you could run around and meet other girls, I would be very shocked if you didn’t have one with a ring on her finger by now.” 

His eyes widened to a size that was almost comical. “What?” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Before you deployed. You know, when you broke up with me so that you could go talk freely with other women.” 

His facial expression was so shocked that you almost bought it. He looked genuinely thrown in a loop by your words. “I didn’t break up with you to meet other people, Bee.” 

You nearly caught whiplash at hearing your old nickname pouring like straight up honey from his mouth. No one called you that in a long time, mostly because ‘Bee’ was reserved for Bradley after a day he met you in freshman year of college, and you did an entire presentation on conservation of bees with passion that none of the other students had in their slideshows. It was what had drawn him to you in the first place.

 “That’s what it felt like.” It still felt like that, four years later. 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head slowly. You hated how handsome he looked even when he was confused.  But he had no right to look confused. “That’s not what happened at all.” 

Your tone said it all for you as you crossed your arms. “Um, that’s what I remember, Bradshaw.” 

He ignored what you called him, but you saw it in his eyes that it still bothered him. “I cut it off because I felt awful that you were going to be forced to wait for me,” he said, taking a step closer, and you saw his sad brown eyes begging you to listen. “We were still so young, you were even younger than me. It wasn’t fair for me to ask you to keep waiting for me, especially because I kept going on dangerous deployments.” 

His words were bouncing around in your head. You calculated what he was saying, narrowing your eyes and trying to make sense of how it was changing your entire perspective of what happened, second by second. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” You blurted, but he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he looked relieved. You never really made a habit of swearing, not even while arguing, but when you rarely let a word slip, it meant that you cared a lot. 

Bradley wasn’t quite sure which way you cared and if it was in a good way or a bad way, but he was determined to change the passion to a way that would benefit the both of you. 

“If you want me to be,” he rasped, and you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Did you just say you didn’t want me to wait for you?” 

He blinked. “Yeah. You were what, twenty three? Your whole life was ahead of you. It wasn’t fair for you to have to wait for me to come home when you… you’re full of so much life. You had just gotten your dream job at the hospital, and you were so happy. If you were to stick it out with me gone, you would just have to decide between your job and me anyway when I got home. I ended up getting stationed somewhere else not too long after I came back home, just like I knew I would.” 

“Bradley, I told you I wanted to travel, anyway. That job was not my forever job.” 

“But-”

“I was prepared to wait for- for forever.” It was his turn to look shocked. “I really would have, Bradley. You just never even gave me the chance to. You pulled the rug out underneath me. You didn’t even ask me.” 

He ran a hand over his face as the weight of the decision he made for the both of you settled heavy on his chest. “Oh, god.” 

“I assumed you were deploying and you wanted to meet new people. I mean, I know that a lot of… you guys are cheaters. The stereotypes are true a lot of the time. I just figured you were sparing me from the cheating and cutting it off before it could get to that point.” 

“Oh, god, no.” He shook his head. “You- thought I was cheating on you?” 

“Well- what else was I supposed to think?” 

“I would never,” he said, using his hands to make a broad “no” gesture. “You’ve always been it for me, ever since we met. There couldn’t have been anyone else, and there hasn’t been this whole time.” 

You tried to mask the way you were falling into a puddle at his feet. “You’re so dumb.” 

“Is it dumb of me to think you’ll hear me out a little more?” 

You rolled your eyes at him, but your skin felt like it was on fire being so close to him again. “You’re plenty dumb, Rooster.” 

“You never called me Rooster.” 

“Well, I don’t know Bradley anymore.” 

“I- why are you saying that?” He asked, and his face grew even more distraught. “You do know me. Nothing’s changed. Nothing is different at all besides the time. I still- there’s nothing that has changed about the way I feel for you.” 

“What do you want me to say?” You couldn’t confess your love to him again. You loved him, a part of you always would, but you couldn’t handle him coming out of the blue and telling you everything you had secretly been wishing he would say to you for years. He was coming in like a dream. It was far too good to be true. “We got lost in translation four years ago and there's nothing we can do about it. Unless you and your pilot friends have been smart enough to build a time machine.” 

“I would build a thousand time machines if it meant that I could change what I did, I was stupid. I was so stupid.” He stepped closer. “But I never stopped loving you. Not even once.” 

A tear ran down your face, and that’s when you knew it was time to go find Alexandra again. “I-I gotta go, Bradley.” Before you could even turn around all the way, he took you by your hips and turned you back around, both pairs of your eyes wide mirrors of the other. 

“I have been haunted by the thought of you for four years now,” he said, voice as soft and gentle as the breeze, but the grip he had on your hips was so desperate it almost made you sob. “I haven’t even- I’ve tried, but there hasn’t been anyone else. Not emotionally. Not even close, Bee.” 

You couldn’t say the exact same. You tried and succeeded for a time, but they were never complete fixes. Just when you thought you were happy with someone else and free of the clutches of Bradley Bradshaw, he snuck right back. He ripped that rug out from under you every time without fail without even being present. That was your problem with each “relationship”, you were looking for a remedy and closure for a relationship that the next person had no idea about and no obligation to make better. 

But you had definitely been haunted by the lack of Bradley Bradshaw. He was there all the time with you in your mind, whether you wanted him or not. 

“This,” you said, shaking your head, and judging by the look on his face, he knew he was losing you. “This is a lot.” 

“Wait, don’t walk away. I just got you back.” 

“I’m not back, Bradley.” 

“You’re back in front of me,” he said, and you stopped turning away from him. “That’s all I could ask for. Even if you want nothing else to do with me ever again, I just want to stand here and look at you for one more minute. Please.” 

You put your hands over your face the second you felt your eyes start to burn and overflow with tears. You could feel his energy before you even felt his true touch, and the second you felt his arms around you, you broke down. 

“I thought- I thought you were so nervous a few days before you left because you were going to propose to me.” 

You couldn’t believe the words that were leaving your mouth. You had been so humiliated about jumping to conclusions that you hadn’t even told Alexandra about that part. You never planned on telling anyone that was the reason why you were so hurt, especially not the man who caused you all that pain. It had been sitting heavy on your chest, the humiliation and the sadness alike, for all four summers. You never planned on letting it loose. 

But you had already said it. 

“You boys get married so fast, and honestly, I was ready. I thought you were nervous because you were going to ask me to marry you, not because you were breaking up with me.”

 “Oh.” 

“It gutted me so bad when you broke it off. I thought it was going to be the opposite- I thought we were going to start our lives together and then you just…” you looked down at the ground as you tried to swallow back down the memory, even though everything was coming back so strong. “It was gone, that fast. And I realized I loved you a lot more than you ever loved me, obviously.” 

“That's not even close to being true,” he said, shaking his head rapidly. “You can ask any of the guys I shipped out with. I was fucking miserable the whole time. And I know you don’t know the new guys I’m with, but this new squad even knows that there’s nobody else. You’re the one that got away.” 

“You let me go,” you corrected, and he smiled sadly. 

“Because I loved you.” 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” you said, but you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him. “That’s for fairytales, stupid.”

You felt yourself leaning into him, and he was letting you. His body language was inviting you in. You could see it in his eyes and you could feel his hands trembling as he moved them from your waist to hover over your back, like he was ready to pull you into him the second you gave in. You knew it was only a matter of time before you did give in, and the longer you felt his hands hover over you like you were stained glass, the more you craved his familiar, burning touch. You felt the pull to him like you were magnets. Like he was the sun and you were Icarus. You were the moth to his enticing flame, but he had always seen you as a butterfly. You were terrified to get burned for the second time, and fall from grace all over again. 

“That one pilot said he recognized me,” you blurted, and you felt his eyes on you even though you couldn’t look at him. “I’ve never met him before, have I?” You might have. You used to know a lot of his old friends. He shook his head. “How did he know me?” 

Without hesitation, his answer came. “I have pictures of you in my cockpit.” 

That was what threw you.  “What?”

“Most pilots keep photos of important people in their cockpit. It reminds them to fly safer. In the worst cases, it’s so that they can see a glimpse of family before they go down.” 

Your heart was soaring so high that it was breaking with the pressure of it. “You have a picture of me in there?” 

He had absolutely no shame about it as he nodded his head firmly. “Yeah, I have pictures of you. In my cockpit and in my locker.” Were you his screensaver, too? You didn’t know. 

But you were in his locker. It made your heart flutter and it sent you right back to highschool. “More than one?” 

“I have so many that my squad recognized you without me even saying anything. Hangman was the one who told me you were here.” 

“Oh.” 

He kicked the rocks underneath his foot, and then he was squinting back down at you. “You thought- you thought I was going to ask you to marry me?” 

Just like that, your soaring, cracking heart plummeted again. “You don’t have to rub it in, Bradley.” 

“No, it’s not that at all. I just- you would’ve said yes?” 

“Of course I would have said yes, stupid.” You ignored how his eyes lit up and turned your body away with crossed arms. He was always so expressive, even when he didn’t want to be. “But that was a long time ago.” 

“Not too long,” he rushed, and you shook your head. 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, especially because it was mostly to get the tears away. “It was a while ago, Bradley.” 

“There’s no amount of time apart that would make me not want to be with you, Bee.” 

Your head swiveled to him upon hearing your nickname from him again. “It- it doesn’t just work like that, dude.” 

“Why not?” 

“We were stupid back then. We lived off of blind faith and a whole lot of hopes. It doesn’t work that way anymore.”

“We make our own rules, that’s the glory of being adults.” He took your hands and you faced him, and the hope in his expression nearly floored you. “Who said we can’t pick up where we left off?” 

You scoffed, even though you weren’t even close to laughing. “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy about you, but you’ve always known that,” he said with a smile. “You’ve always known how to work with it, too.” 

For a moment, you felt a glimmer of hope and you felt the whisper of a smile come onto your face. And then you crashed again, and he must have seen it all over your face because his own smile went away and was replaced by concern. Before he could even ask what happened that fast, you threw your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. 

He held you back just as quickly, and you knew he had been waiting for you. He smelled like home and he even felt like it, and when you opened your eyes all you could see was that stupid, loud Hawaiian print. 

“I-if we do this again you- I can’t handle it if you leave me again. I couldn’t take it. Please, Bradley.” 

“Don’t you even worry about that,” he said firmly, holding you so close that it felt like the two of you were physically molding together. “If you give me the chance, I want a shot at forever.” 

You pulled your wet face away from his shirt and looked up at him as your heart raced in your chest. “Huh?” 

He stared down at you for a moment, and you could see in his ever-expressive eyes that he was thinking about saying something to you that was about to change everything. “I fully intend to become your husband when we’re ready, if you let me. Just the way you wanted, and the way I’ve always dreamed about. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The logical part of you knew that he was being ridiculous. Bradley was nothing if not overzealous, nothing if not reaching for goals that were just short of being unattainable. He was the version of Icarus that always managed to get back to earth safely by the skin of his teeth. He always put the cart before the horse, but somehow he always managed to get there. 

So, you knew he was being serious. As crazy as he sounded, he was. 

“Do you really mean that?” You didn’t have to ask that question. In fact, the words felt like acid on your tongue, but your heart pressed you to ask it anyway. 

“Nothing could get me to leave you again, especially not my own stupidity.” He was holding you even tighter. “I promise.” 

You were going to hold him to that with the same intensity that he held you with. 

*****

oh boy.

so this one i’ve been sitting on forever and i’m tired of looking at it, but i have nothing but love for this fic that is pulling me out of a writing slump. i wrote it out of pure love for rooster though so i felt like i had to share it!! also- this comes from two main things;

two songs (“7 summers” and “ ‘98 braves” by morgan wallen) and then me being dumb enough to get involved with a military man of my own. he’s been gone for a while so i’m manifesting he comes back soon. anyone who is thinking about getting with a person- especially man- in the military (i can only speak for the united states military bc that’s where i’m from), you better be tough. i know they look good. i know they have this energy to them- trust me i’ve been obsessed since i was like 15. way before top gun maverick. but if you’re gonna be stupid, you better be tough 💀💀💀 and if you need any guidance to being stupid, i’m always here!!!

if you’re new here thanks for stopping by and checking it out! if you’re from an old fandom of mine but read it anyways i love you so much, it means a lot. 💕💕💕

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

unwind the world and your nightmare's gone

Even in the wake of such a glorious victory, Fyodor’s immediately itching for another game. Call it foolishness, call it whatever. He reaches into his pocket for the one scrap of the Page left, and he matches Ranpo’s smirk with his own.

“Then let’s play a game.”

The rules are simple, really.

If Fyodor proves he truly has rid the world of abilities, then he wins. If Ranpo somehow proves him wrong, then they win. They’ll travel for this, so that Fyodor may show as much evidence as he likes. (So that Fyodor can show Ranpo enough to break them.)

-

on fyodor, ranpo, and pyrrhic victories

7/7 chapters posted, written for @fyodorshipweek2024, fyoran centric with alternating povs between chapters, over 10k words in full, heed the tags please

aka: fyodor and ranpo slowly lose themselves

[flyingwide]

hi hello i know it's late and i've been massively awol but haaaaaappy WIP snippet monday lol

“Long had he slumbered under the earth, trapped there by a witch much beloved of her people. Before you, before your mother, before even me. He was a mighty warrior, one who descended from the sky on golden wings.” A frisson of emotion reverberated through the bond as recognition came to them both. Unless some other demon had faced something similar, she was talking about Susurrus. “The battle to lock him away was fearsome. It was only by tearing the essence of him to pieces that she was able to win. Left intact, all knew he would have risen again.” Hatred was a sharp spike through her and Alfre slipped a calming hand under her sleeve to trace the patterns on his surface. “But centuries later, a mighty but wicked sorcerer wanted him back. ‘A powerful weapon could be used against Rheddah’s enemies,’ he thought. ‘I must wake him.’” “But he forgot about the princess!” “Shhhh!”

[evilkaeya]

Got tired of being silly and decided to put Chuuya through immense mental breakdown. Read HERE and mind the TWs! Kudos and feedback are much appreciated :( <3

[sochilll]

Also sorry it's been an entire day and I can't stop thinking about Alistair being in a dungeon and marking 47 days on the wall, deciding he's descended into madness, and feeling surprised he hasn't yet grown a beard. Only for Hendry to say he's been there for 14 hours, many of which he was asleep during. He is the biggest drama queen in the world and I love him

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship. 

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself. 

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement. 

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight. 

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone. 

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers. 

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him. 

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell. 

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor. 

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance. 

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm. 

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death. 

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are. 

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack. 

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets. 

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by. 

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger. 

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk. 

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall. 

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost. 

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse. 

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces. 

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street. 

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.” 

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away. 

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life. 

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed. 

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes. 

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either. 

Something cold lodges itself in his chest. 

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up. 

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window. 

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal. 

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him. 

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder. 

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor. 

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero. 

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen. 

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge. 

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner. 

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret. 

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

[lunarmoves]

new year, same fucking brainrot