#because he can’t break his own heart like that

[slashmagpie]

Break Like an Artist

My fic for @hermitadaymay's Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event! I was paired up with the wonderful @eydilily to create something spooky, dramatic and contemplative featuring Gem and Pearl, and it's been an absolute blast putting this together. Please go check out Eydi's art for this AU, it's absolutely gorgeous. CWs: description of a corpse, dismemberment, loss of awareness, fire/flooding/destruction, and depiction of a panic attack. Wordcount: 5.8k

There is a plague sweeping Pearl's hometown.

One by one, she watches as her friends fall to the infection, the colour and life drained out of them and leaving hollow, apathetic husks behind. Even with the devastating loss of her friends, her village, and her regular life, the worst part of this situation is not the infection.

It's that Pearl knows that Gem is the one spreading it.

[Read on AO3]

It’s a grey day in the fishing village that Pearl calls her home. Not that it’s ever not a grey day, at least not anymore. She stares out of her window at the thick encompassing fog that’s claimed the bay, at the desaturated buildings that dot the shore, and she twirls her paintbrush in her fingers. 

The canvas is blank, of course. She doesn’t remember the last time she sat down to paint and didn’t end up with a blank canvas. It must have been—months ago, at least. Back when the last monster from the depths had attacked, and not a single person had had the heart to fight back. When Tango’s house had been shattered in two, and Tango with it.

(He seems to be dealing well with the loss of his arm, at least. Or, as well as you can deal with anything, when the only things inside of you are all-consuming numbness and apathy. Pearl feels it in her chest, the yawning emptiness, and thinks that if she were to lose her arm right here and now, she also wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to care.)

She’d painted after that, though. She remembers it vividly, waking from a nightmare and running to her studio to capture lashing tentacles and inky waters and splatters of crimson blood. It’s a frenzied piece, a disturbing piece, and the moment she’d finished it she’d been filled with so much dread that she’d turned it around to face the wall and refused to look at it since.

The dread’s gone now. Along with the anxiety, and the uncertainty, and the fear. It’s all gone, and Pearl’s left sitting here, paints drying on the palette as she stares at an empty canvas.

Across the house, she hears her front door swing open and closed. A familiar voice shouts, “Pearl? Pearl, where are you?”

“Studio,” Pearl calls back, her voice flat. She continues to twirl the paintbrush as she waits for Gem to trek her way across the house to find her.

“Studio,” Gem echoes as she pushes open the door. “Oh, Pearl, are you painting again? Oh, I’m so happy for—oh.” The joy in her voice vanishes as she takes in Pearl, sitting on her stool, paintbrush raised and canvas empty. “Oh, Pearl…” 

Sympathy. Pity. Concern. Pearl can pick apart the emotions in Gem’s voice, even if she can’t feel them herself. She stares back blankly, because she can’t find it in herself to care about either aspect of the situation, whether it be her own inability to paint or the way that Gem’s looking at her like she’s a wounded animal.

“Come on,” Gem says softly, crossing the room and gently prying the brush from Pearl’s fingers. Pearl lets her. She’s not really painting, anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we? A nap will do you some good.”

Pearl lets Gem help her up, lets Gem allow Pearl to lean on her for support as they make their way back to Pearl’s bedroom. It’s not like Pearl has any difficulty walking. She’s not sick, she’s not injured, she’s just…

Cold. Empty. Not quite lifeless, not in the way Mumbo had been when she’d last seen him, skin and eyes and hair all the same shade of grey-white-nothingness as he’d stared into the distance, completely unresponsive. Listless, maybe, is the better word. She’s halfway to a fate worse than death and she cannot find it in her to care at all.

She feels colder where Gem touches her. She looks down, and she’s not sure if it’s her eyes playing tricks on her, or if her skin is more desaturated where it brushes against Gem’s. She lets Gem help her into bed, lets Gem fluff the pillows and fuss around her, lets Gem sit next to her as she hands Pearl a bowl of soup (“Your favourite!”) and watches her to make sure she eats.

If Pearl were more herself, she would care about what Gem’s doing to her. Care enough to stop it, maybe. Care enough to—no, not to confront her. Every time she’d tried, the words had gotten stuck in her throat. Because she’s known for a long time who’s been behind all of this, behind the corruption leeching all colour from their village, their home, their friends—

And she’d never said anything. Too worried about Gem’s feelings. Too worried about their friendship.

…Pearl realises, as Gem goes to take the empty bowl and brushes her hands against Pearl’s, that she’s not worried anymore.

She waits quietly as Gem washes the bowl in her kitchen, chattering to fill the silence as she does, updating Pearl on their friends’ conditions. Her tone is bright and optimistic, even as her words are dour. Scar seems to be doing the same. Grian’s getting worse. Joel’s down to communicating only in broken phrases—but he should be fine. It definitely won’t be like Mumbo, or Cub, or…

Gem returns to Pearl’s room, regarding her for a long moment before bending down to give her a hug. “Get better soon, okay?” she says into Pearl’s ear. “It’s not the same doing my rounds without you.”

Pearl knows that she’s not getting better. So does Gem, so Pearl doesn’t bother pointing it out. She just nods, lets Gem withdraw, lets Gem run one last hand through her hair.

“You should rest, Pearl,” Gem says, stepping away from Pearl’s bedside. “I’m going to go check on Impy now—”

Pearl’s moving before she’s even properly registered it, grabbing onto Gem’s wrist with force, holding her in place. Gem freezes. Pearl looks up at her through strands of greasy, greying hair.

“Gem,” she says, and it’s the first thing she’s said in days, and her voice is hoarse and her throat sore from the strain.

“...Pearl?” Gem replies, and she sounds almost scared.

“Gem,” Pearl repeats, getting used to the sound of her own voice in her mouth again. “I know.”

Gem laughs. It’s a nervous, tittering sound, the laugh Pearl remembers from when they’d gotten into trouble together as kids. “Know what?” she asks, voice strained. 

“That it’s you,” Pearl says flatly. 

Gem stares at her.

Pearl stares back.

Gem swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Pearl—”

“I know you’re the one doing this to us,” Pearl says, more specific this time, choosing her words carefully, and Gem—

Gem tries to pull away.

Pearl tightens her grip. 

“Pearl,” Gem whines, eyes wide, tugging. “Let me go—”

“Why?” Pearl croaks, and Gem snaps her mouth shut.

---

Pearl’s in the midst of mixing a particularly tricky shade of green when there’s a loud, frantic knock on her front door. She sighs, setting down her brush to rest, and gets to her feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” she calls as the knocks continue, echoing through the house.

She pulls the door open and Tango’s there, a nervous ball of energy, just about ready to bolt. “Pearl!” he calls. “Pearl, come on, we gotta go—” 

He grabs her by the arm and drags her off. Pearl just barely manages to close her front door behind her.

“Wha—? Where are we going? What’s going on?”

“Something washed up on shore,” Tango explains. “The whole town’s there, c’mon.”

Accepting that she’s not going to get an explanation out of him, and now deeply curious about this something, she lets Tango lead her down to the shore by the lighthouse. Sure enough, the whole town is there, a chattering crowd gathered around a spot on the shore that Pearl can’t quite see. Impulse is standing on the edge of the crowd and catches sight of them, raising his arm in a wave. Tango makes a beeline towards him, ducking under the crowd, and Pearl follows behind, apologising to False and Keralis as she bumps into them.

“Did you decide what to do with it yet?” Tango asks as he comes to a halt and finally lets Pearl go.

Impulse shakes his head. “We’ve decided it’s Gem’s call,” he says. “After all, she’s the—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as the crowd suddenly goes silent and parts for Gem, her hair wild and eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She’s got her lab coat pulled on over her day clothes, clearly not prepared for this in the slightest. She reaches the front of the crowd and stops dead still, staring at the thing that has washed up on the shore.

Pearl follows her friend’s gaze, and sees it for the first time.

It’s a body. Of course it is. A corpse, taken by the sea and ravaged by the waves and washed ashore by the brutal bay currents. The body’s clothes are torn and sodden, the skin beneath so pale that it could practically be paper. Pearl is stricken, for a moment, with the mental image of her taking a brush to this canvas, filling it back in with colour, painting contours back into its skin, breathing life back into the body.

She shakes her head violently, banishing the thought. Where did that come from? This isn’t a canvas, it’s—

It’s a person. A person who was alive, and is now dead, washed up on the beach like a dead whale and just as much of a spectacle. His eyes are open but rolled back, only the whites showing, and his hair is white too, just as pale as his skin. It stands as sharp contrast against the dark fabric of his torn clothes, a mask wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

Pearl swallows hard and averts her gaze back to Gem, who looks just as disturbed by the body as Pearl feels. It takes Gem longer to pull her eyes away, to glance around the crowd. “I’ll—I’ll take it back to my lab,” she says. “Investigate, and—and give him a proper burial.”

The words reassure the crowd, a low chatter beginning up again. 

“Skizz, will you help me carry him?” Gem calls.

Skizz does, stepping forward from the crowd and helping Gem maneuver the bloated corpse. Pearl finds herself looking at it again, noticing dark striations in the skin, caught in glimpses between the tears in the clothing as it’s moved. 

She shakes her head again, forces herself to look away as the body is carried out and the crowd disperses. The image of the body lingers in her mind. Something settles uncomfortably in her stomach, and she wishes that she’d never opened the door.

---

Things go back to normal after that. Or, well, as normal as they get in the village, at least. False monitors the currents and warns of any incoming floods or monster attacks. Impulse and Tango work maintenance on the fishing boats that Grian and Skizz and Keralis take out into the bay. Mumbo runs the fish market. Cub and Scar come and go along the trading routes. Joel maintains security, or at least the illusion of it.

Gem hides away in her lab running experiments she never explains, and Pearl paints.

She tries to return to her usual fare, brightly-coloured landscapes with fantastical features, but something about her paintings rings hollow when she looks at them. She decides she needs a change, to switch things up and just relax, so she pulls out her paints and a blank canvas and begins with no intentions. Her movements are fluid and free and thoughtless and she falls into a flow state that lasts hours, until she blinks her eyes and awakes to find a portrait before her, a colourless face in full saturation.

The corpse’s visage, so alive she can’t believe it’s not breathing, stares back at her from her easel, and Pearl flinches like she’s been burned.

She hides that painting away, face turned towards the wall, and returns to painting landscapes. They come easier now, and for a time Pearl feels normal, as long as she ignores the canvas in the corner.

It’s Impulse who notices that there’s something wrong first. It’s not surprising that he’d be the first to pick up on it, really. Skizz is his best friend, after all. Of course he’d notice when Skizz stopped laughing, stopped joking, stopped drumming out tunes with his fingers on the side of his boat. And when Pearl sees him, she notices changes too—his skin paler, like he’s spent several weeks locked inside a basement instead of out in the summer sun, his eyes no longer their regular bright blue.

“Hey, Skizzly,” she greets brightly, trying to play at normal, throwing him a bone to grab onto.

Skizz just glances at her before responding with a flat, “Oh, hey Pearl.”

Pearl’s smile falters. “How are you feeling? Impulse told me you’re a little under the weather.”

Skizz shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Did you need something?”

Pearl swallows, something cold sinking in her guts. “No, no, just checking in on you.”

“Gem already checked on me,” Skizz says. “She said I’m not sick.”

“Gem’s not that type of doctor,” Pearl reminds him with a weak smile.

Skizz shrugs again. “She’s the only doctor we’ve got.”

Pearl tries her best not to let that unsettle her.

---

It’s not just Skizz.

It starts with him, but it doesn’t end there. Keralis is next, and then Grian. Mumbo gets sickest the quickest, going from his anxious, affable self to a nearly-unresponsive husk within a week. That scares them all, because even Skizz is still responding when spoken to, still moving when instructed to, even after nearly a month of being infected with… whatever it is that’s going around.

False gets sick without anyone noticing, sequestered away in her lighthouse until she comes into town for groceries looking like a photograph that’s been left in the sun for too long, and that’s when people really start to panic.

And that’s when Gem declares, with all the authority that being a doctor of anthropology afforded her in a tiny town with no real doctor, that she’s putting everyone into quarantine until they can determine the source of the illness. 

“I’m not sick,” Pearl tells Gem when her friend knocks on her door, dressed in full lab gear, her hair out of its usual ponytail and falling forward around her face. She’s pretty sure she isn’t, at least, having hyper-analysed the shade of blue in her eyes in the mirror every morning for the past month. 

“I know,” Gem says. “I want to—I need to—can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Pearl says, stepping aside. “Of course.”

Gem enters, heading down the stairs into Pearl’s living space and staring at the paintings on the wall. Pearl watches her for a moment before stepping closer, resting a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“What’s eating you?” she asks.

Gem snorts out a laugh at that. “I’m not a real doctor, Pearl,” she says.

“I know that.”

“They all need me to be a real doctor for them. I—” She breaks off, runs an anxious hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I need help.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know how I can help,” she says. “I’m even less of a doctor than you are.”

“I know,” Gem says. “But you’re my friend, and I trust you, and I need—please?”

She stares at Pearl, bright green eyes magnified through thick glasses lenses. Pearl has never been able to say no to those eyes.

“Okay,” she agrees, letting out an uncertain breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do, Dr. Tay?”

Gem laughs again, high-pitched and anxious, and Pearl feels hot and cold all at once.

---

They do house calls. Once a day, Gem and Pearl, and sometimes Impulse, will make a round of the village, checking in on everyone. Gem brings some of her lab equipment and a notebook, where she scribbles down all the readings she takes from her instruments and any observations she makes. After the first week or so, Pearl also takes to bringing a sketchbook and a small travel painting kit, attempting to record the desaturation rate in her friends’ colours. 

It doesn’t matter which way they look at it—the situation is bad, and rapidly getting worse. Most of the town is infected now, and Skizz is approaching Mumbo’s level of deterioration. Cub fell ill two weeks ago, and Tango—

Well, he’s not quite grey yet, but he looks washed out where he sits at his table, especially next to Gem, all bright copper and ocean blue and forest green. His voice is flat, all of the emotion in it gone, and while he responds in full sentences to Gem’s questions as Pearl attempts to capture the moulded-straw colour of his hair, none of his words sound like him. 

Gem wraps up her check-in, and Pearl follows her out, paints packed away in her bag and sketchbook held carefully so as not to smudge the paint. Impulse is waiting for them outside, staring out into the bay, where a low-lying fog has been hanging for days. 

He glances over at them, voice shaking as he asks, “How is he?”

Gem hesitates. “About the same?” she offers. 

Pearl shakes her head. “Worse,” she says, offering her sketchbook to Impulse, pointing out the differences in values between the colours she’d sampled from Tango two days ago to the ones she’d taken today. 

Impulse’s hands are trembling as he hands the sketchbook back to her. “What do we do?” he asks. “They just keep getting worse—Gem, what do we do?”

Gem’s eyes are fixed somewhere out at sea. Her expression is so scarily blank that Pearl would worry she was infected if not for how bright and vibrant she looks against the backdrop of the village. (Are the houses getting greyer? Surely not—surely it’s just the fog, and the fact that the sky has been overcast for a fortnight now—surely—)

“We look after them best we can,” Gem says. “I’m trying—every night I’m working on a cure.”

“And do you think it’ll work?” Impulse pushes.

“I have to,” Gem replies. “It has to.” 

Pearl swallows, and does not voice what all three of them are thinking: what if it doesn’t?

---

Impulse turns up one morning a shade dimmer than he had been the day before. Pearl notices immediately, her stomach lurching at the sight of him. He offers her a smile that’s smaller than his usual ones, a greeting that’s a little flatter than it would usually be. Pearl’s not sure if Gem even notices.

But Pearl notices, and her eyes sting, and she throws herself at him in a way that catches all three of them off-guard.

“Uh, Pearl?” Impulse says, stiff and uncomfortable beneath her. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Pearl mumbles against his ear.

“Pearl?” There’s a peak of distress in his voice but it’s not enough. Gem hears it, too.

“Oh no,” she breathes.

“Okay, guys, seriously,” Impulse says, pushing Pearl away. “What’s going on?”

They just stare at him.

Realisation dawns across Impulse’s face. “No.” 

“Maybe…” Gem sucks in a breath. She reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it. “Maybe you should go home, Impy. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Impulse protests. “I’m…” His protest crumbles under their gazes. He slumps, and Pearl knows that he would normally never crumble like that. He’d protest and fight back and keep working until he passed out on the docks and had to be carried back to bed.

“C’mon,” she says softly. “I’ll help you home.”

Impulse doesn’t protest that either. He knows, as well as the two of them do, how this ends. He knows that there’s no fighting this.

Pearl, very valiantly, does not cry about it.

---

With everyone except the two of them infected, Pearl manages to convince Gem to split the rounds, with her taking half of the houses, and Gem taking the other half, swapping halves every couple of days. Gem is reluctant, but she has no good argument against Pearl’s that this is more practical, and so she agrees.

And that’s when Pearl notices.

She thinks she’s imagining it at first, but the colour swatches in her sketchbook back up her suspicions, damning evidence she can’t ignore.

When she visits her rounds, she finds that the people she’s visiting appear to have stabilised, at least for a couple days, no greyer today than they were when she saw them the day before. And then she swaps with Gem, and notices that Gem’s half of the rotation are far paler, far less responsive, than they had been the last time Pearl had seen them. They stabilise for a couple days, and then they switch, and Pearl’s original rotation have deteriorated massively in the several days since. 

There’s really only one conclusion she can draw from that, and she doesn’t want to draw it. She doesn’t want to believe that the one responsible for this is—

The fog is a permanent fixture of the village now, blanketing the bay in a thick blanket of quiet. Pearl finds it hard to sleep, even the familiar sound of waves muffled by the mist. Kept awake into the early hours of the morning, she finds herself in the studio, a brush in hand, letting the paint take her where it will.

And where it takes her is familiar: the village, desaturated and coated in fog, dark looming shapes in the mist beyond, rising out of the ocean. And there, in the midst of the painting, a bright spot in all the gloom, is Gem, so vibrant she practically lifts off the page.

Pearl stares at it for a long, long time, and then places it face against the wall and tries her best to forget about it.

---

In all the dread, they’d forgotten something important.

The sea isn’t safe. It never has been. Growing up in the bay you learn how to weather the storms, to predict the tides, to flee from floods. You learn how to build barriers, and you learn how to rebuild once the ocean drags them down. 

Pearl knows that her village can handle the sea: she’s seen them do it time and time again over the years. Together, they move as a well-oiled machine, responding to threats from the depths with weathered ease. That’s why she doesn’t expect it, she thinks. 

There’s never been a monster attack that False didn’t warn them about.

But False isn’t capable of doing much of anything at the moment.

And so when the tentacles rise from the waves, there isn’t a warning.

Just a deafening krk-crash that wakes Pearl from a dead sleep with a bolt of adrenaline that’s nearly nauseating. She scrambles from her blankets, still in her pajamas, and rushes up the stairs to throw on her boots. It’s edging towards winter now, the weather much milder than the summer months, and though it’s not cold by any stretch of the imagination the chill of the air still makes her shiver. She grits her teeth, racing from her front door to the village proper, and there—

There’s a sea monster, dark purple tentacles reaching out to the shore, destroying everything in its wake. The fish market is half gone, and it’s awful, but it’s a relief, in a way, because nobody lives there.

“Gem!” Pearl screams into the night.

“Pearl!” she hears echo back, followed by distant footsteps, growing ever-closer. 

Gem’s face is flushed, her hair wild, her eyes wide. She’s also in her pyjamas, her lab coat that’s been ever-present for months now gone, and Pearl finds her eyes drawn to dark striations in her skin. They look like—

“Pearl,” Gem says again. “We need to get everyone out, away from the shore, up to the research centre—”

Pearl nods. “Got it,” she says. She points towards the docks and says, “I’ll head over there.”

Gem nods. “Be safe,” she says, and then she’s off again, pelting in the direction of the lighthouse.

Pearl doesn’t bother knocking as she throws Impulse’s door open. He’s still lucid enough that he’s been startled awake by the noise, though it hasn’t driven him to do much more than put his shoes on and stare out of the window at the dark shapes rearing up out of the fog.

“Impulse!” Pearl cries.

“Pearl?” Impulse says, glancing at her with dull eyes.

“We need to get people out,” she says.

There’s an extended pause, then, “Okay.”

“Can you get Skizz?” she asks. “Tango, too, maybe? I need to go to the beach, help everyone down there.”

Another extended pause, then a nod. “I can do that,” Impulse says. He moves too slowly, not driven by the same panic flooding Pearl’s veins, but it’s good enough. It has to be. Pearl doesn’t have time to consider the alternative.

She goes racing off for the beach. She throws open Keralis’ door first, relieved that he is, at least, wearing underwear when she drags him from his bed and into the night. She leaves him there while she grabs Grian from his hut, and then takes them both by the wrists, pulling them along behind her while she races for the cliffside.

It feels like hours that she races back and forth, grabbing her friends from their homes and dragging them in various states of comprehension to the safety of the cliff before running back into the danger zone. Grian’s hut is gone, and so is a large portion of the road. The tentacles have taken a chunk out of the farms further up the coast. Gem’s been taking the people she rescues a different route up to the research facility, the path that Pearl’s taking cut off to her by debris.

Once she’s got everyone on her side of town, she collapses panting on the grass, her lungs aching with the strain. There’s a fire somewhere down on the shore, someone’s lantern knocked astray by swinging tentacles. Her eyes burn just from looking at it.

A voice says, “I got him.”

Pearl looks up.

It’s Impulse, manhandling a colourless, greyscale Skizz.

Pearl goes cold.

“Where’s Tango?” she asks.

Impulse blinks. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Oh,” he says. “I’ll go get him.”

Pearl shakes her head, rocketed up to her feet by panic once again. “No, I’ll go,” she gasps. “You stay here.”

And then she’s off running again, beelining for Tango’s house, praying to any higher power that will listen that she’s not too late. Her lungs ache. Her legs burn. She can’t quite catch her breath. She’s shaking.

And then she’s knocking down Tango’s door, grabbing him from his bed against the far wall, dragging him away—

The roof coming down sounds like thunder, like the sky split open and gutted for parts. Pearl goes down hard, stars bursting behind her eyes, her breath coming out empty and then as a whine. She blinks, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, for her ears to stop ringing, and that’s when she hears it.

It’s—not a scream. More of a whimper, or a wail, stretched out and awful and pained and punctuated by short, desperate gasps. It goes straight to her stomach, straight to making her sick, and she doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to move.

But, god, she has to, doesn’t she?

She wiggles her fingers, her toes, and lets out a deep groan as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. The world has narrowed in on itself, the open air of Tango’s house reduced to a crawlspace, and she shuffles down it, rubble and debris tearing her skin open and leaving bloody red marks on desaturated wood. It is a far cry from the blood she finds, practically brown with how much colour has been leeched from it. 

“Oh, my god,” she chokes. “Tango…”

Tango just moans in response. She can’t tell if he’s pale from blood loss or pale from the infection, but either way it has the effect of making him look half dead. He’s half buried beneath the rubble, body jerking with what she can only assume is pain, barely felt beneath the weight of numb apathy.

“I gotta get you out of here.” The words taste acrid against her tongue. Or maybe that’s the smoke. She can’t tell. “I’ve got you.” She grabs Tango by his good arm and grimaces. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s not a reassurance for him. Not really. Pearl’s familiar enough with his condition by now to know that he can’t really care about being okay at this point.

It’s more for her as she does her best to get leverage in the small space and pulls. 

When Tango screams, she knows it’s completely involuntary, an animal howl of agony that stops her short. Pearl gasps, tears on her cheeks, head spinning. “Please, no,” she begs, and she doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or the higher power that’s been ignoring her for weeks. “No, no, I gotta—I—”

“Pearl?”

“Gem!” Pearl cries. “Gem, please, I need—it’s Tango—he’s—”

“I’ve got you,” says Gem’s voice, familiar and close as footsteps pound across rubble. There’s a series of grunts and clunks as rubble shifts, and then there’s light pouring into the crawlspace, which is no longer so much of a crawlspace. Gem stares at the two of them, Pearl in tears on her knees and Tango half buried and lying in his own dull blood. 

“Okay,” she gasps out, and she sounds terrified. “Okay,” she repeats, steadier this time. 

Pearl wants to be relieved, but she’s just on the other side of hysterical. Gem’s holding an axe, which she must have used to clear the rubble, and she steps forward with it held between white knuckles.

“Hold him still,” she tells Pearl.

Pearl swallows. “Gem?” she whispers.

“Please.”

Gem glances down at Pearl, and god, she never has been able to say no to that, has she?

She shuffles forward, puts her weight against Tango, holds him still. Squeezes her eyes shut.

It doesn’t make it any better.

It doesn’t stop her from hearing the sick crunch of the axe cutting through bone or the blood-curdling scream Tango lets out.

It doesn’t stop her from feeling the sudden lack of resistance as she pulls Tango’s bleeding body away from the rubble, leaving his arm behind.

---

Pearl manages to hold it together until they’re able to get Tango safe and stable. Once the wound has been cauterised and disinfected and bandaged, and he’s left sitting with a mostly-unresponsive Skizz and an Impulse who’s just aware enough to be awkward about how little he feels for his friend, she walks away from the town’s refugees on the hillside until she can no longer hear them, and they can no longer hear her. She stands for a moment, surveying the damage below, the sun rising over the sea and the flooded streets and destroyed buildings, and she sucks in a breath that knocks her to her knees.

The panic attack comes in quick half-breaths and waterlogged wails, her hands gripping at her hair and pulling it hard enough to hurt. The world blurs around her as she chokes on saltwater and bile, her ears ringing with screams and funeral bells. When the hands settle on her shoulders she barely feels them—only feels them when they rise to her wrists and untangle her fingers from her hair.

“—earl? Pearl. Look at me. Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Ge-em,” Pearl chokes out. “I can’t—I—”

“I’ve got you,” Gem soothes. She takes Pearl’s hands in hers, squeezes them tight, real and grounding. “See, come on, that’s it. Breathe with me.”

Pearl blinks tears from her eyes as she tries to time her breathing to Gem’s. She’s not very good at it, her heart too quick and Gem’s too slow, but it helps, dragging her down from the high of panic. 

“That’s it,” Gem breathes. She lets go of Pearl’s hand, reaching up to push the hair out of Pearl’s face, cupping her cheeks in her palms. “See? Nice and calm. Everything’s fine, see?”

“Yeah,” Pearl agrees, and the words feel hollow. Her panic feels hollow, somewhere above her body, her soul sunken to somewhere below her knees. She sucks in a breath, lets Gem wipe tears from her eyes with her thumbs.

Gem is so bright. A searchlight in a storm, a ray of rising sun through the dark. The world seems to grey around her. 

Pearl reaches out, splaying her hand against Gem’s cheek, a clumsy echo of Gem’s own reassuring, grounding touch. Gem is still so bright, vivid enough that Pearl doesn’t think any paint could capture it. 

And Pearl, held in comparison, is grey and dull. A shade, drained of life.

She swallows. Lets out a shaking breath. Looks up into Gem’s green eyes, sees the fear and regret in them, and can barely summon her own panic or hurt in return.

“Oh,” she says, and the word falls like a stone, plunging into the depths.

---

Pearl lets out a breath. “It was the body, wasn’t it?” she asks, loosening her grip. “The one that washed up. It did something to you.”

Gem swallows. She pulls away, holding onto her own wrist where Pearl had dropped it, clutching it to her chest. “I’m so hungry, Pearl,” she whispers. “I fade so fast now. I need… I need…”

“You’re going to kill us.” Gem flinches at the words. “You know that, don’t you, Gem? You’re going to kill us. You are killing us.”

“I just need your colours,” Gem replies, a whine in her voice. “I just…”

“What happens when we’re gone, Gem? What happens when you’ve taken all the colours? What happens then?”

Gem stares at her. There are tears in her eyes. They don’t quite fall, but Pearl can feel them drip into her hollow heart. There’s an ocean between them now and Pearl doesn’t have the wits to cross it. She doesn’t care enough to cross it, and she doesn’t feel enough to care about that. 

“I have to go and check on Impy,” Gem repeats, her voice thick. “I’ll see you later, Pearl.”

“You won’t,” Pearl calls after her as Gem hurries for the door.

Gem doesn’t reply, just slamming the door shut in response.

Pearl sits in bed for a long time, staring at the wall with hazy vision. Her thoughts are muffled under the thick fog that chokes the village, and so when she finally stands, she’s not entirely sure why. She lets her body carry her back to her studio, picks up a canvas from against the wall, and places it on her easel. She sits down in front of it and stares.

Gem’s face stares back at her, the only alive thing in a dead and colourless world.

[silentheiss]

AU, where Luo Binghe meets Shen Yuan under different circumstances. Precisely, when one of his wives comes to him to ask for divorce.

Because she’s kind of in love with Shen Yuan, as it happens.

It goes like this:

Shen Yuan is having a great time being a transmigrator. He had quite a safe landing with being an NPC who’s never been mentioned in the book, so he’s not about to be killed by Luo Binghe anytime soon, and he’s doing great avoiding him.

Until he meets Ban Li. She’s so pretty and feisty she bound to become Luo Binghe’s wife one day, and Shen Yuan doesn’t want to be seen next to her when it happens. He’s not a suicidal idiot, despite what Ban Li says the first time they meet.

“-an utter degenerate! To face a Venomous Flying Spider in your own! What the hell were you thinking?” She yells, after cutting two back legs of the spider in one sharp swing of her sword, rendering beast to a withering, scaly pile. “At least you had a presence of mind to cut the wings first! Idiot!”

Who gives compliments like that? Shen Yuan sighs and positions himself more comfortably on the ground.

“As this one already said, everything was under control.”

“Ha!” Ban Li barks out, her eyes glowing green. Ah, must be a demoness, then. “Under what control? Be thankful for this one’s grace or your legs will be cut off!”

Shen Yuan laughs and offers Ban Li some sweets he always carries in his pouch. Things go smoothly after that — Ban Li accompanies him for next week, claiming she has a task of exterminating beasts in the area.

“Husband will want a report soon, but this one has time to spare.” Ban Li mentions one day.

“Ban Li is married?” Shen Yuan freezes. “Isn’t it inappropriate to- I mean for us, to. Uh.”

“This one was unaware Shen Yuan was courting.” Ban Li giggles, twirling a lock of her hair around her thin finger.

“I’m not!”

Ban Li laughs and leans closer to Shen Yuan, eyes glimmering.

“If you were,” She says, low and intimate. “I would agree. I would leave my absent husband and runaway with you.”

Ah. Now Shen Yuan sees how it is. Ban Li is not infatuated with him. She’s just-

“Ban Li, are you unhappy in your marriage?” He asks, heart breaking for this feisty, sweet demoness.

“Will Shen Yuan make it better?” Ban Li asks pitifully. Shen Yuan nods.

He will talk to that good-for-nothing husband of her and make him let Ban Li go. She’s promised to Luo Binghe, anyway, for plot purposes. He’ll just help smooth the process.

Several days later Ban Li takes Shen Yuan to a camp. It’s big, obviously expensive, and Ban Li looks almost shaky as they near the biggest, most impressive tent.

“Ban Li’s husband is… powerful.” Shen Yuan notes.

“He is.” Ban Li nods. “But this one doesn’t need his power.”

“Of course you don’t.” Shen Yuan nods. “We’ll make him see sense.”

Ban Li smiles at him, teeth sharp and eyes sharper.

“Shen Yuan is confident even in the face of the Emperor.”

Shen Yuan freezes.

“Ban Li.” He says, very quietly and very slowly. “Are you married to Luo Binghe?”

“Not for long!” Ban Li answers brightly.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“Ban Li.” Shen Yuan groans. “What the hell? Why on earth would you want to divorce Luo Binghe?”

“To stay at Shen Yuan’s side.” Ban Li says.

“Have you gone mad?” Shen Yuan demands. “Are you completely, utterly crazy? Who in their right mind would want to leave Luo Binghe to stay with me?!”

“Shen Yuan!” Ban Li whines. “You promised!”

“I didn’t know you were going to divorce the best person in the whole universe!”

Ban Li gasps at him.

“Do you want to marry Lord Luo?”

“No!” Shen Yuan says. “I’m a man, Ban Li.”

“So what?”

Shen Yuan feels like he’s going grey from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“Ban Li, we’re losing a thread of the conversations here.” He says. “You cannot divorce Luo Binghe.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid! Have you seen him? He’s the smartest, strongest, bravest man ever. He’s extremely good looking. He’s lived through hell and persisted. He’s amazing, Ban Li! You can’t leave him to stay with me, are you kidding? I thought you were smart!”

Ban Li pouts at him, folding her arms like a petulant child.

“If Shen Yuan is in love with Lord Husband-”

“I’m not!”

“No? Then why are you praising him so?”

“Because I have common sense?”

“I don’t want to get back to harem while Shen Yuan is risking his life fighting dangerous beasts!”

“Ban Li, I’m begging you.” Shen Yuan says. “You will regret your decision.”

“I will regret not seeing Shen Yuan anymore.”

“Nonsense!”

“I will run away.”

“Ban Li.”

“Try me. I will.”

Shen Yuan sighs, hiding his face in his hands. He’s so going to die today.

“Do you suppose your Lord Husband might need a librarian?”

Ban Li squeals and drags Shen Yuan into the tent.

Luo Binghe, who’s been silently listening to the whole conversation, hires him immediately. He doesn’t claim to know Ban Li well, but they definitely agree on one thing: Shen Yuan mustn’t ever leave.

[revelboo]

Your Soundwave and Starscream make my brain more happy than my antidepressants * - *

I like writing both of them and coming up with alternate takes for them

The idea for the first part popped into my head before bed and was still there in the morning, so I wrote it. But I keep thinking, what if Soundwave knew Shockwave before empurata, back when he was Senator Shockwave? Before they stripped the good parts away and left only the drive to preserve and protect Cybertron, before all the reasons he cared, every emotion but anger had been cut away along with his memories of why it was important to him. What if they were friends and that’s why Soundwave is so patient with his weird, unsettling behavior and anger issues?

Clumsy Heart Pt 2

IDW Shockwave x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• “I can dispose of this one and find another if they’re unsatisfactory,” he offers when Soundwave is silent, visor dim as he just stares at the human. Displeased with you. Reaching for you, Soundwave’s hand catches his wrist when the human tenses as if considering jumping even though they must realize they won’t survive the fall. Head turning back to Soundwave in question, he waits. “I can find another.”

• “No. Leave it.” You’re only a human, nothing he should care about, but that dispassionate offer to dispose of you doesn’t sit right with him. Knows it’s the lingering grief, but the fear in your eyes, in your mind pulls at him. Makes his spark ache. Releasing Shockwave, he lays the back of his hand on the surface. “Come.” Those wide eyes go from him to Shockwave and back. You’d just heard Shockwave mention disposing you, of course you’re scared of both of them now. And yet, you twist your little hands together and approach him. Stopping just shy of his servos. Looking up at him with wet eyes.

• Dispose, like you’re a bit of trash to throw away. Because the universe isn’t done screwing with you. Apparently catching your ex was just the warm up to this horror. Trying to study them both without angering them, you can feel your heart pounding inside your chest hard enough you wander if you might have a stroke and not actually have to worry about what the giant, robotic monsters want with you. Because that might be the kinder way to go if all the horror movies you’ve watched are any indication. Dissection? Maybe you’re food? A plaything to torment until they break you?

• That anxiety and fear is nearly crippling as Soundwave crooks a servo. Needs you to calm down, because right now he can’t think. Little face grim like you think you’re marching to your own death, you climb into his hand and sit down, shoulders tense. And it’s worse. So much worse when you lay your little palms against him, your wild emotions crashing through his defenses, flooding into him. Shuddering with your fear, head bowing, he’s aware of the ragged, tonal sound of pain he makes. That he’s drowning in you, unable to stop it. “Stop.” Pleading because he can’t shut you out, your terror needling his spark, slicing into him.

• That word sounds like a plea. Like he’s in pain. Something’s wrong. Soundwave trembling faintly as his head dips toward the human. Doesn’t understand what’s happening, but it seems plausible that it’s because of you. Reaching, he uses his cannon to rake you out of Soundwave’s palm, hearing your yelp as you land on your back and slide on the surface of the desk, immediately curling into a ball. And again Soundwave stops him from removing you, grabbing his arm. “Why?” He asks. You’re clearly somehow a threat, so why restrain him? Why not let him permanently remove you?

• Arms covering your head, you draw your legs up against yourself and wait for the next blow. Wonder if you can make it to the edge of the surface you’re trapped on before you’re caught. If you can jump and land so you don’t break something. Needing to believe there’s a way out of this. That you can survive them.

• Venting raggedly as he watches you peek at him, he wonders that himself. You hadn’t been trying to hurt him, your fear just too visceral. A living thing, all jagged edges that can cut him. A hand still on Shockwave’s arm, he reaches out a single servo. Rumbles softly at you, making that low, tonal hum he uses on his cassettes to soothe. Spark aching as you shiver, curling tighter into a ball. Because you’re not a cassette, you don’t understand he isn’t going to hurt you. Ghosting that servo over you, he keeps humming to you. Coaxing you even as it hurts him, his grief and loss tangling with your fear in a confusion of misery. Unable to stop crooning at you through the agony.

Previous

[konpeitonom]

Whenever you have a second can we PLEASE get some Girl dad curly HCS? I feel like he'd be like Bandit from bluey as a father :)

- 🎺 anon

captain grant curly as your dad.

sfw— lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader—

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; reader is quite young here, im assuming no older than 6th grade, but intended for maybe.. a 3rd-4th grader? lmk if you wanna see him as like a dad for a teen/young adult 🎺 anon!

— extra, extra kind to you when he has to leave you for long business trips. knows you absolutely hate it. i mean, he’s missing christmas! new years! maybe even your birthday! (i assume that once he’s a dad, he’ll avoid taking trips longer than a year- only if it’s possible)

— his heart breaks a little when you playfully punch at his chest, crying about how he’s leaving again. part of him wants to quit, but obviously he can’t..

— speaking of birthdays.. he would go through hell and back to make sure you get what you want (as long as it’s reasonably priced, of course) a sold out toy? he’s willing to buy it overpriced on some resale site. there’s no way his girl is going to be disappointed on her own birthday.

— goes all out. and does what you want. if you wanna invite your friends, have a sleepover? that’s fine by him. or if you’re a more introverted, quiet kid, just a small celebration with family is fine. maybe even a weekend trip. whatever it is you want, just say the word. makes up for past birthdays he’s missed!

— reunions are the best.. after a week of rest, he’ll be sure to spend all his time with you. he knows how much you missed him.

— helps you out with homework.. prepares snacks at the kitchen table. like your favorite fruits, some gummy bears. fidget toys to help you concentrate. he tries so hard to just not give you the answers, do your homework for you.. he doesn’t, but he’s tempted!

— takes you to/picks you up from school whenever possible. gets to know your teachers and stuff. very active in your education. his parents were great, but i assume weren’t too present within his school life (being in the wrong crowd, and stuff- jimmy being an example) so he makes sure you’re doing a-okay!

— he doesn’t wanna be the kind of dad that’s just work, work, work. it’s his job to take care of his girl too.. he’d feel a lot of guilt if his spouse was taking care of you more than 70% of the time anyway (if he was home). just because he provides financially, doesn’t excuse him from dad work.

— fights the urges to spoil you.. he’s not the richest, but he does have disposable income. and if it’s just gonna sit there in his bank account, why not spend some to make his girl happy? his spouse hates it, you're already spoiled enough as it is.

— very up to date with all your interests. he’d get sad though watching you move on to something more geared towards older kids, like.. you’re growing up so fast! and what a blessing it is to watch in real time..

— loves taking you on little dad-daughter dates. like a day out at the beach, or just at a park. one on one time is important! and he loves hearing all the gossip you have about your friends, school. he doesn’t wanna fit into the stereotype of dads knowing nothing that goes on in your everyday life.

— bakes with you once a week. usually a sunday. just a little treat for you, along with bonding time. if he’s busy, he’ll get you ice cream or a chocolate bar before he comes home. he tries to sneak in vegetables or some form of protein, but as you get older you call him out on that..

— avoids box mixes, likes to make things from scratch. sometimes shows you how to bake bread, and stuff. it’s a good life skill!

— keeps fit, we know this.. encourages you to run with him. he likes his alone time, but teaching you good habits come first and foremost! tries not to be too overbearing though.

— he used to place you on his chest and cuddle with you as watched tv together. as you got older he stopped as to not embarrass you, but he would shed a few tears if you ask to- or initiated it. seeing you grow up is just so sad for him! you’ll always be his little girl, even when you’re 50 and balding,

[sturnswrites]

fragments of us - pt.1

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

⤳ you and chris get in a car accident not only testing your relationship but also your memory…

⤳ car accident, angst, sadness, memory loss, hospital

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

The highway stretched before them, a ribbon of asphalt illuminated by the car’s dim headlights. Rain pattered against the windshield, a quiet rhythm that did little to quell the storm brewing inside the car.

“Why do you always do this?” your voice cracked as you threw your hands up, frustration and hurt lacing your words.

Chris’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Do what, Y/N? Tell me, because apparently, I’m just the worst, right?”

“You shut me out!” you snapped, your tone sharp but trembling. “I’m here, Chris. I’m trying to be here for you, but you act like it’s some kind of weakness to let me in.”

Chris exhaled harshly, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked road. “It’s not about shutting you out. I just don’t think every little thing needs to be turned into some huge conversation. Not everything is a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” your voice cracked, the raw emotion in your tone cutting through the tension. “God, do you even hear yourself? You think me wanting to understand you, wanting to know what’s going on in your head, is me making a big deal out of nothing?”

He finally turned to glance at you, his face a mixture of frustration and regret. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” you challenged, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Because all I hear is you making excuses to avoid being vulnerable. You think I don’t see how hard it is for you to let people in? I get it, Chris, but you can’t keep pushing me away like this.”

“I’m not pushing you away!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended. The words echoed in the confined space, leaving a charged silence in your wake.

“Yes, you are,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “And I’m so tired of fighting for a place in your life when it feels like you don’t even want me there.”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. The road ahead blurred as his mind raced, trying to process your accusations and his own inability to counter them. His heart was pounding, not just from the argument but from the creeping realization that maybe you weren't entirely wrong.

It all happened in an instant.

The headlights of an oncoming car veered slightly into their lane. Chris’s eyes snapped back to the road, and he swerved to avoid it, the tires screeching against the asphalt. ““Chris, look out!” you screamed, your voice piercing through the night. 

His instincts kicked in as he jerked the wheel to the right, the car skidding on the slick pavement. Time seemed to slow as you spun out of control, the world a blur of rain and headlights. The screech of tires, the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass—all of it collided into chaos.

Your scream was cut off abruptly. And then there was nothing.

-

Chris’s eyes fluttered open to the blinding brightness of hospital lights. His head throbbed, his body aching with a dull, relentless pain. He blinked, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

“Chris,” a familiar voice called softly, breaking through the haze.

He turned his head to see Matt sitting beside him, his face pale and etched with worry. “Hey, you’re awake,” Matt said, his tone gentle but strained.

Chris tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his ribs forced him back down with a grimace. “What… what happened?” he croaked, his throat dry and raw.

Matt hesitated, his expression torn. “You were in an accident. The car flipped. You’ve got a few bruised ribs, but you’re okay. That’s what matters.”

Chris’s eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. The rain, the headlights, your scream—“Y/N,” he gasped, panic seizing him. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

Matt placed a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder, trying to steady him. “Chris, listen to me—”

“Where is she?” Chris demanded, his voice rising. He pushed Matt’s hand away, his heart pounding. “Is she okay? I need to see her!”

“She’s alive,” Matt said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “But, Chris… she hit her head. She’s hurt. They’re running tests to see the extent of it.”

Chris’s stomach dropped. “I need to see her,” he said again, his voice trembling.

“They’re not letting anyone in yet,” Matt explained, his tone heavy with sympathy. “She’s stable, but they need to monitor her.”

“I don’t care,” Chris said, his voice cracking. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the searing pain in his chest. “Take me to her, Matt. Please.”

Matt sighed, his hand tightening on Chris’s shoulder. “Chris, you can barely stand. You need to let the doctors do their job.”

Chris’s eyes filled with tears, his hands trembling. “I was driving,” he whispered, the weight of the guilt crashing over him. “This is my fault.”

Matt knelt beside him, his voice firm but kind. “It was an accident, Chris. You didn’t do this on purpose. Stop blaming yourself.”

But Chris couldn’t hear him. The image of your terrified face as the car spun out replayed in his mind, a haunting loop he couldn’t escape.

-

When the doctors finally allowed him into your room, Chris’s heart broke all over again. You lay motionless on the hospital bed, your head wrapped in bandages, your face pale and bruised.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he stepped closer.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, unfocused at first. Chris held his breath, waiting for recognition to dawn in your gaze.

But it didn’t.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice weak and disoriented.

Chris froze, his heart plummeting. “It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “Chris. It’s Chris.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion clouding your features. “I don’t… I don’t know you,” you said, your voice trembling.

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs. He stepped back, his hands shaking.

The doctor stepped in, his tone clinical and detached as he explained, “She’s suffered memory loss due to the trauma. It’s not uncommon in cases like this. Some memories may return, but it’s uncertain how much.”

Chris barely heard him. His eyes were locked on you, who stared at him with a mix of fear and confusion. The love that once shone in your eyes were gone, replaced by emptiness.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chris turned away, his chest heaving as he fought back tears. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, the realization that he had lost you—not just to the accident, but to the void in your mind—crushing him.

And as he stood there, watching you, the woman he loved slip further away, he silently vowed to do whatever it took to bring you back to him.

-

The doctors explained it clinically, their words detached and matter-of-fact. “The traumatic brain injury has caused significant memory loss,” they said. “It’s not uncommon for patients to forget certain people or events, especially those tied to recent memories. There’s a chance some of her memories could return with time, but there are no guarantees.”

Chris barely heard them. The words swirled around him, meaningless against the pounding in his head.

He sat in the hospital chair, staring at your sleeping form, his chest heavy with guilt. He replayed the argument in his mind—the things he said, the things he didn’t say. If he hadn’t been so distracted, if he’d just kept his eyes on the road, if he’d been paying attention…

Matt and Nick arrived not long after, their faces pale and drawn. Matt crouched beside Chris, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

Chris shook his head, his eyes fixed on you. “It is,” he said quietly. “I was driving. I should’ve been paying attention. She was upset, and I didn’t…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

Nick knelt on his other side, his voice firm but kind. “Chris, you didn’t cause this. It was an accident.”

Chris didn’t respond. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, pressing down on him like a physical force. He couldn’t shake the image of you looking at him with confusion and fear, couldn’t stop hearing your voice saying, “Who are you?”

And for the first time in a long time, Chris felt completely, utterly helpless.

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

I wrote this idea before chris got his license just ironic timing

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

@mattsdillon @hesvoid3434 @admeliora94 

[mattsobvimyfav]

roommate (matthew sturniolo)

pt 20-

I led Matt upstairs to my room, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the space.

I handed him a pair of my dad’s old sweatpants and a hoodie, figuring he’d be more comfortable in something other than his jeans and shirt. “Here,” I said.

“Thanks,” Matt replied, she started to slip out of his close and i caught myself in a trance staring at him as he took his shirt off. I quickly snapped out of it grabbing my own pajamas—a loose T-shirt and a pair of shorts, i finished changing and got into my bed, pulling the covers over me.

Matt turned to me as I took in his appearance, his hair slightly messy from pulling the hoodie on. He smiled as he walked over to the bed. “Alright, where do you want me?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Just get in, dickhead,” I said, patting the spot next to me. He climbed in, and we both settled under the blankets, the room growing quiet except for the sound of our breathing.

It didn’t take long for Matt to shift closer, his arm slipping around my waist. “You good?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, though my heart was racing.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine softly at first, then with more purpose. I kissed him back, melting into the moment as his hand slid up my side. My skin tingled under his touch, and for a second, I let myself get lost in it. But then his hand dipped lower, brushing the hem of my shorts, and reality hit me like a freight train.

I pulled back abruptly, sitting up and pushing his hand away. “Matt, no,” I said, my voice shaky but firm.

He looked at me, confused and slightly hurt. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up as well.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Matt. Not yet,” I said, looking down at my hands.

“Why not?” he asked softly, his tone more curious than frustrated.

I looked up at him, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Because I don’t trust you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

His expression shifted, a mix of guilt and regret crossing his face. “Y/N…” he started, but I shook my head.

“You told me I was a mistake, Matt,” I said, my voice breaking. “You can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget it. I’ve been trying to, but it still hurts. And now, with everything that’s happened… I just don’t know if I can trust you”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I know I screwed up,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I didn’t mean it when I said that. I was just scared and being stupid. But I promise, I wouldn’t do that to you again. I care about you.”

I looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes almost breaking me. “I want to believe you, Matt,” I said, my voice trembling. “But I need time. I need to feel like I can trust you completely before we take things any further.”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to take my hand. “I’ll wait as long as you need,” he said softly. “I’m all in if you’ll let me be..”

“Really?,” I whispered, confused at what he meant.

“Yes y/n. I’ll stop. all the girls. All the hook ups. Just us.” He looked into my eyes and for the first time I actually believed him.

We laid back down, Matt wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my back into his chest. I let my thoughts wonder about what it would be like to give Matt a real chance and see if he could truly change after I drifted off to sleep.

My eyes blinked open slowly, and I realized Matt’s arm was slung across my waist, his face buried in the pillow beside mine. His even breaths tickled my neck, and I smiled softly at the peaceful expression on his face.

Last night’s conversation played through my mind, The breakthrough we’d had, the honesty, the vulnerability—it felt good. It felt real.

Matt shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open. When he noticed me watching him, a sleepy grin spread across his face. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” I replied, feeling warmth bloom in my chest.

He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Better than I have in a while,” I admitted, my smile widening.

“Good,” he said, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “Smells like something’s cooking downstairs.”

I sniffed the air, the faint scent of bacon and coffee wafting into the room. My eyes lit up. “Dad must be making breakfast.”

We both got out of bed and quickly threw on some comfy clothes before heading downstairs. Sure enough, my dad was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while the radio played softly in the background. He looked up when he saw us and grinned.

“Good morning, kids,” he greeted, gesturing toward the table where plates of bacon, eggs, and fresh fruit were already laid out. “I figured I’d make a proper breakfast since we’ve got company.”

Matt beamed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks, Mr. Y/L/N. It smells amazing.”.

We sat down at the table, and Matt immediately started piling food onto his plate. “Your dad’s already winning major points,” he whispered to me, making me laugh.

“Yeah, he’s the best,” I said, my heart swelling with affection as I watched my dad work.

When my dad finally joined us at the table, the three of us fell into easy conversation. Matt told my dad some funny stories about college life, and my dad shared a few embarrassing tales from when I was a kid, much to my dismay. Matt laughed so hard he nearly choked on his coffee, and despite my protests, I couldn’t help but smile at how natural it all felt.

As breakfast wound down, my dad clapped Matt on the shoulder. “You’re welcome here anytime, kid,” he said warmly.

“Thank you. That means a lot,” Matt replied, his sincerity evident.

I glanced between the two of them, my heart full as I realized just how lucky I was. This was what I’d been missing—these simple, happy moments.

After breakfast, Matt and I headed back upstairs. As I rummaged through my bag for an outfit, Matt leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with a lazy smile.

“You still up for Black Friday shopping?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, pulling out a pair of black leggings and my favorite oversized hoodie. “Just promise not to ditch me if it gets too crazy.”

He laughed. “Deal. Though I’m pretty sure you could hold your own in a shopping brawl.”

I smirked, tossing my Uggs onto the bed. “You’d be surprised.”

After slipping into my outfit, I brushed my hair into a sleek ponytail and dabbed on some tinted moisturizer. Matt gave me an approving nod as I threw my bag over my shoulder.

“Perfect,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Matt’s house was quick and quiet, the town still buzzing from Thanksgiving festivities. Nick was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, while Justin was in the kitchen, pouring himself a coffee.

“I’m gonna head upstairs and change,” Matt said, tossing his keys onto the counter. “You good here?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” I said, waving him off.

I wandered into the living room, where Justin had settled onto one of the armchairs with his coffee. He looked up and gave me a grin.

“Y/N,” he said, setting his mug down. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Yeah, Matt roped me into Black Friday shopping,” I said with a laugh, sitting down across from him.

Justin raised an eyebrow. “Brave of you. Matt’s got no patience for crowds.”

“I’ll survive,” I joked. “How have you been?”

We fell into easy conversation, talking about everything from school to his latest projects. Justin’s laid-back demeanor was infectious, and I found myself laughing more than I had in weeks.

Matt came bounding down the stairs, now dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. “Ready to go?” he asked, grabbing his wallet off the counter.

“Yup,” I said, standing up.

Justin gave me a knowing look as we headed for the door. “Good luck,” he called out, grinning.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Matt held the door open for me.

Matt and I spent the entire day navigating the Black Friday madness, though surprisingly, the crowds weren’t as bad as I’d expected. We started at the mall, where every store seemed to have a massive “50% Off” sign in the windows.

The first store we went into was a shoe store. Matt immediately gravitated toward the Ugg section, spotting a pair of chocolate brown Ultra Minis that caught his attention.

“These are cute,” he said, holding them up.

“They are,” I agreed, but when he walked up to the cashier with them, I nearly lost it. “Matt, no. I don’t need new Uggs!”

“They’re half off,” he said with a shrug, ignoring my protests.

“But I already have a pair!”

“Yeah, and now you’ll have two.” He handed over his card before I could argue further.

I groaned but couldn’t help the small smile on my face. “You’re impossible.”

He just grinned and handed me the bag. “Merry early Christmas.” He kissed my cheek and I couldn’t help but blush.

After leaving the shoe store, we focused on getting gifts for our parents. At a cozy boutique, I found a padigonia sweatshirt that was perfect for my dad. Matt picked out a sleek leather wallet for Jimmy and a set of fancy coffee mugs for Mary Lou.

At one point, we stopped in a home goods store, where Matt dragged me over to the holiday display.

“Do you think my mom would like this?” he asked, holding up a set of Christmas-themed dish towels.

I laughed. “I think she’d appreciate the thought, but let’s find something a little more her style.”

By the time we finished, we had bags filled with thoughtful gifts for everyone.

We had gone too about five different stores in total, from clothing boutiques to a sporting goods store where Matt found something for Justin.

At one point, as we were walking through the mall, I nudged him. “You know, for someone who claims to hate shopping, you’re pretty into this.”

He laughed. “I don’t hate shopping, I hate waiting and people. There’s a difference.”

After hours of walking, we took a break in the food court, sharing a giant pretzel and some lemonade. Matt insisted on dipping the pretzel in cheese, while I stuck with mustard.

“You’re missing out,” he teased, holding up a cheese-drenched piece.

“I’ll survive,” I shot back with a grin.

By the time we finished, the trunk of Matt’s car was packed with bags, and we were both exhausted. On the drive back, I leaned my head against his shoulder.

“Thanks for everything today,” I said softly, glancing at him.

He looked over briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime. We have to get back for the video though. We are reading fanfictions about ourselves and your judging them”

My eyes widened and I started laughing “I’m going to read them about you in my free time” I winked at him

“I know, your obsessed with me.” He clapped back.

A couple of hours later, I found myself squished into the back seat of Matt’s car next to Nick, his phone already in hand as he searched for fanfics. Matt was in the driver’s seat, adjusting the camera angle on the dashboard, while Chris sat in the passenger seat, looking less than thrilled about what was about to unfold.

“Nick, this is a bad idea,” Chris groaned, throwing his head back against the seat.

“Bad ideas make great content,” Nick said with a grin, turning his phone to show me the first story. “Ready, Y/N?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” I said, smirking.

Matt glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Don’t let him corrupt you. These are going to be awful.”

“That’s the point,” I replied with a laugh, Matt his the record button.

Nick started dramatically: “Matt was in the library, headphones on, lost in his music. He didn’t notice her at first, the girl with the messy bun and oversized sweater, until she dropped her books. He rushed to help her, their hands brushing as they reached for the same book. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her cheeks pink. Matt froze. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful.”

Chris immediately burst out laughing. “Matt? In a library? I don’t buy it.”

Matt shook his head, covering his face. “I can’t believe people think I’m this smooth.”

“You are baby trust me” I winked at Matt causing him to smirk at me in the rear view.

Nick continued, grinning. “‘I, uh… like your sweater,’ Matt stammered. She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.’”

“Okay, okay, pause,” I interrupted, laughing. “This gets a 5/10. Cute, but way too unrealistic. No way Matt’s heart skips a beat over a sweater.”

Matt turned in his seat to look at me. “Maybe it was you wearing the sweater.”

Nick pulled up another one and started reading. “Chris had seen her before, the girl who lived in the apartment next door. She always left her door open just enough for the scent of cookies to waft through the hallway. One night, he knocked on her door, pretending to need sugar. When she smiled at him, holding out a bowl, he thought, ‘This might be the sweetest face I’ve ever seen.’”

Matt snorted. “Chris, cookies? Really?”

Chris groaned. “This is so dumb. Why am I the guy knocking on someone’s door?”

Nick kept reading, barely holding back his laughter. “‘You should come by sometime,’ she said shyly. Chris found himself grinning like an idiot. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Maybe I will.’”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll give this one a 6/10 for effort, but She should not be just leaving her door open.”

Chris turned around to look at me. “Very true”

Nick smirked as he opened the last fanfic. “Alright, this one’s spicy. It’s a love triangle with Matt and Chris both falling for the same girl.”

“Oh, God,” Matt muttered.

Nick began: “‘She was unlike anyone Matt had ever met. Smart, funny, and completely unbothered by his antics. Chris, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about her smile. One night at a party, Matt cornered Chris in the kitchen. ‘Stay away from her,’ Matt growled. Chris smirked. ‘You’re just mad because she likes me more.’”

Chris groaned loudly, throwing his hands up. “God y/n they wrote a whole fanfic about you” Nick started hysterically laughing.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Woah watch it. This one gets a 9/10. The tension is hilarious.”

Matt shook his head, trying not to laugh. “This is so dumb.”

“But entertaining,” I said, still grinning.

By the time Nick finished, my cheeks hurt from laughing. “Alright, guys, that’s it for today,” Nick said into the camera. “Make sure to like, comment, and subscribe. And keep sending these fanfics, because they’re pure gold.”

Matt turned off the camera, sighing. “I don’t know why we let you do this.”

“Because it’s funny,” I said, nudging Nick.

Chris leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, funny for you. Embarrassing for us.”

Nick shrugged. “That’s the price of content.”

As we sat in the car, still laughing from the ridiculous fanfics, I pulled out my phone and typed out a message to Matt.

Y/N: Wanna have another sleepover?

I hit send and glanced up, catching Matt’s subtle smirk through the rearview mirror. He pulled his phone out of the cupholder, glanced at the screen, and his smirk grew wider.

He texted back quickly:

Matt: Say less.

I bit back a smile, locking my phone as Nick and Chris kept debating over which fanfic was the most cringe-worthy.

“Alright, guys,” Matt announced, putting the car into drive. “I’m dropping you two off at home first.”

Nick whipped his head toward Matt. “What? Why? I thought we were hanging out?”

“Change of plans,” Matt said nonchalantly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Chris narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What’s the real reason, huh?”

Matt shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “No real reason. Just figured you two could use some rest.”

Nick groaned. “Fine.”

Chris crossed his arms, mumbling under his breath. “Whatever.”

I leaned back in my seat, hiding my smile as the car filled with more playful bickering. Matt met my eyes briefly through the mirror, his expression unreadable but soft in a way that made my stomach flip.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Please write a reader x Gregory house, they’re on a break and he calls her after doing the surgery in himself in the bathtub (happy ending please 🙏)

A/n: I'm sad already😩

It wasn't one of his best moments, something he wouldn't exactly say he was proud of. He thought he could do it, he was a doctor after all so it should have been easy.

Calling you was the most challenging part since you ended the relationship. He didn't blame you of course, not when he was such an ass. But he did miss you.

God did he miss you. He missed your laugh, how you made him feel happy.

So calling you seemed like the most logical thing to do. His voice was slurred, he didn't remembered much because that was when things became to blurred.

You slipped into his apartment, your gaze flicking around to find him. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you made your way to the bathroom.

“Greg?” You called out, your heart sinking as you noticed the lights were dim, the apartment was eerily quiet.

“Greg?” You called again, stepping further inside. The air smelled faintly metallic—like blood—and your pulse quickened.

Following the faint sound of water running and pushed open the bathroom door. Your breath getting caught in your throat at the sight before you.

House was slumped in the bathtub, blood staining the water around him. His leg was exposed, your gaze landing on the haphazard stitches he’d done on himself, the surgical tools scattered around the bathroom floor. His face was pale, his chest rising and falling shallowly.

“Greg!” You dropped to your knees beside the tub as your hands trembled reaching for him. “What the hell did you do?”

House’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a weak, but pained smirk. “Hey…sunshin. Fancy seeing you here.”

"You called me, said you needed me....House! You!"

The man's head slumped against the wall as a weak chuckle escaped his lips. "Did I!"

Your heart was pounding in your chest, panic and anger warring within you. “You… you did this to yourself? Are you insane?”

He gave a faint chuckle, though it was more of a grimace. “That’s… debatable.”

Grabbing a towel you pressed it gently but firmly against the wound. “This isn’t funny, Greg! You could’ve—” your voice cracked, as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “You’re here. Always… here.” That was something he came to realize, why he called you.

Tears stung your eyes, but you pushed them back, to focused on stopping the bleeding. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“No,” he said sharply, his hand weakly grabbing your wrist. “No hospital.”

“Greg, you need help—real help. You can’t just...I can't—”

“Y/m.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity in his eyes stopped you. “Just… give me a minute.”

Your gaze lingered on him, your own anger and fear bubbling to the surface. “A minute? You’re lying in a tub full of your own blood, and you want a minute?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. “Well… relatively.”

“Relatively?” You snapped, tears finally spilling over. “Greg, this isn’t fine! None of this is fine! You’re not invincible, no matter how much you act like you are.”

His expression softened slightly, and he reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You didn’t scare me, Greg. You terrified me.” A sob escaping your lips as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut.

For a moment, you two just stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Finally, House let out a small sigh, his smirk returning, though it was faint. “Guess I owe you an apology.”

“You owe me more than that,” You said, your voice trembling. “You owe me an explanation. But first, we’re getting you out of this tub and fixing this mess.”

With a surprising amount of strength for your size, you helped him out of the water, your medical training kicking in as you tended to his leg. Your hands were steady despite the emotions inside of you.

As you worked, House watched you, his usual mask of sarcasm slipping away. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

His heart clenching in his chest, he was already regretting ending things with you but he had thought you deserved better.

“Not a chance,” you said firmly, wrapping a bandage around his leg. “We’re going to talk about this. All of it.”

House gave a faint nod, the exhaustion catching up to him. “Figured.”

Once you had done all you have could you had helped him to the couch, tucking a blanket around him before sitting beside him. For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy but not empty.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Greg, you don’t have to do everything alone. You have me. Let me help you.”

House glanced at you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name—vulnerability, maybe, or gratitude. “I know,” he said quietly.

You rested your hand on his, your fingers lacing through his. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

House closed his eyes, leaning back against the couch. For once, he didn’t argue or deflect. He simply nodded, letting himself believe, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t as alone as he always thought he was.

You both waiting for the paramedics to arrive though House knew it wouldn't be too long.

Now finally stabilized in the hospital, you kept the details light. The surgery went well and the man couldn't help but be grateful that you stayed by his side through it all.

The room was quiet, until you broke the silence. "I still love you Greg." Your voice was low, soft as you gave his hand a squeeze.

"Even after all the shit I do." Greg glanced at you, his thumb gliding over the back of your hand. "I was such an idiot for ending things, I didn't think I deserved you."

"Greg."

"Can we try...just one more time."

Gaze softening, you lent over placing a kiss to his forehead. "We can try, when you get out but do me favor and get some rest."

"Deal."

[sparklingcid3r]

Based on an earlier post I saw about the different ways Darrel and Pony experience being queer, do you have any headcanons for arguments of like Darry trying to protect Pony from bullies and people in Tulsa, but Pony thinking Darry is just embarassed of him?

hell yeah!!! i love talking about queer curtis brothers angst and otherwise HIT ME W THAT SHIT🙏

- these are probably their harshest arguments that they have and it hurts darry worse than usual. at least when he’s yelling about pony being late it comes from a perceived understanding that there are rules and pony breaking them is not okay.

- but when he’s not being completely honest with pony about why he’s fuming, it stings even worse. before, the look in pony’s eyes was exasperated and angry, but now pony can’t hide the deep cuts that darry slashes into him every time they yell

- the first time pony comes home with a busted face given to him by greasers, darry puts his foot down. his brother isn’t safe living like this anywhere he goes. he tries to encourage pony to find a lady friend, he doesn’t even have to like her like that—darry did it, for chrissake, surely pony can stick it out for a couple more years

- pony of course takes it as an insult, an arrowhead to the heart, but retorts that it wouldn’t be fair to waste a girl’s time like that if he’ll never love her anyway

- darry says something along the lines of “how would you know? you ain’t even tried!” which translates roughly in pony’s head to “you might not even be queer, you aren’t broken yet.”

- he takes it about as well as you expect. the house is filled with screaming and hot tears of frustration, that pony has finally found the limit to darry’s love, the thing that can get him kicked out. that darry can’t bring himself to be honest about who he is to his own flesh and blood because he’s not as fearless as they make him seem. he’s a coward, he’s heinous, and the guilty twisted like a knife in his gut seeing pony getting attacked from all sides and thinking we were right to hide.

- these are the worst arguments that soda has to mediate because he knows both sides, of course he knows. he tries to convince darry behind closed doors to come clean, it’s killing pony and it’s killing darry and it’s killing soda, but every time the anger and frustration flare up, darry’s panicked eyes in soda’s direction force his mouth closed. this isn’t his battle, it’s their’s

[vestaclinicpod]

Audio Drama Sunday - 22nd December ✨

I have been SO ill this week oh my god, I can’t even express how much hands this virus has 🤧 Thank you to all the shows who have kept me company this week!

🌲 @hellofromthehallowoods (178) Olivier!!!! Oh, it is breaking my HEART that his parents essentially pulled him out and dropped him in bloody France with no more power and no way of finding out what happened to the rest of the expedition. He doesn’t even know about Riot 😭 Also, I wish the gang had just been told the truth about that chapel because, my god, if it’s not Marco that goes wandering in there, it’s definitely going to be Hope!! Eek, Cole, man!!! You are not showing that you understand any of the principles that made Clem a good detective!! She had a process and a Shelby and years of practice!! You, sir, are going to fuck this up! We obviously now know for sure that Heather was one of the quartet and I feel like Ignatius is probably one because of the fire. Who knows! The game is still definitely afoot! 

🦋 @remnantspod (20) I was warned that this episode would break my heart but did I heed that warning as I listened on my walk through the city centre? No. Did I pay the socially embarrassing price for that hubris? Maybe!! Pushing down the trauma of that remnant leads to some qs from me (please share if you have thoughts!!). We know that Stephen Grenville was just one of many names that the keystone character was using - do we know if the man in this remnant was the ‘original’ one or a ‘fake’ SG? I’m thinking about what he said about Celine’s paintings and her being unable to stop her own style peeking through, I didn’t catch a flash of the Perry/Stephen/Apprentice in this man. I feel like it would add such an interesting layer if the murderer we know about was stealing identities from nasty people. But maybe that's wishful thinking! Does it make the murdering better if there's a good reason?? Idk! No? I might need to dedicate myself to a relisten sometime soon! 

🎃 Waiting For October by @monkeymanproductions (2.5) Ah, Poe. I love that there are still people fond enough of him to listen to his story no matter how irritating he is generally! I am definitely not well read enough to catch all of the references to other authors and stories but I found his cawing belligerence amusing all the same!! I’m looking forward to what’s next for Karo and Yvonne! 

🎙️WTNV (260 - December Monologues) Such a great time of year. I love hearing from characters we don’t catch up with as much like the Faceless Old Woman. I don’t know what’s about to happen with Steve, but I am buckled in and ready to find out!! 

🍾 @ameliapodcast (39) Amelia and Alvina are just on a prison tour at this point! Sometimes there are quotes that you just need to immediately add to the mental bank and “I piss on your mother's grave and wipe my ass with your birth certificate!” is 100% one of them 😂

🧳 Travelling Light @monstrousproductions (Q+A part 2)  my three take away points from this second part of the Q+A were 1) complete gratitude that Hero and I are on the same page about Scarry (who will most certainly return in late S2 right?). 2) I am soooo intrigued about your vague references to Olí and the Traveller’s relationship in S2 AND 3) Matt, that impression was genuinely horrifying. Thank you. 

🌵 @desertskiespodcast (1-4) I have been putting off listening to Desert Skies for too long because I knew it would make me emotional. Until Leon @tellnotalespod very correctly told me that a few tears are so worth it for the rest of the experience of listening to the show. I’m only a few eps in but I absolutely adore the balance of humour and heartache. I’ve literally had these characters for 2 hours and I would already kill for them!!

Have a lovely week, everyone! The days are getting longer and the nights are getting shorter!! 🫶

[poisonf0rest]

small excerpt from the next overcumming writer's block chapter

You push your front door open, the silence of your apartment making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The lights are off—odd, considering you could have sworn you left a lamp on. You always do, a force of habit since you live in a less safe area of Linkon. Oh, the things you do for cheaper rent. 

Pausing, your eyes scan the deceptively empty hallway and kitchen. Everything feels still, almost eerie, and your pulse quickens as you take your shoes off, right beside Zayne’s much larger dress shoes, to venture further into your apartment. 

The faintest creak of floorboards makes you freeze. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you instinctively look around.

There, sitting innocently on the coffee table, is Zayne’s tie. The delicate silver pattern shines mockingly from the dim light filtering in through your windows, undoubtedly the same tie that once wrapped around poor Mr. Whiskers. 

Before you can move toward it, your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the stillness.

grumpy snowman: You’re cutting it close. Ten minutes before Mr. Whiskers meets an untimely demise.

You can't help the amused snort that escapes you, the tension in your chest breaking.

ms. author: You really went this far? What now, villain?

The response is almost immediate.

grumpy snowman: It’s a matter of life or death. I hope you're prepared.

Another photo attachment follows—your favorite Christmas blanket thrown over the couch cushions in disarray, the faintest corner of Mr. Whiskers peeking out beneath it. The living room. You shake your head, muttering under your breath about the audacity of smug geniuses with far too much time on their hands.

You make your way to the living room in the dark, heart beating a little too fast for your own liking, flipping on a lamp as you approach the couch. Lifting the blanket, you find...nothing but a sticky note.

It reads in painfully pretty cursive: Nice try, but you’ll have to be quicker.

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: You fell for that as well? I expected better. Already 11:52, time’s running out.

You scoff, unable to stop yourself from laughing despite the absurdity.

ms. author: Do you even have anything better to do?

grumpy snowman: Not lately. Someone’s been too busy to properly entertain me.

That comes off as… blunt. For Zayne, for the rather over-the-top scenario he’s somehow roped you into. Folding up the note, you stare at the text a moment longer before you hear the echoing click of a door. It’s coming from upstairs. 

Another buzz.

grumpy snowman: While you’re lost in thought again, care to explain why you’ve been running yourself into the ground? This little charade is doing more for you than your usual routine, is it not?

You pause, stalling as you make your way to your stairs.

ms. author: I’m writing.

grumpy snowman: Poorly, if you’re overworking. Can’t imagine the tension’s working out if it’s still stuck in your head.

ms. author: Gasp. Excuse you—

Another buzz interrupts, just as you make it to your bedroom door. The culprit has to be just beyond the door. 

grumpy snowman: 5 minutes remaining. Mr. Whiskers won’t be around much longer.

You can practically feel his grin through the phone, and for a brief moment, you’re glad he’s here, even if it’s all in jest. Zayne’s right, this whole absurd situation—your plushie, the stupid texts, the teasing—has done what no amount of coffee or writing could.

ms. author: If you harm a single fur on my son’s head, I swear I’ll come for you.

Your hand latched onto your bedroom handle, heartbeat strangely loud as you pause to type one last jab. 

ms. author: I don’t know why I’m indulging you.

grumpy snowman: Because you love it when I win.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. Shaking your head, you push the door open. Your bedroom is dim, the curtains drawn, but moonlight spills through the dusky purple veils, illuminating the bed.

Perched atop lies Mr. Whiskers, your darling calico plushie sitting in the center, fully unharmed even though his crystalline eyes speak of unknowable horrors at the hands of his captor. 

Before you can grab him, movement from the corner of the room catches your attention. Zayne, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watches you with a slight upturned grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You’re a horrible villain.” You huff, all but lunging on your bed to hug Mr. Whiskers to your chest like a shield.

His grin widens, the bastard, and you can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his hair a little mussed and his glasses slipping down his nose. He doesn’t have his coat or suit jacket on, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a sight you haven’t grown tired of. 

God, you really have a thing for forearms. Or maybe it’s just for Zayne.

“Since we’re critiquing each other, you’re not much of a hero. Hiding behind a plushie doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” 

“Confidence isn’t my priority right now.” You clutch Mr. Whiskers tighter, narrowing your eyes. “I’ve been fine. Nothing more than proofreading left… that and a few problem-children scenes.”

“Then consider this me fulfilling my half of the contract,” Zayne says, effortlessly narrowing in on the truth behind your words. “For someone who claims they’re adequately ‘inspired,’ you’ve been more distant than usual.”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“No lecture.” He steps closer, “I just missed you.”

Again, Zayne's words catch you off guard, so blunt they make your chest ache.

He takes another step forward, and you have to lean back on your elbows— nearly lying on the bed— just to maintain eye contact.

And then, Zayne drops to his knees before you.

Flimsy excuses? I have an idea. What if Zayne hold hostages to one of the Plushies. No, he did not break into MC apartments but he kidnap one during their short meeting when he stopped by at MC apartment. Say, he took MC favorite kitten/otter/penguins/ baymax plushies.

"Your little friends is asking when the negotiation date will be set."

It became a whole dirty "you come here or I practice pulmonary bypass suncture on your little friends" . I mean. WHO THE HELL WILL LET THEIR PLUSHIES UNDERGO OPERATION WITHOUT THEIR CONSENT. Thus the whole idea of inspection on MC happen. Ahhaahahahahahaj

THREATENING TO PRACTICE PULMONARY BYPASS SURGERY HAS ME SCREAMING HAHA

Lowkey this will be perfect for the next chapter since MC needs a little help writing a spicer enemies to lovers scene. After I finish the raf and xavier fic this is next!!

[xbomboi]

i know there’s a case to be made for daring suffering some character flanderization in his later appearances, but i like to think the break up with lizzie was just THAT bad.

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: death mention / strangulation mention / stabbing mention / blood mention / self-sacrifice / codependency mention in tags / ]

I think a lot about how common it is for Raph to be the one to have direct focus put on him when Leo gets into all his near death experiences.

Like, when Leo is thrown off a building, it’s Raph who’s right there jumping after him, not even thinking about the consequences to himself when he does. When Leo almost gets skewered by the Krang, Raph’s right there to take the blow and send Leo to safety without a second thought. When Leo’s being strangled to near death, it’s a Krangified Raph doing the job, doing exactly what Raph would never, ever want to do. When Leo is telling Casey Jr to close the portal, it’s Raph who tries desperately to convince Leo otherwise.

Likewise, Leo is consistently very single minded when Raph gets forcibly separated from them. Both when in the sewers and by the Krang, Leo is dead set on finding Raph first and foremost.

I also think it’s interesting that during each of Leo’s near death experiences, the lightheartedness of his words during them goes directly hand in hand with both how close Raph is to him physically and how much danger Raph is also in in that moment. From a literal “I told you so” as Leo’s falling away from Raph to a soft joke about how “hero moves” are Raph’s style - both of these are on the more morbidly carefree side and both of these notably take Leo farther away from Raph and, in turn, have Raph not in immediate danger.

On the other side of things is the apology from Leo, heedless of the danger he himself is in as he seriously and genuinely speaks to a Krangified Raph face to face. Then there’s Leo’s freezing and desperation as Raph takes a hit meant for him and sends just Leo to safety, leaving Raph himself behind. Both of these involve much closer proximity and Raph being directly harmed - these together make Leo much more vulnerable in his words and actions, something not even the threat of death can make him.

These two care about each other so much, and they’re way too much alike for their own good.

[kamechan98]

Also, I think it’s important to note that when you’re dealing with mental health, in this case depression, it is really hard to find the strength to deal with people around you. Not because you don’t care or you’re not grateful for everything that they do, but all your energy is spent dealing with the dark thoughts and feelings running through your head that finding the strength to also consider other people is really hard. It’s very easy to say when someone is depressed that they should ‘pull themselves together’ and be grateful for the help and support and love they get from people around them, but when you’re actually right in the thick of dealing with said depression, while also going through the worst period of your life, that is easier said than done and in a lot of cases will only do more harm than good.

Obviously I can only speak from my own experiences, but when I was dealing with my depression and anxiety and spent hours crying in bed, I would struggle just changing out of pajamas into regular clothing, never mind being nice and grateful to people even I know in my brain and heart that they’re doing a lot for me. If anything it made me feel worse about myself for not being a better daughter/sister/friend since they’re doing so much to help me and I can’t pay them back the way I feel I should. And at least I had antidepressants, which Stolas does not have for a whole month which just complicates the whole thing even more.

So Stolas being a bit self absorbed, being on auto pilot, emotionally numb or seconds away from crying at the drop of a hat, at times snippy and sassy, finding it hard to adjust and deal with the new environment and situation he’s found himself in, everything he knew and loved ripped from him, going cold turkey of his medication for a month while also having feelings for Blitzø he just does not have the strength, bandwidth or will to deal with at the moment, I find that realistic.

And while yes, trauma is not an excuse for being a bad person and treating people badly, but to Stolas’ credit he just turns his negative feelings towards himself, not blaming Blitzø for anything or venting his frustration over not having the food he’s used to or whatever. Like negative self-talk isn’t a good thing either and he needs help with that, but all things considered he’s pretty well adjusted, not blaming anyone else for his actions or situation.

I am under no delusion that we will see some sides of Stolas that aren’t very flattering and he’ll need to be taught how his new environment works, stepping out of his royal bubble and into the real world, but right now he is very fragile and it clearly doesn’t take a lot for him to break down in tears and start talking down on himself, so that tough love will likely come later when he’s better able to handle it. And starts taking his meds again.

Sigh

Hi I’m back to explain media to the antis

Stolas is grateful for everything Blitz is doing for him but because that’s not blatantly expressed people are whining that Stolas is being ungrateful and mean

Maybe yall just haven’t experienced hard things like for example when my parents died I didn’t exactly thank my husband outwardly for all he was doing for me I was a lot like Stolas, numb and upset and just in autopilot. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t grateful for him being there and helping me.

Blitz isn’t doing it to be thanked, he’s doing it because he loves Stolas and wants to take care of him. Stolas doesn’t need to gush in gratitude, it’s understood.

It’s implied.

It’s what happens when you love each other.

[skinreflectsthesun]

I am not well 🤧🤒🥺😴

[micamicster]

I just am obsessed with any story that’s about people who love each other but cannot do justice to that love because they have a duty to something else first. That there is something else fundamental and demanding that they must choose over love every time. To be forced to choose one irreplaceable thing over another etc etc

[gretagerwigsmuse]

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - “ you shut your mouth and the guilt of situation started to overwhelm you. Bradley only hummed, still choosing to remain mute. “Would you hate me?” - i have this thought a lot, too? if i got pregnant now and had an abortion because it’s really not the right time for me, would it be my only chance? i think that’s the scariest part for me? so i really liked her vocalizing this, not just thinking it

You only turned green as food cooked around you so it was easy to excuse yourself and the extreme exhaustion that overwhelmed you the first trimester slinked away entering the second. You weren’t horribly unwell but things were definitely changing within you. - i like that she waits to tell people other than bradley, i feel like it would be something i’d want to keep really close to the vest besides with my partner, it always stresses me out when people tell me so soon so i can’t imagine it being me??

"You know?" you screeched, spoiled for months of your husband home and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter." - fuckkkkkkk oh this hurts and reminds me of the original christmas fic

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise a baby in my own,” you said, the fear in your evident. “And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair. - this always breaks my heart whenever something to this effect is said? because really bradley you have no way of not letting something happen? he’s gotta be home for his girls

dying to know how reader reacted to finding out she was pregnant in the boyfriend experience uni 😫 likeeee ik she wasn’t ready for kids in uncle brooster but bradley was so were there mixed feelings abt it? especially since there was no telling when he’d be deployed again

Hi nonny, I don’t know where you are in the cosmos. But this is for you x

A/N I forgot I had this. I don't have the time this close to Xmas/at all to proof/improve so for those of you still in the TGM, I hope you enjoy and merry merry, happy happy xx

“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”

“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered, the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes.

You knew he was on Team Baby. He wasn't pressing it; he couldn’t. That wasn’t fair to you… to him or anyone else. You’d said your piece well before you got engaged, and well before today.

The day you married him.

But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he still wanted to try for a baby. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley agreed. You didn’t want to be thinking about periods and not drinking and having the time of your lives. Bradley was busier with work now than ever before, and with the work extensions complete, new staffing, and more small business to take care of, even though you were together every night? You were still doing your own things, barely getting into bed at the same time.

Thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley. And even babies. You loved your niece and nephew and Uncle Brooster was fantastic with them - it always left a pang in your heart that he would be such a good father. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly an example of patriarchal learning.

You didn’t want to add the stress of calculating ovulation even if an app would do it for you, the disappointment of periods coming… you just wanted to have fun fucking, and pleasing each other as you moved into the next phase of your lives. The stress Annie went through and the lengths she was going to with IVF therapies - overwhelming hormones, nausea, mood swings, sore boobs, abdominal discomfort. God, when you had a difficult period, you could assume similarly but as Annie went through her treatments, at a fairly young age, it was eye-opening at best.

You remembered one sentence so vividly that it scared you to your bones, “When your biological clock starts… it’s all that your brain hears. You can’t undo it and it messes with your head.”

See? Terrifying. Fair for all involved.

But when your period was late after about two periods since going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens.

But there was something different as you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the (motherfucking, finally renovated) kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you pressed against the pulsating pressure and made a face. Sighing, you unfolded yourself from the couch and moved to your handsome husband. You tenderly kissed between his shoulder blades and he gave an over the top shudder, as you giggled into his skin. He put his utensil down and turned to you, holding your chin in his calloused bug hand and giving you a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself, but not yet willing to admit to him it was to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished, his eyes glued to the digital reading before him.

“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley’s honey eyes flicked to regard you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, but not disappointed, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head.

“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Love…” his fingers light as they sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “My sweet girl,” he called to you.

“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch.

“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt too warm and he protected you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there.

“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly.

“I saw how hard it was for Annie and just expected we’d be on our own a bit longer. Genetics and shit."

He bit back his smile and your inadvertent joke, or necessary sarcasm. Bradley hummed. “I think your genetics are pretty fine, if you ask me.”

Eyes rolling in corny, you muttered his name as a warning that jokes were unnecessary at this time.

“Okay, okay,” he answered, palms up, teasing off. He knew you were withholding and he knew he was holding everything back in his body not to go over the top with the excitement bubbling in his entire being. “Love, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”

I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to…” your voice trailed.

Bradley nodded. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak and as the facial one between the pair of you? Well. So he just continued to hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided, a lot or not he wasn’t sure. He thought you were on the same page. He thought you both wanted this -

Like you, his insides were much and could feel himself lightheaded. He grounded himself and carefully reminded himself this wasn’t about him for now. It was getting your beautifully convoluted brain and heart to the same place his was:

Ready.

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - “ you shut your mouth and the guilt of situation started to overwhelm you. Bradley only hummed, still choosing to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”

He remained reflective a moment, choosing his words carefully his best option.

“No, love. But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes, his large palm resting gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have and it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

His baby in your protective, strong body.

He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow as you snuck under the cold sheets, thinking maybe you could sleep a year. He climbed in after you, the warm skin of his chest against your back under the slowly spinning ceiling fan. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay.”

There was your voice of reason.

“But it's still something you'll need to consider pretty quick..."

Always offering you both sides.

It was silent a while and while Bradley’s excitement was guarded carefully, even he knew this conversation was not the light and excited one he thought you’d share instead.

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck.

"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. "I won't let you do this alone."

The fateful night you told your family and the Dagger Squad was when it really started to feel real. Your pregnancy to that point has been pretty good. You only turned green as food cooked around you so it was easy to excuse yourself and the extreme exhaustion that overwhelmed you the first trimester slinked away entering the second. You weren’t horribly unwell but things were definitely changing within you.

Boobs sore and off limits to Bradley even though he’d playfully volunteered his palms but your personal support system. It went about as well as expected.

“Just ginger ale tonight?” Bob smiled a while later. You’d been chatting quietly together while Bradley’s squad played pool and generally one-upped each other around you.

“What do you mean?” God, you hated lying to such a delight as Bob. He was so sweet, and although Bradley had alluded to his well-guarded playboy-like ways, he was always darling to you.

“I have four sisters,” he sipped his water. “She pretended she was drinking bourbon and ginger ale to throw everyone off the scent she was…” he chuckled quietly and you’d be damned if you’d figured him out. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “I understand if you’re just not drinking tonight.”

And while your family was aware of your news, Bradley had sworn not to tell his friends just yet. You weren’t ready to be looked in on 24/7 by overzealous Navy pilots.

“Nearly four months,” you said quietly.

“Phoenix guessed a little less,” he winked. “I won’t tell, but I’m very happy for you both. This baby will be so loved. Or smothered,” he shrugged playfully. “One of the two.”

“Bob?”

“Yes, ma’am?” He responded as you rolled your eyes playfully.

“This is how you do it, isn’t it?”

“Do what?” He played dumb.

“Find women. Because you watch and listen.” And suddenly it all made such sense as he blushed, toying with his glass.

“I can’t reveal all my trade secrets, but showing a little interest helps,” he admitted.

“I wanna know all your tricks. You’re absolutely fascinating to me.”

And for the first time, you heard Bob Floyd cackle as he nodded. ���I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s never gonna happen.”

"You're getting deployed?" you look at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly between you. His head fell back.

"I know."

"You know?" you screeched, spoiled for months of your husband home and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter."

"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick.

"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"

"Of course I did. Baby, this classification is my first real role as team leader. As command.”

"Who's going with you?"

"Payback, Fanboy," he confirmed softly.

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. “Even if I have to jump overboard and swim back myself, I will be here for Christmas. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise a baby in my own,” you said, the fear in your evident.

“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair.

"If you see one ounce of action, I swear to you, don't dare come home."

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. The most danger Bradley Bradshaw had ever been in was at this moment. And as his baby girl kicked him from her little cocoon in retaliation for making her Mama wild, he knew that nothing g else mattered anymore and that someway, somehow he was going to find a way to be home for his girls.

masterlist.