#Thank you all for being part of this journey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quandaledlnglepink · 23 hours ago

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hi hi! I really really REALLY love your fics smm, esp the Kaiser ones oh lord they are absolutely amazing😍😍

Can I request more Kaiser fics where the reader is shy and way too nice, it can be any plot I really don't mind anything!!

(also can the fics have smut..🙏)

𝜗𝜚 hi hi!!! thank you sm for loving my fics aaaa i tried to incorperate reader being nice but i think i went a little overboard with her shyness lol

⸻ ミヒャエル・カイザ MICHEAL KAISER.

𝜗𝜚 ̟˖ ࣪ synopsis; reader goes to a party and ditched by her friends and kaiser approaches her. heavy making out, oral sex (fem receiving), reader is fem, kaiser smokes, reader is a bit tipsy, mention of drinking and alcohol. w.c; 1.5k.

you don't like parties.

you don't enjoy the flips your stomach does on the journey there, or the smell of sweat and alcohol wafting through the air, or the weird guys who side step you with their hands on your hips instead of just politely asking you to move.

your friends had parted their separate ways, finding their own spaces to mingle with.

except...you hadn't found that space yet.

and you were way too nice to tell them not to leave you like a stumbling fawn, alone and out of place in some random house party where you didn’t know anyone.

you stood stiffly tucked away in the corner of the room, sporting a red solo cup and zoning out on the bundle of people dancing to the music. you exhaled thoughtfully through your nose, eyes flickering down to the liquid drug in your cup, swirling it around as you pondered whether or not to just call an uber home.

you smelled him before you saw him. an intertwined mix of sandalwood and lemon that make your head lift, only to be met with a handsome stranger.

he was drop-dead gorgeous in a pretty, boyish player way–a man that would have girls idolatrously fawning. His choppy blonde hair and dipped blue ends was a hairstyle you think only he could pull off, almost like a male peacock. his cobalt eyes sharp, softened by his light lashes and boldened by his red eyeliner.

he looked familiar, but you don't linger on it.

your eyes are then attracted by his full tattoo sleeve, and his lips curve in what you take as amusement.

"you like it, hübsches mädchen?" he spoke over the music, his tone was cocky, as if he knew what you were thinking. your stomach fluttered hearing the slight accent and the switch in language, coming to the conclusion he was german.

"oh–yeah, i think it looks cool, looks like it hurt like a bitch though." you managed to say without stuttering, saying whatever came to mind then your usual 'think before you say' method. clearly you didn't make a fool of yourself though, because he laughs, and you soak it in like a sponge.

"only a little." he teases as his eyes observe your long sleeved mini dress and nervously pretty face. "anyway, why are you alone? did you come all by yourself?"

it was at this point the music had gotten louder and the crowd rowdier. "i came here with–"

you cut yourself off as he gestures with two fingers to come closer, his body leaning so close you could feel his body heat. your lips almost ghost his ear with how close he had purposely gotten. you felt heat pool in your lower belly, but you purposely push it away as your voice raises a little louder. "i–i came here with friends, but they've just gone off to do their own thing."

he silently studied the surrounding area as he listened to your words before nodding, pulling back every so slightly. "i see, let's go somewhere quieter, hm?"

he doesn't give you a second to respond before he gently incases your wrist, pulling you away and past bodies, into a seemingly empty corridor, the once loud music and chatter muffled by the layers of walls.

"who are you with?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation going as you both settle on opposite ends of the wall.

"my teammates," he mused, crossing his arms, "they wanted to celebrate our match victory."

"ah," you nodded, eyes wandering to the open door that led to the backyard. "so you play–"

"–soccer."

“–right. soccer."

your lips twitch a little, as if they wanted to smile. you sigh slowly, still staring out back, feeling a bit overheated from the atmosphere inside.

he leaned off the wall, presumably picking up the memo, before you began to walk, hearing his footsteps close behind. you find an empty couch, small enough to fit two people. and before you knew it, he sat right beside you, his thigh smushing against yours. his legs wide open as he laid back comfortably, an air of intimidating confidence radiating off him. For a split second, your attention is drawn to the two people play fighting in front of you before both falling into the pool, loud splashing and 'ooo's' filling the air.

there's a 'flick' sound next to you, and your ears perk up.

you've never seen someone look so angelic smoking what your mom used to call a, 'cancer stick'. his features painted a hue of soft orange light, the smell of tobacco hitting your senses.

he holds out a cigarette box in your direction, but you shake your head, mumbling about how you don't smoke.

"good," he utters, clearly pleased by your response. "don't start either, wouldn't want a pretty girl like you damaging her lungs."

your eyes go wide like saucers, your chest tightening like at his blunt flirting . "you think i'm pretty?"

you zero in on his luscious lips as they blow out some smoke, before his head tilts towards you, his lashes lowered, his sensual stare making your heart race.

"i'm not a liar, hübsch."

"yeah..." you say, your voice coming out more breathy than intended. you assume it's because of the heavy drink you had unknowingly finished a few minutes ago that had made you bold enough to say, "do you kiss pretty girls too?"

"mhm."

you bite your glossy lip at his casual response, trying to keep a cheesy smile at bay.

"want me to show you?" he suddenly says, his eyes dropping to your lips and back up to meet your’s, and it's like your world had tilted upside down. your heart was beating so hard at this point you were sure it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. your clammy hands gripped the end of your dress tightly.

you nodded.

his lips then crashed onto yours, making you gasp as your teeth almost knocked together. his free hand cupping the space between your head and neck, deepening the kiss. it was slow yet ravaging, as if he was attempting to claim your mouth and everything inside it. he tasted like alcohol, mint, tobacco and sin. you let his eager tongue part your lips, a loud moan drawing from them as you felt something cold on your tongue.

the hot bastard had a tongue piercing. you could hardly believe this attractive stranger was making out with you and you didn't even know his name yet.

"name," you rasped breathlessly when you both finally parted an inch, a shared saliva string between you. 'what's your name?"

"michael," he smirks against your lips. "michael kaiser." he murmurs before his lips collide with yours again, his rough fingers grasping the nape of your neck.

݁ ౨ৎ ݁

your friend's vision of you being the 'innocent friend' would crumble if they saw your position right now.

you're glad you now know having someone's mouth on your cunt could be this euphoric, otherwise you would have put off having a guy go down on you. this overwhelming sensation directed sharply on your clit had electric heat humming in your core. your manicured nails slicking his stray hairs back as they hid his dilated pupils, scratching his scalp just enough to start stinging.

you were laying on a bed in some random guest room upstairs, way too tipsy to bother muffling any needy sounds.

another obscene sound of him sucking your clit had you whimpering his name, in response, his blunt nails only pressing harder into your trembling thighs. the two thick digits pumping inside you deliberately curling, hitting that sweet gummy spot inside you that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your kitten heels digging harshly into his back.

your walls clench around his fingers as you feel your climax building, your eyes fluttering closed, your eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

"hnghh i'm gonna f–fucking hah, i'm gonna fucking cum–" you whined pathetically, your thighs almost squeezing his head to suffocation. shockwaves of heat rippled up your spine as his tongue licked a fat stripe up your cunt, and you didn't hear him growling at you to cum before your body was already falling over the edge. your ears ring as your legs twitch and convulse terribly, feeling more wet than ever.

the sheets underneath you and the bottom half of his face is soaked in your slick, and you would've been embarrassed if your mind wasn't so fucked out.

you melt into the bed almost immediately, your chest heaving from exhaustion. your head is still swimming, too lost in your own glowing aftermath to feel the bed dip under his weight as he climbs on top of you. he doesn't wait a second before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to taste yourself on his swollen lips.

with the way he's hungrily looking at you, you're sure it's not over.

yet your body shivers in excitement.

Maybe you don’t hate parties.

#𝝑℘ ⟡ ݁. xoxoask #𝝑℘ ⟡ ݁. glossysin #bllk #blue lock #michael kaiser #micheal kaiser x reader #bllk michael kaiser #micheal kaiser #kaiser michael #bllk kaiser #blue lock kaiser #kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you

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daeniradraconis · 1 day ago

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Right Where You Left Me

Hey, lovelies! ✨

Here it is — Chapter 2 of Eli and William’s story. This part dives deep into one of the heaviest moments in their journey, and it includes some serious emotional content. Please make sure to read the trigger warnings below, and don’t hesitate to skip this chapter if it feels like too much. Your well-being always comes first. 💛

I know this chapter might feel a bit slower, but that’s intentional. I really wanted to take the time to show what William has been going through during these five years while Eli’s been in a coma. It's raw, it’s painful, and yes — it’s super angsty — but I hope it helps you connect even more deeply with their story.

Thank you for reading, and as always, I appreciate you all so much. 🫶🏼

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, discussion of injury, coma, emotional distress, depression, suicidal thoughts

Chapters: 01, 02

Chapter 2: The Weight of Silence

The hospital was cold. Not just the air — the whole place felt cold, like it was made to hold grief and pain in every corner. The sterile white walls, the harsh buzzing of fluorescent lights, the beeping of machines that were both too loud and too quiet at the same time. It all pressed in on them, suffocating in its calmness.

William’s body ached, the sharp pain of broken ribs pulling at his every breath, but it was nothing compared to the dull, endless throb inside him — the kind of ache that spread through his chest and tightened his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain of the accident, or if it was the agony of not knowing. Not knowing if you’d wake up. Not knowing if you were even still in there.

Around him, everyone else was just as broken.

Your mother couldn’t stop shaking. She kept wringing her hands, pacing the small waiting room with her head bent low, murmuring under her breath. “Please, please, please...” Her words were like a prayer — desperate, broken.

Jim was trying to hold it together. His hand was on her shoulder, but even he seemed hollow, like the weight of the world had crushed the strength out of him. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes — they were different, empty. They weren��t looking at anyone. They weren’t looking at anything.

Luke was sitting by the window, curled up in the same position he’d had since they arrived — his legs drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them like a shield. He wasn’t crying out loud, but his shoulders were shaking. Silent sobs, silent pain. It was too much for him. He was just a kid.

Jack wasn’t crying. He didn’t know how to. Instead, he stood across the room, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. His jaw was set in that angry line that everyone knew so well. His eyes kept darting to the door, like if he stared at it long enough, someone — anyone — would come in and tell them it was all some horrible mistake. That you’d be fine. But no one came. No one had anything to say.

Then there was Quinn. Quinn was the one who didn’t react. Not visibly. He stood with his arms crossed, his face still. It was like he was trying to distance himself from everything. He looked... controlled, but it wasn’t the kind of control that made things better. It was the kind that made everyone feel a little more alone.

William sat in one of the plastic chairs, head in his hands. He could still feel the impact — the screech of tires, the slam of metal against metal, the airbag exploding in his face. He could still hear your voice. Or at least, he thought he did, just before everything went black.

I’m sorry, he thought again, but the words didn’t come out. There was no one to say them to. No one could hear him. You were back there, in surgery, and he was here — broken, waiting, useless.

A soft click. The door to the waiting room opened, and a doctor stepped inside. He was tall, with dark hair, his eyes hidden behind the mask of professionalism. The second he walked in, everyone straightened up. It was like a collective breath was held, waiting for something to hold onto.

"Family of Hannah Elise Hughes?" the doctor asked, his voice measured, controlled. The room collectively held its breath, waiting.

Your mother rushed to him, eyes wide with desperate hope. "How is she? Is she okay?"

The doctor hesitated, and for a split second, it felt like the world had stopped moving — like the answer could change everything, could change the reality they were all facing. The words he said next were cold, clinical. “She’s stable. We’ve completed the surgery, and she’s been moved to intensive care.”

William’s chest tightened at the mention of surgery. It sounded too final. Moved to intensive care — those words clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake. It felt like everything was slipping through his fingers, like he was holding onto sand and the more he grasped, the faster it slipped away.

Your mother stepped forward, her breath catching in her throat. "But she’s going to wake up, right? She’ll be okay?"

The doctor’s face softened slightly, but there was something in his eyes that made William’s heart sink. He avoided your mother’s eyes and turned toward the rest of them. His voice remained steady. “Elise is in a coma. Her injuries were severe, and right now, it’s impossible to say when — or if — she’ll wake up.”

The words landed like a blow. William’s chest constricted, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The room spun slightly, as if his world was tilting, and nothing felt real. Impossible to say when, or if... The doctor’s words felt so final, as if there was no room for hope, no space for anything but the cold reality that had just been laid out for them.

“She sustained a traumatic brain injury during the accident,” the doctor continued. “There was significant swelling in the brain, which we are trying to control. She’s on a ventilator to assist with breathing. We’ll continue monitoring her vitals closely.”

William’s mind raced. Brain injury... swelling... ventilator... The words were like a language he couldn’t understand, but each one hit him harder than the last. He could feel the pressure building in his chest, suffocating him.

"Is there... any chance she'll—" Your mother’s voice wavered, breaking. She couldn’t finish the question. She didn’t have to. It hung in the air, unanswered.

The doctor took a slow breath. “It’s too early to say. We’re doing everything we can. Her body is strong, but the brain is delicate. We’ll need to see how she responds over the next 24 to 48 hours. There’s no guarantee.”

William’s stomach twisted painfully. No guarantee. Those words were the final nail in the coffin of any hope. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, his knuckles pale, his breath shallow. It felt like he was being smothered by the weight of it, like the hospital — the world itself — was caving in on him.

The doctor’s gaze lingered on him for just a moment, but William couldn’t meet his eyes. He couldn’t look at anyone. He felt like everything around him was fading, becoming distant, unreal. All he could think about was you, lying in that cold hospital bed, and how he had failed you.

Your father, Jim, was the next to speak, his voice thick with emotion. "What are the odds, Doc? What are the chances she’ll make it?"

The doctor hesitated. He shifted on his feet, clearly trying to find a way to say something that didn’t sound like a death sentence. “We don’t know yet. It depends on how her brain reacts to the swelling. If it begins to go down, there’s a chance she could regain consciousness. But again, there are no guarantees.” He paused, searching their faces. “The next few days are critical.”

William’s mind went blank. Critical. He felt his body go numb, like the ground had been pulled out from under him, and he was falling, sinking, with nothing to hold on to.

Ellen, her voice barely above a whisper, asked, “How long does she have? If the swelling doesn’t go down...?”

The doctor swallowed, his throat tightening. “We’ll do everything we can to manage the swelling, but if her brain doesn’t respond — if the pressure continues to build — there’s a chance the damage could be irreversible.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut. William’s world spun in slow motion as the doctor’s words sank in. Irreversible. His vision blurred, the room swaying as if it were underwater.

There was a ringing in his ears, growing louder and louder, until it drowned out everything. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said quietly, and then, as if sensing that there was nothing more to say, he turned and left. His footsteps echoed down the hall as the door closed behind him, leaving the family standing in a kind of stunned silence.

William didn’t feel like he was even there anymore. He was floating, disconnected from everything. The words kept playing in his head, over and over. No guarantees. Critical. Irreversible. It was as if the doctor had delivered a death sentence, and William couldn’t escape it. He wanted to scream, wanted to beg, wanted to shake something — anything — to make it all stop.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the hollow ache in his chest, the guilt clawing at him, the cold reality that you were back there, lying in a bed with machines keeping you alive, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

He was lost. Utterly, completely lost.

—

The days had blurred together. The hospital no longer felt like a place they were just visiting. It had become the center of their world — sterile walls, plastic chairs, the constant hush of white noise, and machines that beeped in rhythm with a heartbeat belonging to someone who hadn’t opened their eyes in nearly a week.

William hadn’t left the hospital much, not for any real rest. He’d spent most of his time by your side, holding your hand, praying — though he didn’t know who or what he was praying to anymore. His ribs had started to heal, the pain dulling into a constant throb, but it didn’t matter. His chest was still heavy with the weight of everything. He was there, he was alive, but the thought of waking up tomorrow and not seeing your smile, or hearing your voice, made his chest tighten with panic.

He couldn’t bear the thought of this silence stretching on forever. No more little jokes between the two of you, no more teasing about who’s turn it was to do the dishes. No more hearing you hum absentmindedly when you were cooking, or laughing at something silly on TV. The idea of living in a world where those moments didn’t exist anymore… it was unbearable. He had no idea how to keep going without you. How could he?

Now, standing in your room with your brothers, he felt that same knot tightening in his stomach. The doctor had just left, his words as vague as they had been the first time. We’re still monitoring her. She’s healing. No change. The swelling in your brain had gone down, but the doctor couldn’t explain why you still hadn’t woken up. There were no answers, only questions. And the longer it went on, the more it ate at them all.

William looked around the room. Quinn stood by the window, arms crossed, gaze distant. Jack leaned against the wall, jaw tight, fists clenching and unclenching like he was fighting something inside himself. Luke sat hunched in a chair near the corner, hoodie pulled over his head, eyes puffy and red.

Finally, Jack broke it. His voice was rough, tinged with frustration and an anger William had never seen in him before.

“She should be awake by now,” Jack said. His tone was low, but it cut like glass.

William didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on your hand, his fingers brushing over yours, careful and gentle. You were warm. That was all he had to hold onto.

“She’s in there. Somewhere,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Jack let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yeah? You sure about that?”

He shoved off the wall with a jerk of his shoulder, crossing the room in three quick strides. The space between him and William evaporated.

“All I see is wires and machines and people pretending she’s still here, but no one wants to fucking say it.”

“Jack—” Quinn said quietly from the window, his back still turned.

“No.” Jack’s voice trembled now, rage rising to the surface. His hands clenched at his sides. “I’m sick of this. Sitting here like everything’s just gonna fix itself.”

He stepped closer to William, standing directly over him now — a shadow cast across the hospital bed. William felt the shift in the air, like a storm building.

“You were driving.”

William looked up slowly. He knew those words were coming — had been waiting for them — but hearing them out loud still made something twist in his chest.

Jack leaned down, pointing now, voice shaking with fury.

“You. Were. Driving. And if you hadn’t come into her life — if you’d just stayed the hell away — she’d still be fine. She wouldn’t be… this.”

Quinn finally turned, stepping forward, his jaw tight.

“Jack, stop!”

But Jack ignored him, eyes locked on William like he was daring him to flinch.

“No!” Jack barked, breath coming faster. His face was flushed, his whole body vibrating with pent-up grief and rage. “Everyone’s acting like this was just some tragic accident. Like it just happened.”

He gestured wildly toward the bed. “It didn’t. He happened.”

William didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and hoarse.

“You think I don’t know that?” he whispered. “You think I don’t wake up every five minutes hoping I was the one in that bed instead of her?”

Jack’s lip curled into a cruel smile as he stepped closer, but Quinn was faster—slipping between them and stopping him with a firm hand to the chest.

“Good,” Jack spat over Quinn’s shoulder. “You should feel that.”

“That’s enough!” Quinn snapped, pushing back against him. His voice was louder than it had been all week, sharp with fury. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jack’s shoulders heaved as he tried to shove past, but Quinn held firm.

“She’s my sister!” Jack yelled. His voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. “And she’s gone! And I can’t do a damn thing about it!”

“And blaming Will won’t bring her back!” Quinn fired back. “So stop acting like you’re the only one who gives a damn!”

“Enough!”

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

But they all turned.

Luke sat curled into the hospital chair. His hoodie was pulled low, eyes red-rimmed but clear. He hadn’t spoken in days. But now, his voice had weight.

“I know you’re scared,” Luke said, lifting his head slightly to look at Jack. “I am too. But yelling doesn’t help. Blaming doesn’t help.”

He nodded toward the bed.

“She’s not waking up. And I don’t know why either — but this?” He looked between them. “This doesn’t fix anything.”

Jack stared at him, caught off guard, like someone had thrown a glass of cold water in his face.

Everyone was still. Listening now.

Luke turned to William.

“You didn’t do this on purpose,” Luke said, voice rough. “She loved you the most, Will. My sister—she chose you. She built her future around you. I remember those calls before the wedding… endless calls about invitation fonts, ribbon samples, napkin shades.”

He let out a broken laugh that caught in his throat. His eyes shimmered. “God, I hated those calls. Thought they were a waste of time. Just noise. But now…now I get it. She wasn’t fussing over details. She was dreaming. Piecing together a life. Your life. And she was so fucking happy doing it.”

He blinked hard, steadying his voice, but the tears slipped down anyway — silent, unstoppable.

“I’d give anything to hear one more of those dumb calls right now.”

William didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Luke looked back at Jack. “She needs all of us right now. And she’d be crushed to hear you blaming Will. You know how much she loved him. And us. This—” He gestured at the tension in the room. “This would break her heart.”

He looked away, then back, softer, lower, but no less fierce.

“You think you’re the one hurting most Jack? You’re not the one in that hospital bed.She is.”

He inhaled deeply, a shaky breath that barely steadied him. His gaze softened as he glanced toward his sister, but when it turned back to Jack, his eyes were unflinching.

“She’s the one who had her skull cut open. Who might not wake up. And if she does, there’s no promise she’s even still… her.”

He stared Jack down, voice low and sharp.

“So stop acting like you’re the one who lost everything. You didn’t.”

“And you,” Luke turned back to William, “need to stop blaming yourself. The other driver was drunk. You couldn’t have stopped that. But she’s still here. Still fighting. And she needs you. You don’t get to disappear into your guilt. Not now.”

The silence after Luke’s words didn’t fade—it settled. Not empty. Not gone. Just... quieter. Like something heavy had finally landed between them all.

The silence in the room stretched—no longer sharp, but fragile.

William’s hand was still wrapped around yours, and for the first time in days, he let the others see him. Not the version of him that had been holding it together, barely speaking, lost in the routine of machines and beeping monitors. But the real one—the shattered one.

He exhaled shakily, then lifted his head. His voice came low, rough with exhaustion and emotion.

“You’re right,” William said quietly.“I don’t get to disappear. And I don’t want to.”

He turned to face the three of them.

“I need you to know…” he started, but the words caught. He exhaled a shaky breath, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling as if the words might be easier to say if he didn’t have to see their faces. “I need you to know what it was like.”

His eyes dropped again, locking on Jack’s. Not in challenge. In grief. In need.

“I didn’t drink that night,” William said, quietly but clearly. “Not a sip. I remember everything. I kept both hands on the wheel, like I always do. I wasn’t on my phone, I wasn’t distracted. I wasn’t speeding—I wasn’t even pushing the limit. I checked the mirrors, I slowed at the yellow. I did everything right. I followed every rule, every instinct.”

“And it still happened. The headlights came out of nowhere.” He paused, his chest tightening. “We were laughing—God, she was laughing. Singing ‘Old Town Road,’ like she always did when that awful song came on the radio. Just being her.”

He inhaled sharply, fighting the memories. “I didn’t see the other car until it was too late. I swerved, slammed the brakes, but it was too fast. It hit us anyway.”

His head dropped.

“Eli lost consciousness just a few seconds after the crash. I saw it—her eyes… she tried to blink, like she was still there, still fighting. But then her eyes just… closed. And they didn’t open again.”

He stared at the floor for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath as he tried to gather himself. His gaze flickered toward her, but he quickly looked away, like seeing her that way would break him.

“The car…it landed right on top. I couldn’t reach her. The door had crushed in. Everything was twisted, jagged. I was stuck, pinned in place. And I didn’t know if she was alive. I couldn’t feel her pulse. I couldn’t hear her breathing.”

William’s throat tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

“I just kept calling her name. Over and over. Yelling for her to wake up. But she didn’t.”

His voice dropped lower, barely a whisper, as if confessing a secret he couldn’t keep any longer.

“I started praying,” William said, his voice cracking. “Not for me. Not for any damn miracle for myself. I prayed that if she wasn’t coming back, if she was already gone, I wouldn’t have to stay here. I didn’t want to be in this world without her.”

He let the silence hang between them, the words heavy, suffocating in the room.

“ I couldn’t live in a world where she wasn’t there anymore.”

Quinn stepped closer, but didn’t touch him. Just stood beside him, steady. Listening.

“I love her so much,” William whispered. “More than anything. I would’ve married her a thousand times. I would’ve built a life with her in a shoebox if that’s all we had. I would’ve given up everything else just to see her happy. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And now she’s lying there, and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.”

He turned his eyes back to the bed.

“I talk to her every night when you’re all asleep,” he said, voice soft again. “I tell her stories. Remind her of the stupid inside jokes. The time she burned the pancakes but said they were ‘extra caramelized.’ How she’d hum in the shower without realizing. I play her voice notes, just so the sound of her laugh fills the room.”

A tear slid down his cheek.

“I just... keep thinking maybe she’ll hear me. Maybe if I love her hard enough, she’ll come back.”

There was a long pause. Then Jack, who hadn’t moved since Luke had spoken, let out a breath like something inside him finally broke open.

He nodded once, slowly.

“I just—I’m so fucking scared,” Jack whispered, his voice breaking. He didn’t need to say more. William heard the fear, the desperation in his tone, and saw it in the hollow look in his eyes.

“Me too,” William replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The anger that had been there before was gone now. All that remained was the rawness of shared grief, shared fear. Luke stood, walking over to your side, his hand gently wrapping around yours, a silent promise. Quinn stepped forward, placing a hand on William’s shoulder, a gesture of support that held more weight than words ever could.

Jack stood a little further back, hands still clenched at his sides, but his gaze softened when it met William’s. He was still holding onto something, some part of the anger, but it was fading—slowly.

William took a steadying breath and, for the first time, spoke the words he’d been holding back for what felt like forever. “I’d die for her. But that won’t change a thing.” He paused, looking back at you. His voice softened. “I just need you with me when she wakes up. We need to be here for her. Together.”

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t a silence of tension or anger. It was a silence of understanding.

Jack exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on you for a moment before he nodded, his voice soft but certain. “Yeah. I think we can do that.”

—

One Year Later

The anniversary of the crash crept up on him like a storm, quietly gathering strength until it had him pinned beneath its weight. He should’ve seen it coming, but he didn’t. One year. A year since everything had shattered.

William had tried to go back to life like it was before. The games, the locker rooms, the routines. Everything had become a kind of blur of motion. Practice, meetings, games. He buried himself in it, because when he didn’t, the silence from the hospital, the weight of the empty spaces in his apartment, were unbearable.

The doctors had said you were healing. You were “fine” now. On paper. They said your body was healed, the swelling in your brain gone, that there was no reason for you not to wake up. But the truth was, nothing had changed. You still hadn’t opened your eyes. You still weren’t there. And every day, William pushed the truth deeper into himself, buried it somewhere in the back of his mind, where it couldn’t get out and strangle him.

Pablo and Banksy, the dogs you had left behind for him, were all that remained of you in the house. Every time he saw them, a sharp pang of guilt gripped him. He had promised you he would care for them, but they were a constant reminder of what was lost. He couldn’t understand how they kept going, their tails still wagging, waiting for a voice that would never return.

He should’ve been grateful for them. They should’ve been his reason to keep going. But some days, it felt like they were just another reminder of the gaping hole you had left in his life. He hadn’t felt truly alive in a year. He hadn’t felt right in so long. But every day, he plastered on a smile, showed up to practice, and went through the motions. He was playing well. At least that was something.

But tonight was different. Tonight, it felt like the walls were closing in. The weight of everything—his silence, his shame, his guilt—was finally starting to crush him. It was the anniversary of the crash. He could feel it pressing on his chest, a physical reminder that he hadn’t healed at all. Not really. He had just been pretending.

The dogs were lying at his feet, watching him with those innocent eyes, waiting for him to move. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was suffocating, like the world was too big and his place in it was too small.

He had no answers for the questions that kept swimming in his mind: What if I had done something differently? What if I hadn’t driven that night? What if I wasn’t the one who…?

There was a lump in his throat. He was starting to lose the battle against it. The fake positivity, the force-fed hope—everything he had built to get through the last year was crumbling, piece by piece.

He stood up from the couch, pacing across the apartment. His hands were shaking. His breath was coming too fast. The noise of his own thoughts was deafening. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stop the heaviness that was settling into his bones.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t know how to keep pretending. He didn’t know how to keep fighting, keep hoping.

He walked toward the kitchen, his hands reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. It was like it was calling to him, offering him an escape. Maybe just a drink, maybe more, just enough to numb the pain for a little while.

He reached for it, his hand shaking slightly. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to keep pretending, didn’t want to keep up the facade of strength.

As he poured the whiskey into a glass, his eyes flickered to the counter, where something else lay in his peripheral vision. The knife.

His stomach twisted as he stared at it. It wasn’t new. He’d kept it there for a while now. Just in case, he told himself. It was always there, just in case. Just for the days when it felt like the darkness was swallowing him whole and there was no way out.

He set the glass down, taking a step closer to the counter. His fingers hovered over the handle of the knife. He didn’t need to do this. He knew that. But the ache in his chest—the unbearable, suffocating pain of living without you—was louder than his common sense. The loneliness, the guilt, the guilt of feeling like he could never be enough without you. It made everything else blur.

What if I just end it all now? What if the pain stops for good?

The thought was so heavy, so pressing, that it took everything in him not to reach for the blade. His mind was spinning, a tornado of thoughts and emotions. He knew it wasn’t the answer. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight. But the darkness—the kind that had been creeping up on him for a year now—was overwhelming. And he felt like he couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.

He picked up the bottle again, took a long swig. The burn did nothing to numb the ache inside him. Tonight nothing could. Not the alcohol, not the distractions, not the hockey games. Nothing could fix the gaping hole that was left when you weren’t there anymore.

A tear slipped down his cheek. The thought of you still lying in that sterile hospital room, your body healed, but your mind still trapped somewhere he couldn’t reach—it tore him apart.

And then, just as the darkness threatened to consume him completely, there was a knock at the door.

William didn’t move. He didn’t answer. His whole body felt like it was made of lead, heavy and unwilling to respond.

Another knock, louder this time. “Nylander, I know you’re in there,” Auston called from the other side, his voice firm but gentle. “Open the damn door, man.”

Something about the way Auston said it hit William deep, like someone had reached inside his chest and grabbed hold of his heart. Maybe it was the sound of concern in Auston’s voice, or maybe it was the fact that someone was there at all.

William’s hands were still shaking. The whiskey bottle was half-empty now, and the knife—he could still see it out of the corner of his eye. He felt trapped between what he wanted to do and what he knew he had to do.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

“William, you don’t have to do this alone.”

Those words hit harder than he expected—like a jolt of electricity straight to the chest. He wasn’t alone. Not really. He’d just spent so long pretending he was, pushing everyone away, keeping everything buried deep. But Auston was right. He didn’t have to carry it all by himself. And truthfully, he didn’t want to. He was tired of the silence. Tired of being alone.

He took a shuddering breath and he reached for the knife on the counter. Paused for a moment, then slipped it back into the drawer where it belonged. The bottle of whiskey was still in his hand, but now, it didn’t feel like an answer anymore. It felt empty. Useless.

With a shaking hand, he wiped his face, quickly wiping away the tears before they could fall. He didn’t want Auston to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. But he was out of options.

The door knocked again, and this time, William forced himself. He shuffled over to the door, his body stiff and exhausted, his heart still racing.

He opened it slowly, his eyes red-rimmed, his expression empty, like he didn’t know who he was anymore.

Auston stood there, his eyes soft with concern, but there was something else in his posture—strength, like he was prepared for this, like he had been waiting for William to finally let someone in.

“You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” Auston said gently, but there was no mistaking the quiet intensity in his voice. “But I’m not leaving, Willy.”

—

Three Years Later - Christmas Eve

The snow crunched under William's boots as he made his way to the hospital, the familiar chill of December biting at his skin. The city was alive with Christmas lights, but for him, it all felt a little muted, like the world was celebrating without him — without you.

It was Christmas Eve. Your favorite night of the year. A time when the world felt a little warmer, a little more magical. The night you’d always made extra special. It had been the same every year — lights on the tree, cinnamon filling the air, your laughter echoing through the house as you spent hours wrapping gifts.

And years ago, it had been the night William asked you to marry him. He hadn’t known then, in that perfect moment, how quickly everything would change.

William shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, his breath coming out in little puffs of white mist. He’d come so far in these three years. The therapy, the constant support of his friends, and the passing of time had all helped, in their own ways. He was no longer consumed by the suffocating blackness he’d once felt. He had stopped questioning whether he was strong enough to live without you. But nothing could take away the weight of what he’d lost. Nothing could fill the space that had once been filled by you.

He remembered how alive you’d been that night, the way your eyes had sparkled when you’d said "yes" — how right everything had felt. The future had been a promise, wide open, full of potential.

And then the crash.

The crash had stolen all of it.

He took a deep breath, shaking off the dark thoughts that lingered at the edges of his mind. The fact that you hadn’t woken up after all this time—that had been the hardest pill to swallow. The doctors had been clear. At your two-year anniversary in the hospital, they’d had a conversation with your family. A conversation that crushed everyone’s hopes without saying a word. The chance of someone waking up from a coma after two years was 0.2%. Not impossible, they’d said, but so close to it that it hardly seemed worth believing.

William had curled into himself that day, trying to block out the world, but deep down, he knew. He had accepted it. Maybe not fully, but he had come to understand that your body might never respond again. That you might never wake up, and he’d have to live with that. He didn’t know how to let go, but he couldn’t hold on to false hope anymore.

Still, he came to the hospital every year for Christmas Eve. It wasn’t just a tradition. It was the last piece of the life he had before all of this. And no matter how hard it was, no matter how much it hurt to see you lying there, still, year after year, he couldn’t stay away. Not on Christmas.

He reached the familiar entrance of the hospital, the doors sliding open in front of him. The fluorescent lights inside didn’t feel cold anymore. They felt like home in a weird, bittersweet way.

Inside, the hospital was decorated with paper snowflakes and tinsel, as it had been for years. The Hughes family was already there — the steady comfort of them around your bed, their presence a reminder that, even in the deepest grief, he wasn’t alone.

William stepped in quietly, and they all looked up.

“Hey, Willy,” Luke greeted, his voice a little strained.

"Hey, Lukey" William replied, his voice thick with emotion. He crossed the room slowly, his feet dragging just a little more than usual. When he reached your bedside, he paused, his fingers brushing lightly against your hand as if afraid he might wake you — as if touching you too much might shatter something delicate.

For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the sight of you. His heart twisted. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had asked you to marry him — the memory of that night, the way you had smiled at him, how alive you had been. And now... now it felt like that night was part of a distant, forgotten world. A memory that both still lived in him and yet, somehow, had already slipped away.

“Hello, love,” he whispered, his voice faltering just a little. “You look beautiful.”

And he wasn’t lying. Your blonde hair still shimmered like a halo, and for a moment, you seemed like an angel who had fallen from the sky. You were thinner now, but you were still his Eli—his brilliant, beautiful wife.

From the corner of the room, Jack cleared his throat. “We’re glad you’re here, man,” he said softly, his usual brashness subdued tonight. “Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you.”

William nodded, offering Jack a faint smile before he settled into an empty chair next to Quinn. He sat back for a moment, taking it all in — the familiar faces, the quiet chatter, the strange comfort of their presence. It was strange and familiar at the same time. All of them, here, sharing a meal in a hospital room, the holiday decorations stark against the sterile environment. There was something warm about it, but it was also wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Ellen, acting as if nothing was out of place, fussed around the table, making sure everyone had enough to eat. Her hands moved with that motherly precision, and she shot William a gentle, knowing look.

"You're still a little thin," she said with a teasing smile, placing an extra portion of food in front of him. Her voice was soft but firm, like a mother who’d never stop caring, even when the world felt like it had fallen apart. “Eat!”

Jim leaned back in his chair, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “So, what do you think, Will? Are the Leafs finally going to make it past the first round this year?” He raised an eyebrow, looking over at William.

"Yes! This is our year," William replied, deadpan but with a spark of dry humor in his eyes. He appreciated the question—how it shifted the air in the room just enough. “I can feel it.”

Jack scoffed immediately, already grinning. “Oh really? The Leafs? That’s like saying a Christmas miracle’s coming. You’ve said that every year since I was in high school.”

Luke leaned forward, elbow on the table, expression full of mischief. “I’ve got more faith in Pablo learning how to cook dinner than the Leafs making it past the first round.”

Quinn didn’t even look up as he chimed in, calm and quiet. “No chance, man. But I admire the delusion.”

“Hey!” Ellen cut in, her voice sharp with faux offense. “Stop bullying the poor boy. Karma’s gonna bite you all in the ass when Toronto actually wins something.”

That earned a round of laughter, warm and easy. The kind of moment that didn’t feel so heavy for once. The boys kept at it, tossing jabs back and forth, their voices overlapping and playful like a rhythm they’d never forgotten.

Jack picked up a forkful of dessert, bit into it, and immediately pulled a face. “Mom, what even is this? I think I chipped a tooth.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic and eat it,” Ellen said, waving him off with a roll of her eyes.

William laughed quietly, the sound catching in his throat before it softened into something more genuine. For a minute, it was almost easy to forget where they were. Easy to pretend this was just another Hughes family Christmas. You were still the quiet center of it all, even without speaking a word.

—

Later, the room had quieted. The plates were cleared, the lights dimmed to a soft golden glow. Outside the window, snow drifted down in lazy flakes, blanketing the night in silence.

Jim and Ellen sat tucked together in a large armchair near the corner, a shared blanket thrown over their legs. They weren’t saying much—just leaning into each other like they had for decades, heads tilted, eyes glassy from wine and memory.

Across the room, William sat with Luke, Quinn, and Jack. Each in their own chair, holding mismatched mugs of mulled wine. Your recipe. William had brought the spices himself — the same ones you used every year. The smell was perfect. Cinnamon, cloves, oranges. It lingered in the air like you were still in the kitchen singing to yourself, teasing Jack for stealing another sip.

Luke took a long breath and leaned back, his eyes half-closed. “Still the best mulled wine in the world,” he mumbled.

Quinn nodded. “Yeah… she made it every year like it was nothing. But somehow, it always tasted like home.”

William didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his hands around the mug a little tighter and stared into it, breathing in the warmth.

A long moment passed before Ellen stirred from the armchair. She shifted, gently untangling from Jim, and stood up slowly, crossing the room with a kind of hesitation that immediately put William on alert.

She sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. Her hands folded in her lap.

“Will,” she said softly, and her voice had that tone. The one moms used when they didn’t want to hurt you, but had no other choice.

He looked up at her slowly. “Yeah?”

She smiled, but there was sadness behind it. “We’ve been talking. As a family.”

William didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The tension rose slowly in his chest.

Ellen glanced over at Jim, then back at William. “We never thought we’d be the ones to say this. Honestly, we assumed… after what the doctor said last year, that maybe… maybe you’d be the one to pull away. To start moving on.”

The room went very quiet.

“But you didn’t,” Ellen continued gently. “You stayed. You’ve stayed every step. And I love you for that. We all do.” Her voice cracked slightly. “You’ve loved her better than we could have ever hoped.”

William swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

“But, sweetheart,” she whispered, “She’s not coming back.”

The words hit like a punch, even though they weren’t new. He’d heard them before—from doctors, from the silence in your hospital room—but never like this. Not from Ellen. Not with her hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

“I know that’s brutal,” she said. “And I would give anything to be wrong. But… William, you deserve more than this endless waiting. Elie… she wanted a family with you. She told me once how excited she was to see you with kids. Said you'd be the kind of dad who builds ridiculous treehouses and braids doll hair without flinching.”

That made William huff a small, broken breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.

“She wanted that future with you. But that future’s… it’s not here anymore.”

Behind her, Jack was watching quietly, his face tight. Luke stared into his mug. Quinn’s hand had stilled on the armrest.

Ellen squeezed his knee gently. “We love you, Will. You are family. You always will be. But we don’t want this to be your whole life. You deserve to heal. You deserve love. Kids. Joy that’s not buried in grief.”

William blinked hard. His throat burned. “I don’t know how to let her go.”

“You don’t have to,” Ellen said. “You just have to let her memory live beside you. Not ahead of you.”

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

So she reached forward and took his mug, setting it on the table. Then she pulled him into a hug.

“You’ll never stop loving her,” she whispered into his shoulder. “None of us will. But it’s okay to live again.”

William didn’t speak at first. Just sat there with Ellen’s arms still wrapped around him, his whole body locked in that numb place between guilt and grief. When she finally pulled back, her hand lingered on his cheek before returning to her lap. The others were quiet, letting the moment breathe.

Then, softly, Quinn said, “Have you talked to anyone about… next steps? Like legally?”

William blinked. “What do you mean?”

Quinn hesitated. “Your marriage. Technically.”

William sat back like he’d been hit. His mouth opened, then closed again. His throat worked around a word that didn’t come.

“I’m not divorcing her,” he said finally, low and flat.

“No one’s asking you to file papers tonight,” Quinn said, gently but firmly. “But you’ve been married to someone in a coma for three years, Will. You don’t date. You don’t travel. You barely leave the city unless it’s for games. And you’re still wearing your ring.”

William looked down at his hand as if seeing the band for the first time. It gleamed faintly in the soft light.

“It would feel like breaking a promise,” he murmured. “Like admitting she’s gone. Like giving up.”

“You’re not giving up,” Luke said, suddenly speaking up. “You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”

Jack nodded. “We’re not telling you to stop loving her. God, Will — we could never. But you’ve put your entire life on pause. That’s not love. That’s… that’s punishment.”

William clenched his jaw, breathing through his nose. “I can’t picture dating anyone else. I can’t imagine having kids with someone else. I still think about what our kids might have looked like.”

“And that’s okay,” Ellen said, reaching for his hand again. “It’s okay to carry those dreams. But you don’t have to stay stuck inside them. Elie would never want that. She wouldn’t want her memory to be the reason you stopped living.”

“I don’t know how to let it go,” he said, his voice cracking. “Every time I think about it, I feel like I’m betraying her. Like I’d be erasing her.”

Jim spoke up for the first time, voice quiet but steady. “Then don’t erase her. Make space beside her.”

William looked at him.

Jim shrugged slightly. “You’re allowed to carry her with you while building something new. People who’ve lost someone — they don’t move on. They move forward.”

There was silence again. A deep, thoughtful stillness.

Luke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ll never stop being part of this family. Not if you date, not if you take off the ring, not even if you… one day, God forbid, fall in love again. We’ll still be here.”

“We’ll always be here,” Quinn added.

William’s eyes were glassy now. He looked from face to face, and for the first time in a long time, he let them really see him. The wear on his shoulders. The sorrow in his eyes. The part of him that was so tired from pretending he was okay.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said. “But… I hear you.”

Ellen exhaled shakily, smiling through tears. “That’s all we’re asking, sweetheart.”

Jack lifted his mug slightly. “To Elie. And to Will—whenever he’s ready.”

One by one, they all echoed it.

William lifted his mug last. His hand trembled slightly. “To Elie,” he said, voice rough. “And to… maybe, someday, something more.”

They clinked their mugs together, the sound soft and warm. And in that quiet hospital room, lit by a string of old fairy lights and the ghosts of Christmases past, something shifted — not fully healed, not fully free. But lighter.

It was a beginning.

71 notes · View notes

madabapf · 2 days ago

Note

Hello! First off, I just want to say I think you seem super neat and I love your LMK posts and artwork!

Second off, after seeing part 20 of the drunken shenanigans comic, I was wondering if you know how Wukong got all of his scars? And if so, do he and Mac have any prominent scars elsewhere that have interesting stories to go with them?

On a similar note, has Mac ever seen Wukong without all his glamours since coming back to life? (Did he see him deglamoured before he bounced?)

aww thank you :D <3

i dooo (mostly)

when designing wukongs scars i figured the only scars that would stay are either from repeated injury or a very powerful being

bc let's be real, that whole man would be a walking scar otherwise-

so the obvious ones i think are on the head from the circlet, and his neck from pulling his favourite party trick of cutting his head off

the one on the mouth is from his time under the mountain where he was only given molten copper to drink (and iron balls to eat) in my copy of JTTW that was the only torture mentioned, but i have been told that in other versions/translations his mouth was held open with hooks to feed him would've added those too, so if you see my design change over time, now you know why lmao-

the big scratch on his face is from the fight with macaque™️ i wanted them too look like they were done in a moment of panic because normally you don't fight by scratching (at least in my hc) it only hurts the outer layer, and a punch just does more in the long run

the little scratches on his eyebrow and ear are from fights on his journey

i haven't drawn designs for their whole body scars yet (partly because i still need to finish reading JTTW cus i wanna implement more lore but reading is hard 😭) but there are some hopefully one day i will finish it and then i can give you an update lmao-

but something i can say is that wukong definitely has a lot of burn scars from his time being cooked and macaque from being a literal corpse

to your last question, macaque does not know what wukong looks like unglamoured, he left in a hurry well at least he doesn't know about the scars, he might have seen his brownish fur and grey strands

#not me having the joker meme "wanna know how i got these scars” on repeat in my head while writing this #drunk shadowpeach shenanigans #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk headcanons #ask #cw scarring

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privatebullshit · 1 day ago

Text

with faith undaunted [part 02.]

— ♡

part 02. blossoming [2.2k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language, time period sexism

song rec: every girl gets her wish - saint avangeline

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

As they watched the cab shrink into the horizon in the distance, the small cloud of dust from his departure still lingering in the air, Joe tilted his head downward to look at the girl beside him. He cleared his throat slightly, trying to gain her attention for a minute or two.

Her eyelashes flutter just a bit as her gaze shifts upward to meet his, Joe's heart panging with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth. She looked at him curiously, the intense stare making Joe want to look elsewhere— the ground, the sky, anywhere but her damn pretty face.

"Yes?" she finally asked, a hint of a laugh ghosting over her lips.

Joe snapped out of his daze for the second time of the day, lips threatening to curl into a half smile at the sound of her voice.

"Thanks for lettin' me tag along," he said, pausing when he saw her nod enthusiastically. He continued, his voice less gruff and more reserved, "Name's Joseph. Joseph Toye."

"Joseph. . ." she repeated, testing out the sound of his name on her tongue, and he adored it. She gave him a warm look before extending her hand to him, "I'm y/n. y/n y/l/n!"

Joe felt his usual cold demeanor melt away to a helpless puddle beneath his feet, his hand grasping hers gently. She shook his hand excitedly, but firmly, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

"It's nice to meet ya, y/n," Joe said, reluctantly retracting his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against her liquid smooth palm.

She didn't notice the lingering touch, or she chose not to, but if Joe had been paying close attention, he would've seen the sunlight illuminating the faint blush on her cheeks— which could've been easily mistaken as getting overheated from being outside.

But alas, Joe's brain was everywhere and nowhere at once, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other clutching the strap of his duffle bag.

"I guess this is 'goodbye,' huh?" He studied y/n's face for a second, admiring her features as if he was going to be quizzed on every single one. He managed to stop his eyes from drifting to her lips as she started to respond.

"'Goodbye' seems like forever, I'll see you later, Joseph," she smiled, collecting her bags from off the ground as she gave him once last glance. She started to walk away to the open gate of Camp Toccoa, and Joe was standing there like fool that got shot by Cupid's arrow.

Y/n turned her head to look over her shoulder, letting out a stifled giggle and waving to the ever frozen Joe one more time.

Joe lifted a hand back in acknowledgement, shaking it side to side a bit before letting it drop, "Yeah, see ya later, Y/n."

— ♡

About a month later

Joining the Paratroopers required a lot more effort than Joe initially thought, merely volunteering for the extra cash at first. He was quickly assigned to Easy Company and he met some of his closest friends there. The PT was hell on Earth and so was running Currahee. First Lieutenant Sobel barked at the men of Easy Company to train harder, faster, and longer, every damn day.

"Jesus, is he gonna make us run this bullshit mountain again?" Joe huffed, addressing one of the other men named Bill Guarnere.

Guarnere laughed heartily, "Hah, yous will get used to it. All us boys have ran up and down the mountain more times than we can remember."

Joe nodded gravely, taking a deep inhale as Sobel started to shout.

"You people are at the position of attention!"

Joe quickly clicked his heels together, standing tall and stone faced. Sobel went around and started to reprimand some of the men for minor infractions. Perconte got blasted for blousing his pants over his boots, Luz had dirt in his rifle's rear sight aperture, a thread on Lipton's chevrons were too long, there was rust on Malarkey's rifle, and Liebgott had a rusty bayonet.

Joe's eyes followed as Sobel tossed the bayonet into the soft ground, but he heard a slight giggle in the distance, causing him to turn his head in the direction it came from. He was sure it was y/n's laugh, his stomach doing flips as he looked for her. And there she was.

It had been a few weeks, maybe even a month, since they last saw each other. And now, she stood far away with the other nurses-in-training in her uniform that adorned her quite nicely. She looked like a proper nurse already and poor Joe was distracted. So distracted that he didn't even see his commanding officer standing in front of him.

"Private! Are you even listening to me?" Sobel shouted, hitting the top of Joe's helmet with his knuckles.

"Yes, sir!" Joe responded, snapping his eyes away from where y/n was.

Sobel's eyes narrowed as he circled Joe, "Then what did I just say, private?"

Joe couldn't come up with a good enough excuse in time, not that Sobel would take any excuse at all.

"Name?" Sobel asked bitterly, standing before Joe once more.

"Toye, Joseph J., sir."

"Toye," Sobel muttered. "And what had you so distracted that you stopped listening to your commanding officer?"

"Nothin', sir. . . er- no excuse, sir," Joe responded, unsure of himself as he felt the eyes of the rest of the company on him.

Sobel's gaze drifted over to the medical tent where y/n still stood, now organizing a bin of bandages and medicines. He let out a low, amused hum, looking back at Joe.

"So, a broad, hm?"

Joe knew better than to talk back or defend her against Sobel's word, so he muttered a simple, "Yes, sir."

"You better get your priorities straight, Toye. I don't need your lack of attention infiltrating my company. Fix it, or get out," Sobel sneered.

"Yes, sir," Joe repeated.

Sobel moves to stand in front of the company, "Now, thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the company who had a weekend pass... has lost it. Change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."

Lieutenant Winters ordered everyone to get to the barracks and change within two minutes maximum, Toye's steps dragging in embarrassment. He couldn't believe how badly he got reprimanded.

Toye changed into his PT gear quickly, avoiding the eyes of the other men. One of them finally breaks the silence, George Luz, who also got told off by Sobel earlier, "Hey, man, don't worry about it too much."

Joe clicked his tongue and shook his head, "Yeah, but my starin' must've been too fuckin' obvious, huh?"

Luz grinned and shrugged, "Listen, we've all been through it. Ya ain't the only man in Easy with eyes, ya know?"

Joe gave George a puzzled look, silently asking what he meant by that as they exited their barracks.

"Y/n's a real sweet lookin' girl," George laughed, nudging Joe's side, earning a low growl from the latter.

"So, you know her?" Joe scoffed.

"Everyone knows y/n, Joe. We go to her or one of the other nurses-in-training when we're not feelin' our best," George responds, noting the jealous expression on Joe's face. "But she's definitely our favorite."

Joe shoots him a quick glare before meeting up with the other Easy men outside, "Yeah, whatever."

He should've known that he wasn't exactly special. Of course the other guys would know her and get to ogle at her in that damn uniform. It just made his chest pang a little too much, a sting that wouldn't go away no matter how much he willed it too.

All he could do was run alongside his buddies up Currahee mountain, listening to Sobel scream, "HI-HO SILVER!"

— ♡

Two months later

Now, Joe finds himself at the aid station's tent flap, shifting his weight from side to side. He had gotten into a bit of a disagreement with one of the men from Dog Company, earning a set of bruised knuckles and a bloody nose that he attempted to clean up.

He shouldn't be like this, nervous with a racing heart, but the thought of seeing y/n again to be treated made him all dizzy. He extended a hand to the zipper of the tent, opening it half way.

"Excuse me?" Joe called out, looking around for anyone that might be there.

One of the more seasoned nurses stepped into view to greet him, her neat eyebrows raised in a skeptical manner upon seeing his state.

"May I help you?" she asked, knowing the obvious answer was "yes," but she figured that he was looking for someone else.

"Uh, yes ma'am, is- is y/n here?" Joe was thankful for the darkness above, shadows casted over the apparent redness on his cheeks.

The nurse chuckles through her nose, shaking her head in amusement, "She's just around the corner. I'll go get her for you."

Joe thanked the nurse profusely, still awkwardly wiping away at the blood leaking from his nose. After a few minutes of waiting, y/n silently approached Joe. She was told that "some soldier desperately need to see her." She didn't expect to see him tonight, or at all, for that matter. When they parted ways at the gate upon first arriving here, she was sure that was it. But here he was, a couple months later.

"Joseph?"

Joe's eyes widened and softened simultaneously, drinking in the fact that y/n was standing in front of him now. He'd never get tired of seeing her, each time making the warmth in his chest spread more and more.

"Y/n. . ." Joe whispered, a soft grin appearing on his face.

"It's quite late, isn't it?" Y/n said, glancing at him before noticing his bleeding nose. "Never mind that, let's get you cleaned up."

Joe's heart nearly burst as she grabbed his hand to lead him into the tent, setting him down on some crates while she flitted to and fro, grabbing supplies.

"Well, ya should've seen the other guy," Joe said lowly, eyes darting as he followed her movements. He heard her scoff and mutter something about him being "reckless." Y/n came back over and leaned down a little, examining his bloody nose with tender care. Joe started to feel a bit warm now at the proximity, but nothing could've prepared him for what she was about to do next.

She held his face in her hands, cleaning his nose gently with a warm cloth, "You really ought to be more careful, you can't go around fighting whoever." His fingers ached to cover hers, to lace their digits together against his cheek.

Joe resisted the temptation to lean into her palm, lips parted slightly as he gazed up at her. She had this cute furrow in her brow as she worked and scolded him, though he was barely listening. He must've had a goofy grin on his face because she stopped what she was doing to look at him.

"What's that expression for?" she asked, grabbing an ointment for cuts.

Joe shrugged, "You're cute when you're focused."

Y/n chucked a roll of bandages at him, scoffing, "Am not." She took Joe's hands in hers, applying ointment to his bruised knuckles. He hissed at the slight sting, lip between his teeth.

"I know, I know," she murmured, blowing cold air on them gently before wrapping his hands with a thin layer of bandages.

"All done," she said, taking a step back. She couldn't deny that Joe was quite handsome, his dark features on his tan skin creating a portrait fit for a museum.

"Thanks, but ya forgot one thing," Joe said cheekily, giving her a half-grin.

"Which is?" Y/n looked at him with confusion, crossing her arms.

"Ya need to kiss it better, or else it won't heal," Joe chuckled at her reaction, the flush on her cheeks growing bright with embarrassment. "I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'!" he protested as she shooed him out of the tent.

"Just go back to your quarters, Joseph!"

Joe turned before exiting fully, raising a hand to move some hair out of her eyes, "Alright, alright. Goodnight, y/n."

His fingers lingered for a second before he stuffed his hands into his pockets. She opened her mouth and closed it, unable to find the right words to say. She finally spoke softly, a glimmer in her eyes that Joe couldn't quite place, "Goodnight, Joseph."

Joe wanted to say more, to do more than just brush her hair out of the way, but he couldn't. He didn't want to risk his chances of becoming a Paratrooper, and he certainly wasn't going to get y/n in trouble either. The repercussions on her were bound to be worse.

He simply nodded, turning again to walk back to his quarters. Y/n hesitated for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek in thought.

"Joseph!" she called out, causing him to turn immediately. She couldn't hear it, but his heart was thumping against his chest wildly, as if he just ran Currahee all over again.

"Yeah?" he responded, his eyes meeting hers.

"Try not to get into another fight, okay? I can't always waste bandages on you." Y/n's words caused Joe to grin again, laughing breathlessly as he shrugged.

"No promises, sweetheart."

And with that, he bid her another goodnight, both of them just as flustered as the other.

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #joe toye x reader #joe toye #joseph toye #joseph toye x reader #bofb #bofb x reader #hbo war x reader #hbo war #with faith undaunted #band of brothers fanfic

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mylovesstuffs · 2 days ago

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𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 ! @mylovesstuffs Hits 1k Followers ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

Celeste's Magic shop :: In celebration of this journey, the blog has opened its doors to requests and confessions! Step inside, pick your token, and leave your wish behind. See details below! ς(>‿<.)

i kid you not, i've been so excited for this day but now i'm overwhelmed by the emotional crash. i hit this milestone a few days ago, but it took me a little time to put everything together [turns out magic shops don’t build themselves]. i started this blog on December 26th, 2024, on a total whim — in fact, i made it within minutes of deciding to. i never imagined how quickly or how warmly things would grow. in just four months, we made it here. i was actually supposed to hit this milestone in early April, but a shadowban snuck in and slowed things down. even so, we arrived a few days ahead of my adjusted prediction, and honestly i’m still wrapping my head around it.

thank you to every single one of you who has read, reblogged, commented, sent asks, screamed in the tags, or just quietly followed along. this corner of the internet became something special because you chose to stop by. i don't think i'll ever stop being surprised that people care about what I write, but you made this silly little blog feel like a place worth staying in. so, i’ll keep writing, as long as you’ll let me.

i don’t know where we’ll go from here, but i do know one thing: we run anyway.

guidelines: • anon and non-anon asks both welcome • open for SEVENTEEN only • track with: #mylovesstuffs 1k milestone magic 🌙 • until: may 25th

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .WISH UPON A STAR. ،♥︎٫

choose from a list of a total of 30 prompts across fluff, angst, and suggestive tones, below [mix of originals + from pinterest]

send me an ✨ emoji + your chosen prompt + a seventeen member. it's not possible to full fill all requests but, i’ll select whichever ideas resonate most.

fluff

falling asleep with heads leaning against each other.

“i could stay like this forever.”

tying his/your [please specify or I'll decide] shoelaces for him/you.

“you have a freckle here—no, wait, let me kiss it.”

you tucked a flower behind his ear

“lets go home. you're freezing, and i don't want you catching a cold.”

“hold my hand or I’ll get lost, and it’ll be your fault.”

“god, i miss you so much.”

he learned to braid your hair

“let me kiss you better.”

angst

“why didn’t you fight for us?”

pretending to be fine in front of the other members.

“it wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“i loved you more than you’ll ever know.”

“give me a chance.”

a ring that was never given.

“don’t make me choose between you and my dream.”

“i lost the baby.”

“i wish we’d met at a different time.”

regretfully watching you/them [please specify or I'll decide] fall in love with someone else.

suggestive

you/them teasingly undoing the top buttons of your/their [please specify or I'll decide] shirt.

“make me forget everything else.”

“you think i won’t do it?” — “try me.”

“you're not going out in that outfit.”

trapped between him and a wall.

“you’re so lucky we’re not alone right now.”

“do as i say.”

a game of truth or dare that goes too far.

back hugs that turn into something more.

“if you bite your lip one more time—”

example ask: ✨ fluff prompt 7 + Seungkwan, please.

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .CHARM OF CHOICE. ،♥︎٫

send me an 🪄 emoji + a lyric of your choice + a seventeen member.

example ask: 🪄 “i knew you were trouble when you walked in” i knew you were trouble by Taylor Swift + Mingyu. thank you!

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .SPELL RECIPES. ،♥︎٫

curious about my already released fics and wips [ongoing and/or to be started]? send an 🗝️ emoji + fic/wip title or concept. i’ll answer with fun facts, untold scenes, or future plans, etc. — some peeks into my writing process.

example ask: 🗝️ can we know more about the ‘somewhere before’ ? like what happened after part 2 with y/n and jun?

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .MIRROR MIRROR. ،♥︎٫

want to know which SEVENTEEN member would be your reflection? send an 🪞 emoji + a short description of yourself, and I’ll match you with someone and explain why.

example ask: 🪞 I’m quiet, really love rainy days, and have a huge soft spot for pets, especially a rabbit!

⠀⠀ ⠀، ⠀ ── .SECRET SPELLS. ،♥︎٫

send me an ☄️ emoji + ask me anything! [about my blog, writing process, favorites, life outside tumblr, etc.]

example ask: ☄️ what's your favourite cake flavour? [lol]

note :: for all programs, one request per ask, but you’re welcome to send multiple asks. all fills will be drabbles/ficlets unless the muse takes me further.

〰︎ .FORTUNE TELLER’S GIFT. 〣 ᰵ —

i’m opening the door, just a little, to a universe close to my heart: 🔮 the 14th member au 13+1 verse. a separate masterlist will be created for this world tomorrow [11th May], and her story will unfold from the very beginning.

we’ll be starting at the roots — early life, pre-debut, and present day. i’ll first be sharing basic things like, backstory, and character information, and as we move forward, you’ll see her timeline gradually evolve and be updated, just like it does in real life.

the world is already 90% built in my head, but: you’ll help shape her future. i’ll offer you moments to choose between different paths, decisions, or fates; because this is as much yours to explore as it is mine to tell.

no asks needed for this one; it's a gift from me to you.

thank you for everything; for all the love shown ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

#mylovesstuffs 1k milestone magic #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #sitting on the tumblr floor. shaking. crying. twirling.#hit this milestone a while ago but i just needed some time to prepare #when i made this blog i was like hmm. will anyone care if i write stupidity and call it a day?#turns out... the stupidity whispered back [NOT calling you guys stupid! i mean the stupidity worked]. and you were all there #i told myself i wouldn’t get emotional but here we are.#to the ones who sent love. requests. even just a like: i see you. i’m grateful.#this milestone is yours as much as mine #come inside #the magic shop is open. stay as long as you like.#mylovesstuffs yapping

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coffee-toffi · 1 day ago

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Wanted to mention it earlier but I fell asleep lol…

The shoutout on the post-final stream? Whaaat??? I was on the verge TEARS! I felt so grateful and so happy that my small contributions to the fandom gets noticed and liked! Thank you to everyone for making me feel part of a community, this is the best fandom experience I've ever had… you are all amazing

And a big thank you to tetro for being a well-written and life-changing series with great voice-acting, I hope we can continue this fantastic journey together for the longest time : D

#tetro danganronpa pink

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edutainer2022 · 2 days ago

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In commemoration of my very (sur)real adventure to get back to Berlin at night via public transport, in the company of two Finnish fellow guest professors, complete with multiple side-quests and setbacks, here's a little amusing John and Scott thing. Absolutely nothing hurts.

Many thanks to @janetm74 , as ever!

ODYSSEY

It was a truth universally acknowledged that only part of Scott was born on his birthday. The other one arrived as Virgil came to be, making a complete whole.

It was a lesser known fact that Scott and John had their strengths and competences that, while quite far removed in range, complimented each other, so together they formed a formidable unit. For example, John spoke impeccable German. Scott's German was a torturous tangled mess of mixed articles and cases, but was heavily reinforced by a smile and dimples that could charm the socks off a wooden fence. Together they were typically unstoppable on a trip.

None of those interoperable skills were of any use to them at the moment, in the middle of nowhere, Berlin Metropolitan area, approaching midnight. They had one jacket between them, Scott's, which John was currently wearing. Realistically he understood Scott wasn't actually "all good, Johnny, you know I run hot!", but the piercing chill left only the little brother portion of John's brain operational. Nobody could have forseen the German public transport system pulling a kafkaesque trick and sending them on a roundabout commute around Berlin across three to four connection rides by multiple transportation types. Reaching just ever so close but never enough to actually make it to their hotel.

Throwing the vast (one might say - unlimited) supply of money at the problem of getting back to the city from John's guest lecture was also impeded by an unexpected curveball - this late and this far away from the city limits translated into cash only services. Which they hadn't carried on them since about high-school. Their state-of-the-art comms were also rendered useless by the indomitable fact of there simply being no coverage.

Scott suggested walking or hitchhiking, which earned him an unimpressed turquoise glare - John opted out of Rescue Scouts at a tender age of six for a reason, thank you very much! The aforementioned dimples would have probably scored them a ride quite swiftly, but the plan wasn't without its demerits. The most prominent of those being killed by Kayo if she ever found out.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances that were bringing them no closer to the warm and comfortable suite in the Intercontinental, John was glad to be with Scott in this. He always secretly cherished big brother attending his academic talks, the buzz of the crowd fading away in the calming, centering presence. Biggest brother was also in possession of an ability to exhude undefeatable optimism and energetic attitude that, John suspected, he'd cracked up quite a bit for his sake, despite the cold and exhaustion. John felt safe and secure in the notion they would make it home soon no matter what. Scout's honor! Safe enough he actually dozed off on the denim clad shoulder on what was, hopefully, to be the last leg of their ardorous journey by U-bahn, that time.

The unexpected problem arrived as they actually walked the length of the street to the hotel. Of course it did! Intercontinental boasted the security levels vetted by multiple international intelligence agencies. By a strike of cosmic irony, those measures were tweaked up ever so more, because The Scott Tracy and his brother were staying over the week. Which meant a full lockdown past midnight. John audibly groaned. Scott burst into a laugh that was at least part hysteria.

That time it was nothing left for them to do but test the glorified security measures and do a field upgrade of their parcour and scaling skills. The security of Intercontinental foreseeably didn't hold up against two freezing, tired, and hungry Tracies on a mission, but at least, Kayo would have the hotel staff's heads, not theirs.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy is a good big brother #john tracy #john tracy is a good brother #john tracy didn't sign up for this #my fic #thunderbirds 2015

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akira-dulbar · 1 day ago

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Servant of Evil

part1 part2

Summary: Damian fights to find his father, and after his victory, he will embark on a new journey with his faithful servant.

Cover created with Pinterest and AI. Reference to the song Servant of Evil.

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

You watch as your brother fights with Thalia. You know better than to get involved, even if you want to, unless it's on Damian's orders or if he's in mortal danger, which will never happen.

Disobeying the order to stay where you are, imposed by the heir himself, would result in a severe punishment for you and your brother. You for disobeying an order from the prince, and him for not being able to control a simple servant.

There you were, watching your brother, the heir of al-ghul, fighting with the woman who gave them life… no, that's kind of wrong. The woman who created them to be pawns in her game of greatness and power. After all, we were born within expectations.

HIT

You see the blow aimed at your brother quickly parried. Your brother dodges and steps back to gain distance.

BLOW

This time it's Damian who strikes, hitting one of your mother's legs, knocking her off balance a little, and then it's Damian who strikes again.

The fight continues, and you grow impatient. You know you should obey, but something worries you. You feel like your mother is being soft with your brother, something she shouldn't be doing, considering your brother's training.

Something's going to happen… you know it, you feel it, and that's why you're on alert, keeping watch like a good servant to watch the perimeter and protect your brother.

You know you shouldn't let your guard down…

You know it…

You feel it…

It's coming…

even…

GRAB

You grab your brother, placing him behind you, while protecting him with your body from your mother's surprise attack. You held the katana tightly as you looked into your mother's eyes. You watched as her eyes filled with a feeling you didn't understand, but you knew your eyes perfectly reflected what you wanted to say…

"Not on my guard."

---------

You close the suitcase in front of you, which already contains all your most necessary belongings for leaving the league. All you can do is sigh.

"Why are you sighing? You should be happy." You turn your head to see your brother leaning against your bedroom door, looking at you. You quickly get into position to greet him properly.

"My prince, may your presence grant me wisdom for battle." Damian just smiles mockingly and closes the door as he walks toward you.

"Why are you so formal? I already told you to speak to me normally when we're alone together." You watch as Damian sits on your bed and arranges your room for you.

"Besides, it was thanks to you that Mother decided to let us go." Damian didn't look at you at all while he spoke. He continued to admire, or perhaps criticize, your room, which was understandable. Even though they were twins, they were never treated as equals. That's why, while your brother had a room worthy of an heir, you had a room in the servants' chambers, being one of them. That's why, although you've always entered your brother's room as a servant, he's never entered yours because there was never a need. That's why, for him, it was the first time he'd entered yours.

"That's not true. It was thanks to you winning the fight against Lady Thalia," you said as you opened one of the nightstand drawers and searched for some papers.

"Tt, that's true, but you have to admit that you did your part when you protected me from Mother's attack. Thanks to that, you met her expectations as my faithful servant, allowing us to leave." Damian lay down on the bed as if he were checking the softness and quality of the mattress, crossing his eyebrows as he examined its quality.

"By the way, did you complete the mission I ordered you to do?" Damian got out of bed, watching you approach him with a few sheets of paper.

"Here, Prince, as you ordered, a detailed report on Gotham. When Damian was preparing to defeat your mother, he ordered you to make a report on your father's territory."

"Good. Since Father's territory is unfamiliar territory to us, it's good to have some information to know what Father's expectations will be." Damian read the first sheet, which contained basic information about the city and your father.

"So there's a Robin in Father's command, we'll have to get rid of him." Damian continued reading the pages one by one without looking away.

"So he has another disciple, well even if he's older, he won't be a match for me. We'll get rid of him too." You remained silent as Damian continued talking about possible plans to kill your father's disciples.

"Unless you disagree." When you remained silent, Damian put the papers aside while looking at you, his eyebrows crossed. You just stared back.

"So? Any comments?" You could see your brother growing impatient.

"My prince, while it's true that killing Father's two disciples could secure your position as sole heir, it's well known that Batman doesn't kill. Page 1, paragraph 6, row 2." You saw Damian return to the pages and look for the first page, reading where you had mentioned, and you decided to continue talking.

"So, if we kill them, we could disappoint Father and receive punishment, or perhaps worse… not be recognized as his heir." You saw your brother raise his eyebrows when you finished speaking.

Damian puts the papers aside, thinking about something, then clicks his tongue as he sits back down on your bed, looking dissatisfied.

"You're right, we have to make sure he recognizes me as his heir, but if we make a false step once we arrive, it wouldn't be convenient. Therefore, I must prove my worth in another way, so he sees me as his only son."

Damian stands up from your bed and approaches you. You knew what he would do, so you gathered yourself to receive the instructions.

"Since we'll be in unfamiliar territory, I need you to be very aware of our surroundings. Don't let your guard down. You'll be Father's new servant, so be prepared to follow his orders as well. But my orders are more important than his."

"I am your faithful servant, my prince."

"Okay, one more thing," Damian took something out of his coat and gave it to you. It's a mask.

"I don't want Father to mistake you for a second heir, so this is my order. I command you not to remove your mask."

"If it's to protect you, I won't mind." You smile as you stare at your brother, seeing how he also smiles mockingly.

At that moment, you see the mask he's given you, and you put it on, then follow your brother to the door.

You didn't look back, not when you had so much ahead of you.

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

You were with your brother waiting for your mother to finish talking to your father. Truthfully, you weren't paying much attention to your father's conversation, although you were at first, but the conversation started to feel very trivial.

Although you have to admit, you were quite surprised when your mother called your father "beloved" in a super soft and warm voice. It almost gave you goosebumps when you heard her, since she's never spoken that way to anyone, not to Grandpa, not to you, not to Damian, not to Jason, and the latter two were her son and his toy.

Not to you, because it's obvious she wasn't planning on having twins.

Anyway, you were bored with this conversation. Your brother was just staring at the curtain ahead, waiting for his grand entrance.

"I'd like you to meet someone," you could hear your mother's soft voice, and you knew it was time for your brother to make his entrance. Even so, you couldn't help but notice your mother's tone; you'd never get used to it.

You watch as the curtain is drawn back and Damian walks toward the entrance so your parents can see you. Meanwhile, you walk at a slower pace, staying a few steps behind him like a guardian.

"I want you to meet our son, Damian." You watch as your brother stares at your father, who wasn't as tall as you thought.

"Father, I thought you were taller." You smiled beneath your mask. Then it was what you thought, and it was exactly that thought.

Everyone thinks of Batman as a tall being, and the man in front of him isn't THAT tall, which is surprising.

"I thought you said you had a miscarriage." That surprised you. Had Mother made your father believe we were dead?

Wait…

Was our existence predestined from the beginning?

So there was a possibility that you were born twins from the beginning, and not a mistake Mother made when she created them?

You look at your brother and see him thoughtful, perhaps thinking the same thing as you, that maybe we should always have been two and not just one.

You don't pay attention to the conversation that follows, thinking about the new information you acquired, not until it involves you.

"Who is he?" You look up to face your father, Batman, staring at you.

"Oh, he's our son's servant. Every prince must have a faithful servant, don't you think? That's why our son has the best of the best too." You can't lie, those words warmed your heart. It's nice to hear your mother praise you every now and then. You'd trained hard to serve Damian, so praising you for that effort was comforting, although it was the least you could do since you weren't supposed to be setting foot on this land in the first place.

"I won't let him stay." "What?" you thought as you watched your father say he couldn't be here with your brother.

"He's a servant of the League. I don't want him here." This is bad. If you couldn't be here, it would mean you had to return to the League without your brother, the only purpose you had, and that was being taken away from you…

Will fate separate the paths between you and me?

You look at Damian, searching for an order or some indication of what to do next. You see Damian cross his eyebrows, looking at Father, as if searching for something. Finally, you see him begin to speak.

"This isn't just a simple servant." Your parents' attention quickly focuses on Damian, who continues speaking.

"This one is loyal in every way, and even more so to me. Being under your care, he will quickly obey your orders, helping me adapt to this new training you will give me." Damian stares at his father.

"If you lose him, you'll lose a huge opportunity." You feel your heart leap with warmth when you hear your brother, not only because he spoke out of turn, but also because you didn't know Damián was starting that about you. If it weren't for the mask, everyone would be able to see you smiling like a madman.

But he doesn't seem to resemble your father.

"Even if you say that, I won't trust someone who wears a mask to hide their identity when they expect to remain under someone else's command." You're wearing a mask, too, you hypocrite, you think bitterly, even though you know he's partly right.

"Unfortunately, his face can't be seen." You watch as your mother approaches Father and touches his shoulder.

"He suffered an accident that left his face…" She was interrupted mid-sentence.

"Take it off," Father's voice echoes in the silence that followed. You watch as both your mother and Damián cross their eyebrows, looking at you.

-beloved-

-I won't accept him unless I can't see his face. He'll be under my care. He can't keep the mask on at all times. Father speaks to your mother when he turns to look at you.

-take it off- You don't move even though the eyes were looking at you. You were following an order and you don't intend to disobey it. Even in these circumstances, you couldn't betray the trust you had with your brother.

You see your father cross his forehead, just like your mother. Batman seems to get impatient when you don't move at all.

You quickly look at your brother. Damian parts his lips to speak, but no sound comes out. "Take it off."

You reach up to grab the top of the mask and take it off, demonstrating your almost identical appearance, which you share with the heir to the ghoul, proof of your kinship and the genetics you share as twins. Sometimes you like to think you were blessed as a pair of twins.

You see your father's mask twitch, proof of his perhaps confusion.

"What does this mean?" He quickly looks at your mother while also looking between Damian and you.

"Did you clone him?"

"No, how could you possibly think they did such a thing?" Well, you're not that far off the mark, you think suspiciously. You've always suspected that your mother wanted to clone your brother, but since you're his twin, there wouldn't be any need for such a thing, or so you like to believe.

"So?"

"What? You've never seen a pair of identical twins?"

"You said it was just one."

"Yes, because he is. Damian is your heir. He was born first, which is why he's treated as such. But his brother isn't. He's not your first son, nor is heir to anything. That's why he's been treated as Damian's servant, which is the most considerate thing we could do."

"Are you listening to yourself, woman? Have you treated a pair of twins favoritism?"

"Oh, don't upset me, my love. It was the only thing we could do with the resources we had. The League wanted one heir, not two. It was that or death. Be grateful that he's still here as a servant to your eldest son and not buried in some unmarked grave."

"Your father wanted an heir."

"Is there a difference?"

"Thalia…"

"My love."

You see your father sigh in exhaustion, while you and your brother look at each other for a moment, then turn back. Towards his parents.

"They'll stay here."

"That was the goal."

Your father seems to be aging faster than ever, something you never thought you'd see.

This was quite an encounter, you think wearily.

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

You looked at the Batcave as you and your brother exited the Batmobile.

The ride was silent from the start. No one said anything, and the tension in the air was palpable. Although you were trained to be in control of all atmospheres, this felt slightly uncomfortable.

You didn't look at the decor much, though, as you were more focused on Damian and Batman, who called you to follow him.

Both you and your brother entered a sort of medical area. You saw your father sit down in a chair and step out, revealing his identity.

Well, my theory report was right, you thought, looking at your father, Batman, also known as Bruce Wayne.

Your brother had also given you the order of possible candidates to be our father, and apparently you were right.

"I'd like to run tests on you, if that's okay with you." You saw your father start things from a drawer, and you assume it was perhaps to see if you have microphones on any part of your bodies.

"We're both perfectly healthy," Damian takes a step forward to face Father.

"I'd like to check it myself, besides DNA testing." That surprised you. Damian's frown deepened.

"He's not my clone. I thought that was clear."

"I know, it's not for you two." Both you and Damian stared at Bruce, thinking he wasn't implying such a thing.

"It's for me."

"Mother's not a liar." You can feel your brother as if he's about to attack.

"He already did it once."

Damian stared at Bruce. You quickly spoke to get his attention.

"Lady Thalia must have had her reasons for making the decisions she did. In any case, the lies of the past can greatly influence the future, so I understand her distrust, and although I can see some similarities between us, I'll go first to show you that we're not that far from the truth." You step forward to stand next to Damián, in front of your father.

"Sounds good to me." Bruce gets things ready, while Damián just frowns and crosses his arms, clicking his tongue, glaring at Bruce, who ignores him.

God, what a drama, you thought.

-----------

You looked at the butler in front of you. He was standing right next to his father. He looked older, a more experienced butler.

"This is Alfred Pennyworth. I hope you two get along," you nod, thinking that he will be the one in charge of giving you work and scheduling as another servant in the mansion.

Seeing him, you think he's a patient person. Yes, you think you can work with him.

"I'll show you both your rooms, young masters."

"Young master," Damian and you quickly correct yourself.

Both Bruce and Alfred stare at you.

"There is only one heir," they say as you step back to let your brother take charge, who composes himself.

"The other is my servant," Damian finishes, nodding his head at you, to indicate your status.

You saw Alfred raise an eyebrow at your father, while he looked confused.

"That's why it would be hard for us to be treated respectively. I'm the heir. You might think there are two of us, since we're twins, but there's only one."

"Having clarified this, I also want to add that I expect your respective orders and tasks to be delivered to me, Mr. Pennyworth." You see how Alfred turns to you, but still has a raised eyebrow.

"And what would those be, if I may ask?" You think he's asking that question as if it were a test of your ability.

"Housework, of course. I'm capable of doing all the tasks perfectly. I can prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner from eight different cultures. I can organize and clean the rooms as if they were new. You don't have to worry about teaching me. The League taught me everything I needed to know to be a fully useful servant." They say with a voice proud of your skills as a useful servant, allowing you to continue being by your brother's side.

You see how Damian nods, satisfied with your words…

On the other hand, Alfred seems sad and his father is tired…

And you don't understand…

Damian is the prince…

You are his faithful servant…

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I welcome feedback and criticism, please.

In any case, I think the next chapter (if there is one) will include Tim, Jason, and Dick. I wanted to include them here, but I wasn't sure how or when I wanted them to appear, so while I figure out how I want their interaction to go, I'll leave it here.

I don't know much English.

#alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #no use of y/n #bruce wayne #batfamily #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x twin reader #damian wayne fanart #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne x you #Damián x male reader #batman #Bruce Wayne x batbro #damian wayne x batbro

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