#The Aid drabbles

[generic-whumperz]

And I thought writing a depressed telepath and sexual sadist was hard? No, my Moby Dick is the bilingual swamp man :’)

[megtrns]

thinking of the little moments between you and the bots experiencing intimacy together for the first time, how foreign yet exciting it must be to explore one another — the rush, the thrill, the quiet, almost hesitant interactions, where every touch and look feels electrifying. (sfw!) (slightly suggestive)

rodimus urgently running his servos down your body: metal fingers grabbing your thighs and squeezing your hips. too impatient to wait and too eager to slow down, he starts fumbling with the hem of your shirt. unsure of how to undress you, the captain glared at the material as if it had personally insulted him, almost tearing the cotton to shreds. and for a brief second, it was just the two of you standing under the half-light, laughing together as you teach him how to pull it over your neck. he tries to be careful, going as slow as he can even when his hands shake in anticipation — cooling fans growing louder with every inch of skin you reveal underneath.

minimus brushing your hair to the side to reveal your nape, the cold air of the room acting as a delicious counterpoint to the sudden press of his warm mouth against the back of your neck, causing you to shiver. the first kiss had been tentative, shy, and barely ghosting over your skin. you understand that the last thing your lover wants to do is to hurt you, but judging from the noises you're making : breathless and begging, minimus has nothing to worry about. and so the point-one-percenter carefully tilts you forward to continue a path down your bare spine, making you sing into the pillows.

skids staring at you from across the table, servos drumming against the chair. even when your eyes were cast down to read the papers in your hand, you could sense him watching—the gears in his processor turning. you knew it was because you had your glasses on, and for some reason, the mech had taken quite the fascination with them. with a call of your name, you looked up, fully expecting him to distract you with one of his usual hypotheticals. instead, he used a single servo to push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. tilting your face upwards, skids continued to shamelessly stare, flashing you a lopsided grin before swooping down to press his mouth against yours.

first aid trying his best to undo the buttons of your shirt, big, blocky servos struggling against the fabric. you didn’t want to intervene, urging him to continue and using this opportunity to steady your breathing. the medbay was void of any sound, save for the incessant whirring of the monitor systems and machinery faintly beeping in the background. once the last button came undone, it was as if every single noise suddenly ceased to exist. all you could focus on was the medic sinking to his knees, resting the side of his helm against your chest—audials trying to pick up the faint beating of your heart. he said this was for research, but even with his visor, you didn’t miss how his optics followed the flush blooming from your face down your neck.

[metalhoops]

The place was Chicago. The year was 1990. 

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters. 

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment. 

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by. 

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there. 

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe. 

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums. 

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting. 

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two. 

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms. 

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.  

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated. 

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago. 

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal. 

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another. 

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers. 

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might. 

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now. 

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be. 

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore. 

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you. 

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag. 

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket. 

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones. 

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear. 

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene. 

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.  

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable. 

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell. 

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf. 

It was almost six. Shit. 

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie. 

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face. 

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. 

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation. 

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected. 

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson. 

Then Eddie remembered. 

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve. 

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose. 

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly. 

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself. 

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer. 

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair. 

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak. 

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied. 

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered. 

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention. 

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely. 

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive. 

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head. 

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves. 

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself. 

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly. 

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears. 

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began. 

Eddie screwed up his nose in response. 

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort. 

“Stevie, you didn’t.” 

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush. 

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches. 

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned. 

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck. 

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands. 

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.” 

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living. 

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.  

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath. 

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead. 

“Do you want to get a drink?” 

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans. 

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze. 

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.” 

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself. 

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone. 

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy. 

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt. 

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention. 

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular. 

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth. 

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve. 

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie. 

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table. 

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve. 

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject. 

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless. 

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on. 

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways. 

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak. 

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up. 

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth. 

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table. 

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin. 

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed. 

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan. 

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.  

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively. 

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit. 

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand. 

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy. 

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke. 

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking. 

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world. 

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

[radiance1]

Mystic Flour Cookie and Child Reader drabble

"Not even the very gods are immune to suffering." Mystic Flour Cookie whispered softly as she ran a hand through your hair. She knew not the reason, nor the power, that had brought you from your world into that of her own. But she couldn't find it within herself to be irritated or disquieted about that fact.

In fact, she could even say she was... pleased.

Whatever power had granted her one true desire... She was thankful to it. To drag the very god that pulled her from the void, imbuing her very dough with strength, bestowing upon her only but the best of toppings and a beascuit leaps and bounds ahead of others to lessen the time between each use of her power.

Even granting her own wishes.

Doing away with the flesh of your divine body in exchange for crispy, fresh dough. Infused with the divinity that you so truly deserved, despite having no level of enlightenment and then, to have you descend upon none other than her. For her to be the first and only one to be granted the privilege of laying eyes upon your new vessel.

Yes.

She was pleased.

"One day, you and I shall crumble, too." She murmured, staring at you through half-lidded eyes. She wiped away the tears at the edges of your eyes with the edge of her sleeve. "Yet that day, shall not be today."

Such a truly benevolent deity you were. This kingdom... Its Cookies... Their ideals of peace, friendship, love and joy. All of it, would be non-existent without you, without the very foundation you laid out for them... The effort and time you put into a world not even your own.

Even going as far as granting wishes.

Cookies... Such greedy creatures. They cannot, will not, comprehend the true depths your very presence entailed, what effort and suffering you had gone through to make this kingdom as truly grand as it was.

They will take you for granted, just as the Cookies of far ages past had done for her. Taking and taking, wanting and wanting, demanding more, and more from the deity that merely wanted the best for them.

In the end, the greed of those who you wished to keep happy would be your downfall....

But why would she let you go through such suffering, to reach the same conclusion she had reached herself....?

You were here. Safe with her. Only, with her.

And the Realm of Apathy shallow envelop you... Welcome you... Protect you....

Yes...

She smiled, eyes slipping closed as he continued to run a hand through your hair.

The greed of Cookies... The suffering and woes of life... Apathy shall shield you from all.

Until the day you, and she, returns to flour....

[isamajor]

June of Doom : days 11 to 15

Here a batch of @juneofdoom's drabble (slightly late, sorry). I had a little more difficulty with two of the themes but I'm happy to have managed to write them.

11 . “We’re out of time.”  

Sprawled on the cold stone, Xelzaz had been dragged by his companions out of reach of the swinging blades which had viciously cut his thigh. Blood was spreading everywhere, much too quickly. Lucifer knelt beside him, panicked, trying with his hands to stop the bleeding.

“We need to put a tourniquet on him.” Nebarra explained.

"But he could lose his limb!" Lucifer protested, his hands trembling.

"Better his limb than his life.", he insisted. "We're out of time."

Lucifer complied, and with the string of his bow made the tourniquet following the instructions of Nebarra, who held down a Xelzaz who was bellowing in pain. (105)

•

12 . “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”  (Dehydration)

Xelzaz shivered, his teeth chattering, clinging to his snowberries tea. “I don’t agree with you, this climate is the worst.”

"If you think the heat of the Alik'r desert is better, obviously you've never been there." He added, "The heat... it cooks you alive."

Nebarra's voice grew duller.

"We had no water. Hundreds dead of thirst..." he whispered, a flashback clouding his vision. "Everyone was dropping like flies, both our armies and the Imperials. Collapsing, lips cracked, tongues swollen..."

Nebarra swallowed with difficulty, as if his body was remembering the ordeal. "Hand me the wine.", he finally asked. (101)

•

13 . “Wait!” (Adrenaline | Cornered)

Telmiltarion had the impression that the whole forest could hear his heart beating so loudly. He had never been good at sneaking: he was too big, his steps were too heavy, and his breathing was probably too noisy. Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the trees. The bear was two steps away from him, hiding in thick thickets. He froze. His hands on the hilt of his sword became sweaty and slippery. His heart was beating faster and his thoughts were focused on escape. But where ? He was cornered. He was no match for a bear that weighed more than three times his weight. (104)

•

14 . “What were you thinking?” 

The fort echoed with the fighting between the outlaws who had taken over the place and their group who were reconquering the stronghold on the orders of the Jarl. The bandits were numerous and well armed. From the top of the battlements, archers rained down numerous projectiles. Gore, without hesitation, threw himself in front of Taliesin, absorbing the deadly arrows meant for the Altmer. Taliesin's eyes widened in shock.

"What were you thinking?", he shouted, pulling Gore behind cover.

Gore winced, blood seeping through his armor. "Thinking... about keeping you alive for example?", he grunted with a half smile. (100)

•

15 . “Get me out of here!”  

They burst into the old mine, weapons drawn. They were there to recover the head of the bandit leader who was plaguing the province. But the sight that met here them was heart-wrenching: Lucien, emaciated and huddled in a filthy cage. He had disappeared months earlier and had not been found since.

"Please, get me out of here." he begged, voice trembling.

Inigo rushed forward, his heart aching. "Lucien! You're alive !"

The Khajiit swiftly picked the cage's lock, and the Dragonborn helped him to get up slowly. Lucien clung to them, his eyes overflowing with tears and relief. (101)

[volivolition]

If able, could we get an update on any of your writings? I loved hearing about them (Not forcing, ofc!)

YOU SURE CAN ANON!! again, as with all of these asks, thank you so much for being interested in my work??? i LOVE talking about my silly fics <333

here's a rough timeline of all my fics btw!! i thought it'd be fun to visualize hkgj i'll be talking a little about all the ones i haven't yet talked about!!

Preface, here's all my fic wips as explained before!! and all my writing can be found in my #inland drabbles tag! ask 1, ask 2!

Message to All Bitches: Please Survive - This funny title has been the name for a while, but I think if I had to choose a serious one, it'd be "Should the Stars Go Out" :3 This is my most ambitious project of all my skill wips, I think, due to the medium i intend on telling it in (it is. technically not a fic?? hkjg) this is also my most secretive project hkgj <33 word count(?) is 2908!!

Meet the Parts that Make You - Kim meeting the Skills fic, though it's mostly been abandoned by now hkgj well, not abandoned, i still really love the concept? but I need to get a bunch of these other fics done first (Let's Make It a Home for worldbuilding, Swept Up for character studies) so I can get everything correct, before introducing it all to Kim hkgjg <33 Nevertheless, word count is 5459!

The Sunrise Momentum - Mostly abandoned, but i still froth at the fuckin mouth thinking about it RAUGHHH. HOLY VOWS. waking up, getting out of bed with depression, that part of you that wants you to live, caring about you so so so fucking much. this hypothetical fic hits very close to home <3 i promise i will keep you alive, as long as you're there to wake up every morning. willpower and devotion. volition is kind of everything to me did you know that? hkgjg current word count: 331 <3

Who Are You, If Not... - Esprit De Corps centered fic! i wrote a lot about it in this ask, but basically: hey, if Harry leaves the RCM, what the fuck happens to Esprit? i have some personal feelings about leaving a community that only used you for what you could give them. to keep going back, trying to check on them time and time again, even when they hurt you. it's cathartic to put it in the perspective of this fic, i think :] also i just think the psyche group is fun for discussions hgkjg esprit, my darling community skill!! current word count: 1497

When Two Skills Love Each Other Very Much - again, funny silly title hgkjg but i think its serious name would be, like, Summer Solace or something? brightest day of the year, sunrise parabellum. hypothetical child of volition and echem, she's hope, y'know? small and trying to grow. something to carefully tend to, to keep alive, and in turn she will keep you alive. this fuckin. symbolism raguguhh i love you baby solace you are MY ANGELLLLLLLLL!!!!!! <333

I THINK THIS FIC IS SO SWEET I LOVE THE SKILLS TRYING TO RAISE A KID HGKJG im so.. it's like how Let's Make It Home redux, the skills are kinda dysfunctional, but they've grown and they're getting better too and they're trying to work together towards a common goal, and together they can do it. i think they've gotten a lot better about working together!! and they all care for this kid a lot <333

Here's a snippet because oh my god i am fond of them (not in AO3 ready format though hkjg)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY presses a tentacle to his cheek to prop up the grin on his face - Hey, man, we've never raised a kid before. Give us *some* credit, at least. VOLITION holds Solace to his chest. She sleeps peacefully, starbright face pressed to his armor at his heart - I am. I think -- despite all the mishaps -- we've been covering all our bases surprisingly well. We wouldn't have been able to do this when we woke up in Martinaise, is all I'm saying here. VOLITION looks up and exchanges a fond glance with Electrochemistry - We've... all grown a lot, haven't we?

^ like hey. if you uh. compare that last volition line to the last volition line in the snippet i shared for unstoppable force? where now volition cannot only meet echem's eye, but LET HIMSELF FEEL AFFECTION FOR HIM?? oh my GOD the parallels, the character growth, i WILL PERISH.

i still do think this fic would be better as a comic hkgjg it feels like a good story to cap it off, and if i ever get the rest of these fics done, i'd want to end on it if i could hkjgg <33 LOOK AT THEIR CHARACTER ARCS. LOOK AT THEM FINDING JOY. GIVING THEM A HAPPY ENDING HKJG

that's about it, i think!! thank you for reading!! (and holy fuckin shit if you've read all of these i will. die for you now. i really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read my rambles, i love you hgkjg <33)

[italiansteebie]

https://www.tumblr.com/italiansteebie/718047887105327104/as-someone-who-is-disabled-i-am-obsessed-with-the

Okay babe but listen— what do Steve’s parents say about the mobility aids? So curious 🫣

for the longest time, they don't know about it. and steve is beyond grateful.

until ms, cheryl from next door calls them and tells them, like the fucking snitch she is.

so within 10 hours, they're home wreaking havoc in hawkins once more.

steve only learns they're home when he walks in the door. when he walks. in the door. and all of a sudden, his parents are screaming at him. "steven! how dare you. faking being a wheelchair user for attention? i can't believe this. you used to have so much potential." and steve is confused, because how did they even know? he only really used the chair as needed, and for the past week, he's been feeling good.

"wh- how do you?"

his mother scoffs while his father stands there in silent disappointment. "really, steven? you think we wouldn't know our son has been traversing around town in a wheelchair? please, you're smarter than that."

"do you even care why?"

"be honest, steven. it's for attention."

"attention. huh. if it was for attention maybe you would have noticed 6 months ago, when i got the fucking thing in the first place!"

"steven-"

"no! no. you are going to listen. how dare YOU come home because you figured out i use a wheelchair and then accuse me of faking? you didn't even ask if im okay? well guess what, im not. your perfect little son is disabled. a cripple, living off the government tit! how's that for honesty? i almost died during spring break, in case you were curious. im leaving. i won't be back til you two are gone and that's only to get my stuff. good bye."

he turns to leave the house.

"where will you go?"

and maybe there's a hint of concern in his mothers voice, but he chooses to ignore it. "somewhere, where i'm fucking wanted. which obviously isn't here."

and with that, he slams the door. and he's glad he left his chair at eddie's, because he can feel the weakness returning to his knees and he knows its only a matter of time before they turn on him.

[viviennes-tears]

Man of the match (Tom and Zawe drabble)

18+ blog: It is YOUR responsibility, as a reader, to think about the content that you consume at your own discretion. 

~

A/N: Happy belated Father's Day from the UK!

Apologies that the Father's Day special is a day late this year, at least it's here unlike when I attempted to do a Mother's Day special, which didn't end up happening in the end. Anyway I hope you like my spin on this year's Soccer Aid match, I tried my best as I don't watch football usually. With the exceptions of Tom playing both this year and last year, as well as the year James McAvoy played, are the only times I've properly sat down and watched a game haha.

Summary: Tom got the privilege to play for England for the second time to help raise money for Unicef. He does tease the fans with his small shorts a lot, knowing what it will do to the swooning fans. Also his other half Zawe and little one are watching in the crowd.

Warnings: None

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

The Avengers theme echoed throughout the stadium as Tom ran out onto the pitch while crowds of fans cheered him on. The match recommenced within thirty seconds give or take once Tom and his fellow team members were in position and their opposing team were also ready. As soon as the whistle blew everything was back in full swing.

His blood was pumping, his heart hammering, and adrenaline rushing throughout his entire body in no time. The thrill of being back on the pitch playing for England was a privilege for Tom, being able to reunite with teammates from the year prior was fun for him, as well as forming new friendships both on and off the pitch. Plus he knew his little shorts would be turning heads again, his pre-game warm ups alone had been a titillating sight for many swooning fans, it's safe to say he knows exactly what he's doing. If asked he was about it of course he'd only deny, deny, deny.

After playing for some time Tom got to do a penalty shot. As he picked up the ball he made sure to make a big deal for those sitting behind him watching, he made sure they got the view they wanted of his butt, but before he threw the ball back into the game his eyes gazed over the crowd. Spotting his other half Zawe and their little one, his pride and joy, watching him play. He blew them a quick kiss and saw his little one catching it with the cutest little smile on their face, seeing that warmed Tom's heart before he returned to the game. 

While time wore on Tom got to be a part of the half time segment with Dermot O'Leary and Alex Scott act before Tom Walker performed. However he was done playing by the point and joined his teammates who were sitting out for the rest of the game. Although he was just as invested as he is when watching tennis with his over the top reactions that everyone adores. Every once in a while he would look over at Zawe and their little one, who would wave at him, while also making numerous excited noises which made Zawe laugh at how adorable their little one was being. Tom would always wave back and one of the times the camera caught him mouthing 'I love you' to them. 

By the end of the match England won for the first time in years and in the process raised a lot of money for Unicef. Tom and some of the team who were watching ran out onto the pitch to join the others, sharing in their victory, piling up into a huge group for a team hug. The exhilarating feeling of winning surged through them like an extra boost of adrenaline. Once having gone through being awarded with fireworks being set off Zawe took their little one down to the pitch, as soon as they were their little one ran ahead of her, but she kept a close eye out. As soon as Tom saw his little one running towards him he crouched down with his arms held open, right when they were in reach he pulled them tightly into his arms, rising up before lifting them up into the air. Almost like they were flying high above everyone on the pitch for a moment, both smiling at one another, a small moment just the two of them. As Tom lowered his child and held them against his hip Zawe had by then joined them on the pitch. He then leant in and kissed her tenderly, uncaring how many could see them, yet when their lips parted Zawe couldn't help smiling and laughing along with him as it came over them suddenly. 

"We're so proud of you, Tom." Zawe says, while she cups his cheek and her thumb caresses against it, while their little one plays with his winning medal around his neck. Sending Tom's heart soaring even higher than it already had from being on the winning team.

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

Tags:

@jennyggggrrr @foxherder

Join tags here

Tom Hiddleston Masterlist

Source: @viviennes-tears

[antirepurp]

all hail shadow is told from the perspective of maria robotnik in this essay i will -

[acrylicqueen]

Hi guys!

I started a GoFundMe to help pay for my medical bills after my gallbladder removal surgery. Since I lost my job because of my inability to work, I've been struggling financially and mentally ever since this started back in February. I could use whatever help I can get, be it donations or simply sharing this post. 

Thank you so much! <3

[generic-whumperz]

We are so close to our Aid relaunch yo

[huntershowl-moving]

one day someone will find out why the hell there’s a period in hellhound’s backstory where she dressed like a catholic imagination met gala attendee

[babyjakes]

angel's aid. [blurb.]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | feb '23 blurb night

summary | when the tail-end's chaos gets to you, curtis knows just what you need.

pairing | friend!curtis everett x reader

warnings | me not (ever) really knowing how to write snowpiercer, curtis and reader don't have any established relationship (i imagine they're just friends in this), mentions/depictions of sensory overload and being overstimulated, soft sweet comforting understanding curtis, this seems to be some sort of routine for the two of them- curtis helps whenever she needs it

word count | 474

requested by @brandycranby | for the hc blurb night, maybe curtis + reader being sensory overloaded? 🥺

an | ooooh yes yes yes yes yes thankyou for this request friend!! i was hoping to write soft!curtis for this event and i love this idea so much, i imagine being on that god-awful train would just feel like a literal prison at times so i love the concept of curtis trying to help you through that- i hope you enjoy!! (also thanks so much to my bestie @starksbabie for helping me focus on writing this lol you are such an angel and a blessing i could not do this life without you)

"Come on, y/n- I got you. Almost there."

All you can do is keep putting one foot in front of the other as you trail along behind Curtis, your hand wrapped firmly in his as he guides you through the mayhem of the train car. It's nice to have his hand; it always is- it's something to focus in on, a singular sensation to hold your attention amidst the whirlwind of chaos surrounding you. Warm and steady, his support is tangible.

When the two of you reach your destination: the tiny closet tucked away at the back of the cabin, Curtis ushers you in gently before securing the door behind you. "Alright petal, we made it. You're okay, you're safe."

Your body knows where to go- over to the small makeshift bench in the corner where you can finally collapse into a mess of shaky, uneven breaths. Curtis is down beside you before you can even blink. Not too close, careful not to crowd you in, "Easy, angel," he soothes, "let's get that coat off of you." It's amazing how he knows, he just knows. This is certainly not the first time he's been through this with you. "Can I help?" he asks, not wanting to bring his hands near you without your permission. Trembling, you nod.

His movements are heedful as he eases off your outer layer. Noticing just the slightest improvement in your state after the simple modification, Curtis smiles mildly at you. "There you go, sweet girl. You countin' your breaths for me?" You offer him another nod. It had been surprising the first time he guided you through the breathing techniques; you never would have guessed the cold, rough man would be so adept at aiding in a situation like yours. But if there's one thing you've learned about Curtis over the course of your friendship, it's that he's so much deeper than he might seem. Beneath his grumpy, distant, quiet-and-damaged front, so much empathy and care exist within him.

"You wanna talk, honey? Or not yet? It's okay, there's no rush, y/n." You raise your hand slightly, signaling the need for more time. The man nods understandingly.

"Curtis?" As he glances up at you, a hint of warmth shines in his eyes, his brow softening at the sound of your voice. Swallowing down your hesitation, you ask, "h-hand?"

There isn't a word that could describe the tenderness that graces his face as he stares back at you, there in that dark, lonely closet. "Of course, angel," he coos, taking both of your smaller hands in his. "Just focus on me, sweetheart. Hands and breaths, that's all you gotta think about."

"Hands, breaths," you repeat.

Curtis smiles kindly at you, giving one of your hands a gentle squeeze. "That's right, petal. Doing so good, you're sounding better already."

[thebrandywine]

🧊+ Leon ^_^ ??

🧊 Medically induced hypothermia

Every breath is agony, his broken ribs sparking with pain on the inhale, grinding together on the exhale. He's shaking so hard that he bit the tip of his tongue off, blood in his mouth and that starburst agony dragging him back to Spain, to the frigid weather, fog on stone, losing himself--

"Leon, breathe," Hunnigan says. Her hands are on his shoulders as she kneels next to the tub, dark clothes stark against the too-white med bay walls, the clinical air, disinfectant. "You're okay."

"H--H--" He can't even say her name, fingers numb, lips stupid and too thick, refusing to move. He's never been this cold in his life, something about keeping his temperature down after his heart stopped, something about--

The shaking slows, stops. Hunnigan's hands are on fire, burning, the only thing he can feel as he drifts there. He's so fucking tired and people are talking to him but he can't hear them, can't make out the words. Hunnigan can deal with it. Hunnigan can do it all. Just... fuck, just let him sleep for once.

[hardygalwrites]

Originally posted to FFN on around the 3rd of October, 2016

Simply archiving a writing challenge I did back in 2016 up to 2017 and featuring my favourite writing pieces from each week of the challenge here on Tumblr :]

← Week 7 (KO) – Week 9 (BB) →

Cartoon: Transformers Prime / Robots in Disguise 2015

Characters: Smokescreen, Knock Out, and Bumblebee, with appearances from numerous other characters (even ones not featured in the cartoons)

Synopsis: An Autobot Elite Guard rookie, a Decepticon medic turned Autobot, and an Autobot scout turned warrior turned street cop - three very different bots with a wide range of stories to tell. And we are going to spend the next year exploring said stories through daily-written drabbles, be they angsty, humorous, gut-punching, or just plain odd! Who doesn’t love a challenge? (2016 to 2017)

—

Lord

"So, you are a bot of science as well as medicine."

Knock Out nodded respectfully. "Yes indeed, Lord Megatron. Though I will admit I enjoy disassembly more than reassembly."

"I see. And what of your combat skills?"

"I'm a medic, my Lord, not a field bot. I rely largely on Breakdown for the heavy lifting. However, I do know very well how to hold my own in combat."

"Good. Then I believe you have all the skills I deem necessary."

"I am deeply flattered, Lord Megatron."

"Welcome to my inner circle, Doctor. I trust you will not waste this opportunity."

Saw

"Why rotary saws?"

Knock Out looked up from his datapad. "Come again?"

"Well..." First Aid fidgeted nervously. "You're a medic. Why, out of all the tools you could've had built into you, do you have rotary saws?

Knock Out grinned one of those sly grins that always made First Aid's anxiety skyrocket. "Well, they may not be terribly precise," the medic said, extending his saw. "But they cut faster than any blade and work like a charm, especially in terms of disassembly."

"Ah."

Knock Out raised an optic ridge. "Any thoughts you want to share, nurse?"

"What? No, nothing," First Aid lied.

First Meetings

Knock Out had just finished tending to a bot with a missing arm. Stepping back, he said, "It's only a patch job, but I'm sure there's some bot you can contact who can provide you with a replacement arm."

The bot lifted and lowered the remnants of his arm experimentally, and nodded. "Hey, thanks, doc."

Knock Out froze. Staring at the bot with a narrowed gaze, he asked, "What's your name?"

The bot grinned, a very cocky grin for a bot with a missing arm. "Name's Breakdown, doc."

"Well, Breakdown," Knock Out said with a genuine smile. "You are welcome."

[sylvctica]

4.2 spoilers ahead but less in specific details and more used to reflect on sylvie which is why it’s not under a readmore

but yeah, little did i realize fontaine would open a can of worms for sylvie; they have a deep rooted fear in thinking that the people who worshipped them hated them / were angry / disappointed in them for not being there during those years of the archon war—and they have no way to assuage this fear since all the people from then have passed on considering it’s been 2000 years at the very least and the fact their history has faded out

they bear relief that they don’t have to be a god anymore—not that they didn’t enjoy it, they loved their people deeply and genuinely and loved seeing them flourish!! it was their introduction to the human world, so they will forever be thankful … but having freedom and being able to know yourself outside of the role of ‘our god’ is something they will never give up on

so to come to fontaine and to sit through furina’s trial would be like complete torture because their heart would be breaking for her. they would want to take every fontainan in that room and genuinely, angrily yell at them to leave her be, that she's doing her best, that gods are allowed to be imperfect and human but that all they do is blame them first for any misfortune if they do not have an answer or feel like it’s on the god to resolve it

they would have to hold themselves genuinely back during it—though the flood and whale invasion would put their thoughts at the back of their head to help with the evacuation

the combo of the trial, helping with people during the flood (reminiscent and making up for their failure in the past of being unable to help during the war because they had died), furina’s disappearance after the trial … would shut them down for a little bit to the point they’re unable to even properly joke to reassure others