#do you have any idea how many meds I'm on?

[thethingything]

finally processing that we're probably gonna have to have these teeth removed with either sedation or general anaesthetic and unfortunately I have a phobia of both of these to the point where just thinking about it gives us panic attacks and I genuinely don't know what to do because I absolutely want to avoid this at all costs but we also might not have any other option

[inkskinned]

i don't mean to sound ungrateful, but as a content creator on this site, there's a part of me that's like. they absolutely just stole my work.

i'm not, like, unaware that tumblr has been shuffling downhill for years now. sometimes i play with the idea of switching platforms, turning myself into the shark. i often get tens of thousands of notes - i could be "doing numbers" on a platform that actually pays me to do so. i could have statistics that i could use to sell myself, i could rebrand and make content pay-to-play and make brand deals. i could have the other life, i mean.

but i don't want to. i like the quiet nature of tumblr. i like that it still feels like i'm writing poetry, not like i'm fulfilling ad spots. i like the community, and that i can sometimes still take someone by surprise and write something that really speaks to them. i like the tags and reading things like oh of course it's fucking inkskinned i love you inkskinned you gay mess. my girlfriend recently told me that people tag things "inkskinned" because they assume it is similar to tagging "creative writing". that's wild. i made this word up when i was 19, and have always assumed people tag me in things so i read it (and i often do). i have nothing but love and gratitude for you all, for this tiny scoop of family.

and i haven't made any money off it. i had opportunities, and i turned them down. i could have sold this thing like a thousand times. i thought about moving my work elsewhere - over and over and over i thought about it. i weighed each option specifically. but my tumblr felt like ... it's for you guys, only. if you're still here and reading this, you deserve to do it for free.

tumblr has now, most likely, skimmed my work (and yours) in order to make money. i will never see a single cent for that violation. something about landlords, i guess - my work pays their rent.

i just lost my job on valentine's day, and am working on scrambling for solutions. i am writing this to a blog that they will probably scrape with AI. and like, what number to do you think it was? do you think it was only a couple hundred thousand? no way it was close to a million, right? my time, effort, energy - it belongs to someone else now. how many silver pieces for them to completely sell out their user base.

and it's kind of like - funny? when it isn't very-sad. because i personally don't know what to do, ya know? i might as well move to a different platform, where my efforts are ai-scraped but could eventually pay me. where i know my privacy is the cost - but it could result in actual money. anyway. i need to figure out how i'm paying for meds. i need to email like six people about COBRA benefits.

my work is powering someone else's AI. it will be a beautiful fabricated poem, made from words i've already said.

[violent138]

Clark: *wakes up under sun lamps* "Hey Bruce."

Bruce, unshaven, cowl off: *looking up from League reports* "Finally. Now that you're finished with your unapproved holiday, I brought you all the paperwork you have to sign off on, four reports of shenanigans you can deal with, and one of the Lanterns lost a deep space "pet" somewhere, so I need you to find it."

Clark, smiling; "You didn't have to do all that. How long have you been here?"

Bruce, checking his watch: "Around ten minutes, too long already. I better get going." *climbs out of the chair, every joint cracking horribly*

Clark:

Clark: "Do you have any idea how many mattresses are around here?"

Bruce, rolling his eyes: "I was not about to lug a mattress in here. Terrific told me you'd recover soon, not that you can be counted upon for anything."

Clark: *mentally reminding himself that Ma would disown him if he joked about regretting saving Bruce's life*

Clark: "With that kind of bedside manner I'm starting to understand why you dropped out of med school."

Terrific, bursting into the room: "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something-- is he okay?"

Clark: "We can never truly be sure. Batman, stop laughing, you're freaking people out."

[heartfullofleeches]

Vendetta [Magical Boy Yan] with a magical Scientist Reader who experiments on the monsters they fight and is generally just one of the worst magical people to stumble across. It's a mystery as to why Reader does what they do - they hardly have any compassion for their fellow humans and laughs at the ridiculous idea they're performing these experiments to turn these creatures back into humans. The ones that used to be humans that is. They've crafted weapons and armor from the skin and meat of their enemies, but they grown old of their toys before long. Many have asked. The answer remains the same.

"Why do I do this?.... Because it's fun I don't know what else you want me to tell you."

Vendetta swears he hears wedding bells- A ruthless, coal hearted scientist with zero regard for how the public views them who also happens to have a sadistic streak? Where has Reader been all his life? Drags monsters and crooks alike to Reader's doorstep in exchange for a reward - Money doesn't mean shit to Vendetta when he could have front row tickets to Reader's next surgery. I see Scientist Reader being a med student outside of their magical persona which Vendetta would tease them about, but totally sees as a bonus because nerds are hot.

Weakens the locks on Reader's cages so their pets can escape and he can live vicariously through them when Reader comes to collect them.

Reader tries to kill Vendetta when they first met, but upon realizing he likes getting the shit kicked out of him they bail because he's a freak.

Reader is stronger than Vendetta in their magical form, but weaker in their normal because I like the idea of that.

-

[Scientist Reader presses the heel of their boot against Vendetta's neck as they stand over him, sneering down at the man as he gasps for air]

Reader: You disgust me. Any last words before I remove your vocal cords?

Vendetta: You should spit in my mouth. I'd reallllly hate that- Here, I'll show you how to do it.

[Vendetta sucks blood from the split in his lip - spitting upwards directly into Scientist Reader's mouth.]

Scientist Reader: Mother-FUCKER- That went into my mouth! Why does your blood taste like battery acid?!

Vendetta: I'm waiting~

-

Scientist Reader: Give it back.

Vendetta, holding Reader's id card out of reach: Aw, this what you normally look like? You're pretty cute for a dork. I could totally take you.

Scientist Reader: Oh, please- I've beaten your ass more times than I care to remember.

Vendetta: Who said anything about a fight.

-

Vendetta: Got photos of you leaving that old abandoned library. Must've nicked yourself pretty bad down there- All that blood on your clothes...

Scientist Reader: And what do you plan to do with those photos?

Vendetta: Jerk off?- Tf else do you want me to do with them?

[jinnie-ret]

cigarette duet

poly!stray kids x ninth member!reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: smoking, mentions of rehab, mentions of recovery

word count: 3k

summary: you get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. how will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

requested: @ihrtlix

It has been a while since I've written! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get around to the requests for this event but I'm getting back into the swing of things! Hope you enjoy! Please don't take offense to any opinions presented in this imagine. Enjoy! And if you want to be tagged in anything I write please lemme know! <3

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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Perhaps you had smoked one too many cigarettes last night. Waking up the next morning after battling your stresses with the addictive feed of nicotine, your throat felt dry, hoarse, scratchy even.

"Baby, are you sure you're not sick?" Felix fussed, placing his hand delicately on your forehead to gain an idea of your temperature. "I mean, you don't feel hot, but maybe you're coming down with something?"

"I'm fine, love, just need some water," you kiss his hand that was pulling away from your face, offering a reassuring smile after clearing your throat.

And in your mind, that was enough. You didn't notice the little things that your boyfriends did however.

"Binnie, what are you doing? You look like a perv haha," Hyunjin giggled at the sight of Changbin rummaging through the laundry basket and sniffing your hoodie.

"Ssshhh, keep it down. And plus, it's not being pervy, people in relationships do it all the time. It's comforting smelling each other's clothing," Changbin righteously pointed out to his boyfriend, puffing his chest before adding, "well, normally it is..." he sighed.

"Woah that's mean, you can't say our girlfriend smells," Hyunjin pushed Changbin's shoulder, laughing again but with wide eyes this time round.

"No, no, you've got the wrong idea anyways. I think... I think Y/N's been smoking. I can smell it on her hoodie," Changbin sighed, tossing the white hoodie of yours back into the washing basket that was full to the brim. He was about to continue his spiel of conspiracies until he jumped when your arms wrapped around behind him.

"Aw, babe, are you doing the washing? Thank god for that, I was worried it would never get done," you squeezed him tightly once more before kissing him on the cheek and continuing your venture into the kitchen, Felix trailing behind you.

"I think she's getting sick, I'm gonna see if we have any meds in the cupboard, or some throat sweets at least," Felix pouted as he walked past his two boyfriends, Hyunjin ruffling his hair on the way.

Changbin threw a meaningful look at Hyunjin, alarms going off in his head because it only added more fuel to the blazing fire of thoughts in his head.

"Look, we don't know that she is smoking for sure. Maybe she's just been around some friends that are?" Hyunjin whispers hurriedly, yet this caught Seungmin's attention, and his ears too.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Seungmin casually stood between the two, grabbing laundry detergent and capsules from the cupboard to act natural yet because practical at the same time.

"I'll explain later, to all of you. I'm just a bit concerned," Changbin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face before actually making a start on the chore at hand.

It was an escape for you, much like it was for other people who smoked cigarettes. And plus, you hadn't been doing it for long. You thought what could the harm be when you didn't do it a lot? Plus, it was handy that none of your boyfriends batted an eyelid in the studio when you said you wanted to go outside for some air. In fact, it gave the opportunity for Changbin to lay out his thoughts to the rest of your boyfriends who hadn't yet heard his observations.

"Y/N... I don't think she'd do that, I can't picture it," Jeongin shook his head, shaking his hands in confusion because the picture being painted in front of them seemed very unlikely and it wasn't a nice one to think of.

"And she knows it's too risky. First of all we're idols. I hate to say it but we have to think about that first in situations like these. Even when we're drinking we've got to be careful. If you're right about this, Binnie, then..." Chan groaned, leaning back into his seat with a huff.

"But she did just go out 'for some air'," Han added on, brows furrowed as he thought what Changbin was saying was quite plausible.

"Ok. We'll go check then," Minho shrugged as he stood.

"What?" Felix too stood up.

"We can't sit here and keep worrying. Let's go check and see for ourselves. If we're wrong... And I hope we are... Then it's fine," Minho grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, scanning around the room for his boyfriends' reactions.

"And if we're not wrong, then what?" Hyunjin voiced his concerns.

"Let's just hope we're not," Chan was first to walk out the door, the rest of Stray Kids following along after him like ducklings and their mother. Apart from this time it wasn't the cute, adorable scene you'd hope for, especially because they could smell the smoke and see your lax figure as soon as they rounded the corner to the back of the building.

"No. Y/N you've got to be kidding me!" Chan snatched the cigarette out of your hand and immediately stomped it out.

"Chan I-" you fumbled on your words, eyes wide as you had all eight of your lovers stood in front of you. And the way they looked at you made you stomach twist into knots you were sure you'd never felt.

Disappointment. Anger. Concern. Indifference.

"Let's talk about this inside," Changbin wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he spoke quietly to you.

Your heart was racing faster. They were going to think the worst. But you had a way out of this. It wasn't even that bad. Sure, over the past month maybe you'd have been spending more money on packs of cigarettes, yet on the inside you felt as if there were worse things you could be doing to yourself.

"Sit," Minho bluntly said, face unreadable, tone void of emotion.

And so you did.

"We'll just have a conversation about this, nice and calm, ok?" Felix nudged Chan in particular with his leg.

It seemed however that it wasn't a conversation, but more of an intervention. A heated one, at that.

"I can't be nice and calm, Lix! Our girlfriend is destroying her body, and for what?" Chan's voice rose ever so slightly, hands squeezing the arms of the chair he was tensely sat in.

"It's just a cigarette," you feebly replied. That backbone of yours was slowly wearing away the more and more anger you felt radiating off of your partners.

"Don't be ridiculous," Seungmin scoffed, "think of the damage it's doing. Think about your career."

"It's more than just the odd cigarette, right?" Changbin prodded, wanting answers to the millions of questions he had. After all, he was the first one to notice how you gradually stopped voicing your concerns to him but still sometimes had the habits that showed your anxiety.

"Well, yes, but-" you began but were cut off.

"No buts. That's... It's, you're hurting yourself, hurting your lungs. Why are you doing this, baby?" Jeongin took your hand in his, concern not the only thing glistening in his eyes, which broke your heart.

"It's just a nice distraction, that's all. It won't go on forever, I'll just stop when I want to," you shrug your shoulders, squeezing his hand to show you meant what you said.

"It's not that easy. Nicotine. It's addictive. You think you can just stop like that?" Hyunjin frowned, shaking his head.

"I know I can," you firmly said, urging them with your voice to trust you.

"I don't know what planet you're living on," Chan shook his head.

"Channie..." Felix bit his lip, feeling torn. On one hand he didn't want your boyfriend to be so tough with you, but he also disagreed with the choices you made, the ones you were making.

"No I'm sorry but Y/N, babe, you've made one of the stupidest choices you could make! Seungminnie is right, Jeongin too. It's damaging for your body, let alone your career. You keep this up, you're not going to be able to sing as well as before. And then it'll get to the point where you can't breathe as well anymore," Chan ranted, fiddling with the bracelets adorning his wrist as he didn't take his eyes away from yours, not once.

"I just told you it's not going to go that far!" your face contorted to one of disbelief.

"That's out of your control," Minho sternly redirected your attention to him.

"Wow. It's like you don't even trust me. I'm not some kid. I can make my own decisions. So what if I'm doing this for a little bit of stress relief? For a bit of fun. It helps me," your voice almost turns to pleading, wanting them to hear you out, hear your reasoning.

"It hurts you, baby. And when it hurts you, it hurts us as well," Han bit his lip after shakily speaking up. He didn't like this situation, not one bit.

"I'm not doing it to hurt you. I'd never do that," your voice wobbled, throat feeling as if it was closing up from the sob that was lodged down there.

"Too late. I mean just look," Chan emptied your handbag, empty packets of cigarettes and some not, falling out onto the floor of the studio.

"Y/N, that's a lot," Hyunjin gasped, clutching a hand on his chest.

"It's not. It's not that bad..." you denied as you knelt on the floor and tidied up the mess.

"You're in complete denial," Seungmin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not! I'm well aware of my actions thank you very much!" you shouted suddenly, causing everyone to freeze at the volume you had just reached.

The guilt set in. It was never meant to go this far. It was just meant to be for stress relief. Something to distract you from the aches and pains, physical and mental. It wasn't long until you'd be performing a special fanmeeting and relearning old choreographies and a cover had you feeling like you were being worked down to the bone. Even iconic dances like God's Menu were hard to remember, and you felt like you had no chance. No choice. It was like it fell into your lap so easily.

The first time you had stood outside to catch some air, it was for that genuine reason. And you weren't alone. You didn't know if the person worked at your company, if you knew them, whatever. But their hand offering you something that could bring you temporary bliss was a solution you were grateful for. Only now, you were seeing that it was short term.

"You need help. Seriously..." Chan spat, grabbing his backpack and storming out of the studio.

"Find a way to end this, Y/Nnie," Felix mumbled, stroking your hair gently before following Chan out with a rush.

"You're all just going to go?" your voice cracked. Were they leaving you now?

"We just need some time," Changbin sighed. And then he was gone too.

"You're leaving me?" you sniffled, standing up to face your boyfriends that were still in the room.

"Not like that, baby. We're just giving you time to think about how you can stop this, ok?" Han stroked your face as he made sure you knew this wasn't the end. And then he left too, Minho, Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin leaving too.

All alone. Perhaps it was what you deserved. You relied on the cigarettes more than your boyfriends. And they were all you had left for the moment. That was when it sank in. You had to make a change. You had to stop this habit form taking over your life, from pushing away the people you love most, and from taking your life away.

•••

"She's sorting herself out at least... that's got to be commendable."

"I guess so. Let's just hope it doesn't get out that a JYP idol is at rehab for smoking."

"It won't. And she's doing well from what I've heard..."

This was the only time Han was grateful for the staff gossiping. Immediately, he felt calmer. Considering the boys had spent the last few days blowing up your phone and worrying where you went, it was an oddly relieving feeling hearing you were at rehab. They had tried asking JYP himself, asking the manager of the company where you were but all they said was that you were safe.

"I know where she is!" Han bursted through the apartment door, slamming it shut behind him as he panted out of breath.

"Woah, woah, ok, deep breaths, let's sit down," Chan, with the darkest circles around his eyes yet, gently sat Han down on the sofa. He felt awful. He thought he had driven you away from them all. From the group. From the relationship. And that had been eating him up inside. It was a wonder he could act so calm with the news of you going into rehab.

"Rehab? For smoking? I didn't even know that was a thing," Seungmin hummed in thought, his arms crossed.

"I didn't either, but I overheard the staff. They say she's doing well. It's a good thing, right?" Han's eyes stared through the souls of everyone gathered in the lounge, begging for some sort of confirmation that things would get better.

"I mean, at least we're a bit more in the know then our own fans about why our girlfriend is on hiatus," Changbin brushed his fluffy, dark hair out of his eye.

"Can't we go and see her?" Felix wondered, lifting his head up from where it rested on Minho's shoulder.

"We shouldn't," Minho quietly sighed.

"Why not?" Jeongin quickly turned to him, mouth parted in shock that he didn't want to see Y/N.

"No, he's right. She's gone there for a reason. To get better. It's what we all said to her, isn't it? We'll see her soon. And when we do... It'll all be better," Chan helped everyone see sense. He was right. You had listened to them. You went and got help and were solving the problem. If they suddenly ambushed you and got in the way of that... You'd be back to square one.

•••

Today was the day, you were finally going back to the boys. You spent a good 3 weeks at rehab, and had been advised on some good coping mechanisms to take your mind off of smoking and how to create some healthier habits. You had shown good progress and it was deemed acceptable for you to leave and spend time back with your loved ones. And you couldn't lie, you were incredibly nervous. You had dropped a text without reading the spam that littered the groupchat, notifying your boyfriends what time you'd be returning, but after that you once again did not read anything else that was sent.

"Oh my baby, I've missed you so much," Han was the first one at the door, pressing kisses all over your face as he took you into his arms, holding you lightly.

"I've missed you too," you cried immediately, despite the weight off your shoulders.

"You're good now, right, darling?" Seungmin softly tugged you away from Han, both of his hands cupping your face whilst his thumbs wiped away your tears.

"I'm better," you nod through tears, Seungmin pressing a kiss to your head and giving space for your other boyfriends to soothe you and reunite with you. It had only been three weeks, yes, but 21 days had never felt so long.

"I'm proud of you, come here," Changbin scooped you into his arms and lifted you slightly, making you giggle before your feet touched the ground once more.

"Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I had done... How far it went, you know?" you began, looking down at the floor as Hyunjin came and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his long arms securing you to him.

"We're just happy to see you here, honey, healthier," he whispered into your ear soothingly.

"And please talk to us in future. We had time to think after that, moment, and we know you were doing it as an escape. But we're here for you," Jeongin pecked you on the lips, your heads pressed against each other for a moment before he too moved away.

"Always, we're always here," Felix reiterated what Jeongin preached, and kisses you as well, noses rubbing against each other as he moved away, a cute expression on his face.

"Come here," Minho opened his arms, and you reluctantly left Hyunjin's arms only to be happy again in the warmth of your other boyfriend's embrace.

"Thank you for waiting, all of you," you swayed with him in his hug, until you pulled away and it was only Chan left.

He stood a few metres away, back to you, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

"Channie... babe," you sighed, tugging his hand to turn him and face you. His words had hurt you the most but it was also a huge wake up call. "Please, look at me, I'm not mad. I'm so grateful."

"I was too harsh with you," he bit his lip, hard, not wanting to let any tears escape.

"I needed it. Look at me now, I'm here, I'm better, and I've got habits I can stick to instead. Ones that won't hurt me. And they won't hurt you guys either," you looked up at him, one hand running through the hair at the nape of his neck and the other cupping his face.

"I'm so glad you're back... We were worried... Lost without you," Chan admitted, staring up at the ceiling before kissing you deeply, expressing all the emotions he had held back whilst you were gone.

"It's all good now. Plus, you should all be proud of me-"

"We are proud of you, baby," Jeongin cut you off stroking your hair.

"Well, be even prouder because I know how to bake an amazing carrot cake if I say so myself," you laughed, sharing a new skill that had occupied your stress and been taught whilst you were away.

"You can bake with me now! Oh my gosh! It's a miracle!" Felix cheered, tugging you into the kitchen as the other boys chuckled from behind you both.

"I didn't think you meant this very second!"

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kailee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

[a-student-out-of-time]

An Important Reminder In Trying Times

Hey everyone, Mod Bubbles here.

I know that I've said over and over that I don't like talking about politics on here, but I really feel the need to say this:

This Is Not The End.

I understand things probably seem really bleak right now. A lot of people are going to be hurt by this, and the sheer amount of fearmongering and worst case scenarios are inescapable. But the country and the world are not going to change overnight. To be honest, it may not change very much at all in the next four years. I'm not a political scientist, so I can't tell you that for sure. There's a lot to be concerned about.

What I can tell you, as a student of history, is this: not only have we survived this once, we have survived this every time.

Think about it this way: every single tyrant, every single right-wing representative, every single emperor and colonial power, every corporate scumbag and power-hungry lunatic. No matter how many of them have ever come to power, held onto power, and tried to make themselves seem invincible, not a single one has ever held back humanity's progress and not a single one has proven to be invincible.

There were countries throughout history, especially in the 20th century, that fell under brutal dictatorships and saw countless lives lost. Did the people just give up and accept it? Fuck no they didn't. They fought back. Many of them lived to see democracy restored to their lands in their lifetimes, or fought to see it restored in their children's.

From Europe to Latin America, while many countries still have their issues, they endured and their people have survived. Their governments were not invincible, just as none ever have been.

Regardless of the outcome of this election, the world will go on. People will not just roll over and accept whatever horrible things happen, the fight will continue and we will do everything in our power to carry on as we always have. We'll carry on to achieve bigger and better things.

Let me also be clear: if you feel the need to cry, please cry. If you're afraid, don't pretend you're not. If you're angry, allow yourself to feel that anger. But if you're seriously contemplating giving up or hurting yourself, please don't.

You may hear all this news and ask yourself, "Bubbles, what's the point? What can I do about all this?" I've felt that way too, I have for a long time. I understand completely. It's scary and overwhelming, but I'll tell you exactly what you can do to fight against that: you can be kind.

Do you want to know where the most tangible change in the world begins? It's never at the top. It begins with people like us on a communal level, where we reach out to help others. Whether that means we help our neighbors, our friends, or any strangers we can.

Going out of your way to start fights, looking for someone to blame based on the flimsiest justifications, and just being cruel because you're angry, those aren't how you change anything. Those just add to the problem.

Here's just some ideas on what you can do instead:

Get away from the news, stop doomscrolling, mute doomers, and turn the TV and news apps off. This will get you out of a negative feedback loop that'll make you feel worse and more powerless, which is what they're designed to do in order to maximize traffic.

Remember to eat, sleep, brush your teeth, take a shower, take your meds, and do everything else you need to do to stay healthy.

If you or someone else really feel like leaving the country for your own safety is best, you can still work do so. But please don't convince yourself that if you can't, it's over.

Give back to people as much as you can. Show the people in your life who support you that you care, and that all that they do for you matters.

Donate to good causes you believe in.

Stand up to bullshit whenever you see it.

Do not give up on your dreams and ambitions. One bad leader does not mean your future automatically ends. Stop worrying about any potential apocalypse in the future, because you can do that even on the best days, and instead work toward a future that you CAN achieve.

There's this pervasive and very inaccurate idea that it's only the president who gets to enforce policies on the country. This ignores governors, the House of Representatives, Congress, mayors, and the countless other leaders involved. And it ignores you.

You do not have to spend the next 3 years and 364 days doing nothing but feeling miserable. In fact, that's the last thing you should do. Fear and despair are the weapons they wield, and they only have as much power as you allow them to have over you.

If your view of politics is that you just have to vote for the "right one" and then everything will be utopian, or that if people vote for the wrong one" then we're headed for a terrible dystopian nightmare, I have to tell you that that is incredibly reductionist and also very dumb. I can also tell you from personal experience that it's not them who make the real changes where it's needed.

A friend sent me a video that really opened my eyes on this situation: Adam Conover, the guy behind Adam Ruins Everything, said he's not worried about all this. Why? Because he and some friends were able, through their own power, to make real positive changes in their community. They were able to bring homelessness down in their district by over 38% through their own efforts.

And he's right that, as a silver lining to all this, it made more Americans than ever take a stand against all the horrible shit they were seeing and get involved with solutions.

Speaking from my own experiences as well, when Hurricane Helene devastated my area, it wasn't the politicians who came and repaired roads and power lines, it wasn't them who brought in food and supplies to everyone, and it wasn't them who worked tirelessly to save people still in need. It was everyone in our local communities.

The people at the top have never really cared about anything more than your money and your vote, but the people around you care more than you may believe they would. Hell, even strangers on the internet care more than you'd believe.

Now, even if you've made it this far, you may be wondering "What about when he starts outlawing and banning things?" To that, I say look at Prohibition and see how well that went. Politicians have only ever operated under the idea that banning something will make it go away, and it always does the exact opposite. And if you're still worried, you can get involved with organizations that fight to support these things being available and regulated.

But by now, you may also be wondering "What if I can't get involved? What if I'm too young or I don't have the money, or my parents won't let me?"

Then just be kind.

Stop looking for enemies to blame. Don't martyr yourself for some nebulous cause or the idea that your suffering increasing means the rest of the suffering in the world will go down. Don't torture yourself by telling yourself that you didn't do enough.

Show compassion, show support, show love and genuine care toward people who need it, including yourself.

"But there's so many shitty people in this country and the world, why should I-" Stop thinking that way. This isn't about them, this is about you and how you can make a difference. There will probably always be shitheads and power-hungry morons, but that does not negate the fact that you can choose to be different. You can choose to be kind.

Kindness is a sword that you have to learn how to wield. Wield it responsibly and use it to help others. No matter how small or insignificant it may be, YOU DO MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

I say all this as a 29-year-old who spent most of his life feeling scared and miserable about so many current events, convincing myself I'm useless and selfish because I was worried about so much and I hated myself for all of it. And I've decide I'm not going to do that anymore.

During the last right-wing era, I managed to help build a whole community out of my love for Danganronpa. I created friendships, relationships, and there are people alive right now because I chose to do so. Because I chose to use that community for kindness. I want to keep building from there by going into streaming and reaching out to more people.

I won't lie to you and say that I'm not scared, because I am. But I'm also not going to let fear change who I am. I want us all to be better to ourselves and others, because that is how you defeat hate. It starts with you.

And if you're still concerned, let me share with you a quote from The Great Dictator, a movie made in 1940, when World War II wasn't even at its height yet:

To those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish…

Please take care of yourselves out there, everyone. We'll get through this, just as we always have.

[dreamtheatre]

hi! I've been really into doctor who lately, but I can't find many headcanons on tumblr!! if you have time or are interested, can you do headcanons of 9,10, and 11 having a crush on the reader? (or if you'd rather only do one, that's fine too!)

a/n hey! i absolutely love this idea... so let's do it!! i'm going to do this with our wonderful time lords 9 and 10.

Pairing: 9/10th Doctor x GN!Reader Fandom: Doctor Who Genre: headcannons, fluff Word Count: 708 Warnings: Nothing really... Obliviousness? Denial?

9th Doctor

he would never admit it, but he notices these little things about you.

your laugh... how the corners of your eyes crinkle and your head tilts back when something amuses you. he notices that when whatever you're laughing at is funny enough, your laugh turns into a bit of a wheeze. he can tell you're embarrassed by it, but he thinks its cute adorable nice.

he notices what your favourite colour is, and when he gets you a big box full of stuff that is your favourite colour he feels a smile stretch over his face when you grin. when you ask how he knew your favourite colour, he lied and said that the TARDIS told him (to which the TARDIS hummed in disagreement).

he notices what your favourite food is. he even takes you to the past/future to let you try all the different variations of your favourite foods.

he calls you "fantastic" a lot (Rose and Jack definitely notice)

he sees how close you are with Rose and Jack, but although he doesn't mind Rose, Jack notices how the time-lord's eyes get just a bit darker and a frown is etched on his face whenever he sees you with the 'handsome' ex-time-agent.

he never tells you any of this, though, because he doesn't know how he feels. the time war is still too fresh in his mind for him to come to terms with his emotions.

if you are there when he regenerates (which of course you are) he'll tell you that you were "bloody fantastic" one last time before the golden glow covers his body.

10th Doctor

this version of the time lord is different... you're not complaining though.

he rambles and rambles on about the planets, stars, and the galaxy and tells you about all the places he is going to take you (all the companions tell you he's just trying to impress you, but you wave them off, telling them he's just being his regular time lord self)

he can't help but smile when you smile, laugh when you laugh, and he has to fight of his tears when he sees you cry.

when you both lose Rose, he really does cry with you. he holds you tighter than ever and vows to never let the terrors of the universe reach you.

when you both meet Martha, the Doctor notices how you and her get along almost as well as you did with Rose. he happily takes the med-student along with you on your new adventures

he's beyond terrified when he gets possessed by the sun, thinking that he's going to hurt you (or worse, kill you) and there would be nothing he could do to stop himself. when you and martha save him, he contemplates taking you home, where you'd be safe from all the dangers of travelling with him, but you tell him that you're going to stay with him forever. he's stuck with you now (and he's not complaining at all)

when he turns into john smith, he falls in love with you instead of the matron. when the family of blood is defeated and he turns back into his old self, he hates that he can't bring himself to tell you that those three months, a mere fraction in his time lord life, was the best that he had ever lived.

after a year without you and the torture of being with the Master, the Doctor realises how short his time with you might be. when he sees his old friend, the Master, dying in his arms, he knows that he'd never forgive himself if he let anything happen to you

he finally tells you that he loves you

happily, he takes you out to romantic locations across the galaxy, picnics on New Earth, watching outer-space operas, and even just sitting on beaches on a planet where the ocean glows with pink and purple hues. he loves doing what you love

when Donna comes along, the Doctor and you both find her to be an amazing friend, and when you both meet a strange woman named River Song at the Library, she grins knowingly, knowing what the future had in store for the both of you.

end xx dreamtheatre requests are open!

[ohnopeh]

i love the idea that ian finally understands he had been making mickey believe he wasn't loved enough for not singing the paper.

he goes to mickey showing a ring and mickey is hopeful but also wary of what is happening, then ian says it

i love ian, but darling, you can be a bit dumb (its okay you are learning)

what could have mickey possibly thought? that ian will marry him cause gallagher keep their promises? that's all to it? is it not because he supposedly loves him and genuinely wants that?

the look on mickey's face as he realises what ian said makes me think that it was the moment mickey fears were ''confirmed''. ian didn't love him enough, of course he wouldn't, why would he? ian bought the promise ring, yes, but he still wouldn't wear it but hang it on his neck where he can hide it, is mickey not it? and then mickey says it

he realises mickey had been thinking ian didn’t love him and that’s it, he tried many times. by coming out, being there during the whole diagnosis, being broken up with but still thinking of him and hoping to be together, thinking he will be with him in mexico and then getting himself back to prison so that he can be with him, support him through all that. but that was it. he didn't have it in him to fight for them anymore, he had the rights to finally put himself first and say ''that's enough''. ‘you don’t love me enough now, and that’s fine, it’s cool.’

but ian fucked up. he now knows that mickey believed he wasn't enough, he wasn't the right one for ian.

it didn't even cross his mind that it could have been a possibility, cause since the diagnosis, ian had been so sure that he wasn't worth of mickey and the pain that comes by being around him, loving him.

so ian thinks : how can you ever be so sure you love me? how can you even possibly be in love with me when i have such disorder that won't make it easy for you? what do you even see in me to think i'm worth all of that?

the only explaination ian can think of for someone like mickey to fight so hard for their relationship to work is that : he's either crazy or he never experienced any other type of relationship before.

cause ian has, ian has dated other people after mickey and none of them loved him. one cheated on him, gaslighting him that it was okay cause it was a chick and not a guy. the other made it a challange for ian to be attracted to him, didn't respect ian when it came to his trauma regarding monica, didn't really care about ian being off his meds, being more concerned that his mania was making him the star of the news and not what trevor really wanted. mickey had never done that, mickey had always been there for ian and he knows that— he knows that mickey is the one he loves and the one that will do anything for him. he broke up with him because he loved mickey too much and wanted him to be free.

being with those people made it impossible for ian to even pretend that mickey wasn't the one he loved and that loved him back.

but mickey? he never had a relationship other than the one with ian, so how could he know that ian is the one if he never dated anyone else? someone ‘normal’, someone that wouldn’t make him worry and watch for his mood swings?

ian is telling mickey that he has a choice to do better— he’s telling him that out there, there’s someone that won’t hurt him, that won’t make mickey think they’re not in love enough to take the big step with him. cause ian knows mickey is everything— but how could mickey know that ian is that for him too?

i love how mickey’s expression changes as ian speaks. it's the moment it hits him that ian loves mickey enough, he loves him too much so that he questions himself just as much, deciding for both of them (once again) what mickey needs and who he shouldn't be with.

and i love that mickey finally understands everything, he understands why ian broke up with him in s5 and tried to move on and pretend mickey wasn’t what he wanted. mickey's first reaction is just to shake his head and say ''jesus christ, ian.''

and ian looks so confused, he might be thinking : what did i say wrong? i know i am right, you know that this is true. i'm a problem, i'm not worth it, can't you see? but that's mickey’s limit, it was ian’s moment to work on his not worthy of your love shit and realise that it’s all bullshit cause mickey is all in for them. he always has been no matter what.

and mickey knows so well that he can't do anything else to prove it to ian. he straight up tells him the answer to lip's ''figure out why you don't wanna marry him.'' 'cause he doesn't believe he's worth it. but mickey has proved him enough, mickey has told him what's ian true fear is and its not mickey's love for him that will fix it. it was ian's job to work through with it (and he did!! of course he did) back when this episode came out, i was so angry and frustrated about it, i guess growing up makes you see things differently uh?

[jetii]

Too Sweet

Part One | Part Two | Part Four

Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Doctor!Reader

Words: 6,514/26,525

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, strangers to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, Fox is a little anxious/paranoid, and he needs a hug, this chapter is more dark/intense than the others oopsie, smut in part 4

Summary: Fox has no time for romance. He doesn't even have time for sleep, let alone dates. But when a horrible day at work leads him to you, he suddenly finds himself in danger of reevaluating his priorities.

A/N: Sorry in advance for Thorn and the sads. I'll make it up to you next part. 💙

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The next few weeks are a blur.

Fox is pulled in so many directions that he can barely keep up. Between the Senate meetings, the riots, the constant flow of paperwork, and the barrage of complaints from his brothers, it's a miracle he's able to sleep at all.

But the time he spends talking to you is a bright spot in an otherwise dreary existence.

It's a welcome relief, and he finds himself looking forward to your messages, eagerly anticipating each new one. You're funny, and thoughtful, and you're able to get him to open up, which is something that hasn't happened in a long time. It's strange, and a little scary, but he can't bring himself to stop, and the longer it goes on, the more he feels like he's starting to slip.

He knows that you're only talking to him because of the grant, and the thought that you could be using him makes his stomach churn. But he doesn't think you would, and the fact that you seem genuinely interested in his well-being is something that he can't ignore. You always ask him how he's doing, if he's getting any sleep, and your concern is obvious, and yet, it still catches him off guard. He's not used to being cared for, and the way you treat him, like he matters, like he's human, is so different than anything he's ever experienced before.

Fox doesn't tell his brothers about you. He's not sure why, but the thought of telling anyone about his friendship with you makes him nervous. There's something special, something fragile, about what you have, and he doesn't want anyone to ruin it.

But, the secret doesn't last long.

One of the guard squadrons is ambushed during a routine patrol, and Thorn is caught in the crossfire. When Fox gets the report, he immediately heads for the med center, and when he gets there, he sees a group of troopers gathered outside the entrance. They're talking quietly amongst themselves, and they all look nervous. One of the men sees him and waves him over, a grim expression on his face.

"What happened?" Fox asks, his heart sinking. "Is he okay?"

"He's stable," Burst replies, and Fox lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. "But they won't let us see him."

"They won't?"

"No, sir," he sighs. "Something about hospital policy."

Fox frowns, a cold fury filling him. The fact that they would deny his brothers, his family, the chance to see their brother is infuriating, and the idea that Thorn was sitting in the medical ward, alone and hurt, makes his blood boil.

"I'll take care of it," Fox says, and Burst nods, looking relieved.

He pushes past the group, his fists clenched, and walks inside, heading straight for the front desk. The nurse looks up at him, his expression blank, and the look on his face must be enough, because his eyes widen, and he sits up.

"How may I—"

"Thorn," he growls. "Where is he?"

"I'm sorry, but we have a strict no visitors policy," the nurse says. His voice is calm, but his fingers are tapping on the desk, and the action betrays his nerves. "I can't—"

"Show me where he is," Fox demands. His voice is low, and the troopers behind him shift uncomfortably.

"Commander," the nurse says, a note of panic in his voice. "Please, calm down. If you'd just—"

"No," he interrupts, leaning over the desk. The nurse recoils, and Fox can see the fear in his eyes. Good. He should be afraid. If he didn't show him where Thorn was, he'd—

“Fox.”

The sound of your voice cuts through the red haze in his mind, and he pauses, turning towards you. Your eyes are wide, and there's a concerned crease between your brows. The sight of you, the way you're looking at him, brings him back to his senses, and he pulls back, taking a deep breath.

"What's going on?" you ask, frowning.

"I need to see Thorn," Fox says, his tone sharp. He doesn't mean to take his anger out on you, but the frustration is still there, simmering beneath the surface, and he can't seem to let it go. "They won't let me."

"He's not allowed any visitors," you explain softly. You glance at the nurse, and she nods, scurrying off. "He's in intensive care."

"I don't care," Fox snaps. He's tired, and the stress is making his temper short, and the last thing he wants is to get into an argument with you. "I'm not leaving until I see him."

"Fox." You walk over to him, and he feels his resolve weaken. There's a look in your eyes, something pleading, that makes his chest tighten, and he can't ignore it.  You reach out and take his hand, squeezing gently. "I know you're worried, but please, trust me. I'm not keeping you from him. I would never do that."

The anger slowly fades, and the tension drains from his body.

"I know," he mutters.

"He's stable," you say. Your grip on his hand tightens, and the contact is reassuring. "He'll be okay. I promise."

Fox nods, his shoulders slumping. He's not sure what he was expecting, but the truth of your words hits him hard. You're not lying. You would never lie to him, and the fact that he had doubted you, even for a moment, leaves him feeling sick.

"Can I at least check on him?" he asks. "Make sure he's..."

"It's against protocol, but..." You trail off, biting your lip, and then give him a small smile. "Just a few minutes."

"Thank you," he breathes.

"Come on," you say, tugging on his hand. "He's in the surgical ward."

He lets you lead him down the hallway, passing the group of troopers as you do. They watch the two of you go, and Fox knows that the rumor mill is going to be buzzing tomorrow. The thought makes him cringe, but the knowledge that Thorn was alive, and safe, is all he can focus on.

"I'm sorry," Fox mutters as the two of you walk. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"It's okay," you say, shaking your head. "You were worried."

"Still." He glances down at your joined hands, and he can't help but wonder why you haven't let go. The thought of it being because you enjoy the contact, because you like touching him, is absurd, but the thought lingers.

"You don't have to apologize," you say, squeezing his hand. "I know how you feel."

"Oh, really?" Fox raises an eyebrow. "How many times have you threatened the staff?"

"Well, I haven't had the pleasure, but I can't say that the thought hasn't crossed my mind," you tease.

"You, threatening someone?" he snorts. "I doubt that."

"You'd be surprised."

You come to a stop outside a set of double doors, and you swipe a card through the reader. The doors slide open, and you step inside, pulling him with you. 

The ward is quiet, and the sterile smell of bacta assaults his nose. He wrinkles his nose, and you smile, your fingers twitching around his. The movement is subtle, but he notices, and he gives you a small smile in return.

"This is him," you murmur, stopping in front of a door. 

You press a button on the control panel, and the door slides open, revealing a dimly lit room. A bed is pushed up against the wall, and there's a machine hooked up to a figure laying on it. Fox's breath catches, and he lets go of your hand, stepping inside. The door closes behind him, and he stands there, staring at the form of his brother.

Thorn's armor is gone, and his chest is covered in bandages. His face is pale, and his hair is matted with blood, and the sight is enough to make Fox's throat tighten. He's still alive, but he looks so small, so fragile, that Fox has to resist the urge to reach out and shake him, to wake him from whatever nightmare he's trapped in.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I should've warned you."

"It's fine," he whispers, and the words are almost lost in the silence of the room.

He turns to look at you, and the sympathy in your eyes is enough to break him. He lets out a shaky breath, the tension draining out of him and leaving him feeling hollow. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, his vision is blurry, and the tears spill over. He tries to wipe them away, but they keep coming, and he turns away, ashamed.

You don't say anything, but your hand finds his, and you squeeze, your thumb rubbing circles into his skin. It's a simple gesture, but it means so much, and Fox lets himself lean into you, just a little, letting your warmth ground him.

The two of you stand there, silent, listening to the beeping of the machines. The room is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of sheets, and the only light comes from the monitors and the glow from the hallway. It's peaceful, in a way, but Fox knows it's a temporary reprieve, a brief respite from the chaos. As soon as he leaves, he'll be back in the fray, dealing with the riots, the protests, the Senate. And without Thorn, things will be even more difficult.

"It'll be okay," you murmur, your voice soft.

Fox doesn't reply. He can't.

"Fox."

He looks down at you, his expression grim. Your eyes are wide, your brows furrowed, a hint of concern on your face. You squeeze his hand, as if trying to comfort him, but he pulls away, the gesture too intimate, too close.

"He'll be okay," you insist, your tone gentle.

"How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice breaking. 

He's tired, exhausted, the weight of his duties pulling him down, dragging him into a darkness that he can't escape. He's lost so many brothers already, the loss of one more would be unbearable, and he can't help but wonder if he's cursed, if his luck is finally running out.

"I know," you say, and there's an edge to your voice that surprises him. "Trust me."

Fox swallows thickly and nods. You reach out, your hand cupping his cheek. The touch is light, but the gesture is meaningful, and his heart skips a beat. Your eyes meet his, and your gaze is filled with such conviction, such strength, that he can't look away. "I won't let him."

"Okay," Fox murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you lapse into silence again, and Fox can't seem to tear his eyes away from you. There's something different about the way you're looking at him, something that he can't quite name, and it leaves him feeling raw and exposed.

He knows you're not lying, but the thought that you could possibly care so much about him is terrifying. You're so warm, so kind, so sweet, and he doesn't understand how someone like you could ever be interested in him. And yet, the way you're looking at him, the concern written on your face, tells him that it's true.

Fox reaches up and covers your hand with his, pressing it closer. You smile, and the sadness in your eyes melts away, replaced by a warmth that fills him with hope. He takes a step closer, and you close the distance between you, your body pressed against his. His free hand finds its way to your hip, and the two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other's arms. It's comforting, and Fox lets his eyes fall closed, savoring the moment.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice cracking. He knows he should let go, that it's probably inappropriate for him to be so close to you, but he can't bring himself to move, and you don't seem to mind. Your hand moves from his cheek to his neck, your fingers lightly stroking his skin, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

"Anytime," you murmur. 

The two of you pull back, and the loss of contact makes his heart ache, but the look on your face is enough to soothe him. You smile at him and then step away, walking over to the bed. You check the monitors and smooth out the sheets. “He should be awake in a few days. I'll let you know when."

He clears his throat and nods. "Thanks."

"Do you want me to escort you out?"

"No, no, I can find my way."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay." You give him a small smile, and his chest tightens.

"I'll see you around," he says, and the words feel inadequate, but they're the only ones he can think of.

"You will." You hesitate, and then lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Take care of yourself, Commander."

"I'll try," he murmurs. He gives you a small smile, and then heads for the door, his mind racing. When the door closes behind him, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The scent of lavender lingers in the air, and the warmth of your lips on his cheek is like a brand. He lifts a hand and brushes his fingers against the spot, his stomach fluttering.

When he turns to leave, the men outside the room are nowhere to be found, and he lets out a sigh.

So much for secrecy.

"Well, well, well, looks like the commander has a new girlfriend."

Fox looks up, his eyes narrowing. Thire is leaning against the door frame, a grin on his face. Behind him, Stone is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"What are you talking about?" Fox asks, his tone flat.

"Word around the barracks is that you're sweet on a nurse," Thire teases, and he winks at him. "A cute one, too, by the sounds of it."

Fox bristles, offended on your behalf. It had been three days since the incident at the medical center, and Thorn was doing better. You'd been true to your word, and you'd kept him updated on his condition, sending him daily messages about his progress. Fox hadn't expected anything, but the fact that you'd kept your promise, and the fact that you seemed to genuinely care about his brother's wellbeing, was touching. He wasn't used to people keeping their word, and the gesture was more meaningful than you probably realized.

“She’s a doctor," Fox mutters, returning his attention to the report in front of him. "And she's not my girlfriend.”

"That's not what Thorn’s men are saying," Stone comments. He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "You were awfully cozy with her."

"It was nothing."

"You held hands, Commander."

"We were—" Fox breaks off, his face heating up. You’d held hands, hadn't you? You'd touched him, held him, and he'd let you, had wanted you to. He shakes his head. "She was being nice. She let me see Thorn."

"So, the rumors aren't true?" Thire asks, raising an eyebrow. "You're not sleeping with her?"

"No," Fox scoffs. The idea is ridiculous. Him? Sleeping with someone like you? That would never happen. You were too sweet, too kind, and the thought of you with someone like him, someone cold and harsh and damaged, was ludicrous. "She's a friend."

"Right," Stone mutters, exchanging a knowing look with Thire. "A friend."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Thire says, smirking. “Just that you've been spending a lot of time with her lately."

"So?"

"So, she must be pretty special."

"She is," Fox snaps. He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, and he quickly turns away, staring intently at the report on his desk. The words blur, and he frowns, his brows knitting together.

Special. Was that what you were? To him? You'd certainly been a bright spot in his life, a ray of sunshine through the storm clouds that were constantly hovering over his head. You were kind, and warm, and gentle, and the thought of you, and the way you made him feel, was something he was starting to crave.

Oh.

Oh, no.

"Shit," Fox murmurs, closing his eyes. 

He'd never felt like this before. He'd never had time for relationships, never had the opportunity, and he'd always assumed that the feelings he'd heard his brothers describe, the butterflies and the warmth and the longing, were exaggerations. But now, faced with the realization that they might be real, he wasn't sure what to do.

He was in trouble. Big trouble.

“Shit."

"Something wrong?" Thire asks, and his voice is filled with amusement.

"No," Fox snaps, glaring at him. "Just go away."

"Sure, boss," Thire chuckles.

Stone smirks and winks at him, and the two of them turn and leave.

Fox sighs, dropping his head into his hands. He'd been trying to avoid this, trying to avoid thinking about the warmth in his chest whenever he talked to you, the way his stomach fluttered whenever you smiled at him, the way his skin tingled when you touched him. Physical attraction was one thing, but this...this was different. And it was a complication he didn't need.

His comm beeps, and he picks it up, his stomach dropping when he sees who it is. He presses a button, and a holo-image of you appears. You're wearing your scrubs, and there's a smile on your face that makes his heart race.

"Hey," you greet, giving him a small wave.

"Hi," he manages.

"I just wanted to let you know that Thorn's going to be discharged tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," you say, and the smile on your face grows. "He's doing great. We think he'll make a full recovery."

“Get me out of here, Fox!” a familiar voice yells. Fox scowls as the projection widens to show Thorn sitting up in his bed beside you, a wide grin on his face. The bandages are gone, and he looks healthy, if not a little tired. "I'm going stir crazy."

"Thorn, you need to rest," you scold, and you push his face away, but not before Fox catches a glimpse of the darkened shade of your cheeks.

Thorn winks at him, and a wave of protectiveness crashes over him. Of course, Thorn had been flirting with you, it was in his nature. His brother has always had a certain...charm, but the last thing he wants is for him to use it on you.

"I've been stuck in this bed for days," Thorn whines. "I'm not made for laying around."

"Well, it's not my fault you were shot," you tease, and Fox bristles, a strange emotion coiling in his chest. Thorn laughs and pokes you in the side. You yelp and bat his hand away, and the sound of your laughter makes his stomach twist.

"Sorry about that," you murmur. Your eyes are sparkling, and there's a faint blush on your cheeks. "He's feeling better, as you can see."

"I'm glad," Fox replies, and it's the truth. If Thorn was feeling good, and joking around, and being an annoyance, that meant that he was fine, and Fox could stop worrying. Well, he could move on to worrying about something else, anyway.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you say with a sigh. "I know you're busy. I just wanted to let you know."

"Thanks," he says softly. "For everything."

"Don't mention it." You give him a smile, and his breath catches. Even in a hologram, you're beautiful.

"Bye, Fox," Thorn calls out.

"Go to sleep," you groan. You give him a pointed look, and he laughs, waving you off. Fox's stomach twists again, and he grips the comm a little tighter.

"Take care of yourself," you say softly. You hesitate for a moment, and the corners of your mouth lift into a smile. "Comm me later, okay?"

"Are you free for dinner tonight?" he blurts out. He doesn't know what makes him say it. The words just spill out of his mouth, and before he can stop himself, he's committed. "We could talk about the proposal."

"I..." You look surprised, and your eyes widen. He wonders for a moment if he's pushed it, and the longer you stare at him, the more nervous he becomes.

"I'm sorry, I'm on shift until midnight," you sigh. "How about tomorrow night?"

"That's fine," he says quickly.

"Great," you say, beaming at him. The joy on your face is infectious, and the knot in his stomach loosens. "I’ll comm you later.”

"Sounds good."

"See you soon," you say, waving.

"Bye," he manages, and the call ends.

The silence of the room is deafening, and Fox sits there, staring at the spot where your holoprojection had been. His chest aches, and his skin feels too tight, and he can't seem to catch his breath. He stands up and paces, running his hands through his hair, his thoughts racing.

This was bad. This was very bad. The last thing he needed was to start having feelings for you. His life was complicated enough already, and the thought of dealing with this, on top of everything else, was overwhelming.

But the longer he thought about it, the more the reality set in. There was no denying it. He'd developed feelings for you, strong ones, and there was no going back. And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

You were sweet, and funny, and beautiful, and the thought of having a chance with you was thrilling. Sure, it might not be reciprocated, but the possibility, however slim, was enough. If you felt the same way, he could deal with the rest. He could handle it.

Couldn't he?

Fox groans and throws himself back into his chair.

This was going to be a problem.

The next night, Fox walks into the diner and heads straight for a booth. You're already there, and you stand, smiling. The sight makes his heart skip a beat, and the urge to pull you into his arms is almost overwhelming. Instead, he walks over, stopping in front of you. You smile at him, and the warmth in your eyes is enough to send a shiver down his spine.

"Hey, stranger," you tease, and he blushes, looking away. "Long time no see."

Fox snorts. He’d just seen you that morning. You'd commed him as he was heading to a meeting with the Chancellor, and he'd had to excuse himself to answer you. He'd only talked to you for a minute, but the memory of the sound of your voice had stayed with him the entire day.

"It's been less than twelve hours,” he reminds you, his lips twitching.

"Too long."

"For me, too."

The words are out before he can stop them, and your eyes widen, a light flush coloring your cheeks. He blinks, his stomach dropping. Stars, had he really said that? Out loud? In front of you?

Fox quickly sits down, avoiding your gaze. The waitress droid appears, and the two of you place your orders. When she leaves, the silence between the two of you stretches, and the tension grows. You fidget, your fingers drumming on the table, and Fox stares at the table, his heart hammering.

"So," you murmur. "How was work?"

"Fine," he mutters. He lets out a breath and lifts his gaze. "How was your shift?"

“Fine," you shrug. There's a smile on your face, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You're nervous, and the realization makes him relax. If you're just as anxious as he is, then maybe this will be okay. "Busy."

"You should take a break."

"I will when you will,” you counter, raising an eyebrow.

He can’t help but smirk at the challenge in your tone. You'd always been like this, hadn't you? Teasing him, trying to get a reaction out of him. But now, it seemed more deliberate, and the thought that you might be trying to get his attention sends a thrill through him.

"I could be persuaded," he murmurs. The words are bolder than anything he'd ever said to you before, and the surprise on your face makes him smirk.

"Oh, really?"

"Mhmm."

"Good to know," you grin. You lean forward, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, and there's a mischievous glint in your eye that makes his mouth go dry. "You should give me some ideas."

"Ideas?"

"Yeah," you tease. You wink at him, and his pulse jumps. "I'm open to suggestions."

"Suggestions," he repeats, his voice faint.

"Mm-hmm."

"Well," he says, clearing his throat. He shifts in his seat, the armor suddenly feeling too tight. Your eyes are fixed on his, and the intensity of your gaze makes him squirm. "I suppose we could—"

"Here you go!"

The droid interrupts him, and the plates of food are placed in front of the two of you. You sit up, the moment broken, and Fox takes the opportunity to collect himself. What had he been about to say? What had you wanted him to say?

The conversation moves back to the subject of the proposal, and Fox listens as you explain the details. You're enthusiastic, and passionate, and the more you talk, the more his heart warms.

You were perfect, weren't you? Perfect for him, and the longer he spends with you, the more he realizes it. He watches you eat, your eyes sparkling, and he can't look away. He doesn't want to. He could listen to you talk forever, could spend the rest of his life sitting across from you, watching you, listening to you.

He can't stop himself from imagining what it would be like to have you around all the time, to spend the nights with you instead of alone. It would be nice, he thinks, to have someone to come home to, someone who would make him feel warm, and wanted, and safe. You'd do that, wouldn't you? If he asked. If he said the right things, if he made the right moves.

You would, he realizes, his heart racing.

"So, what do you think?" you ask, and the question snaps him back to the present.

“What?”

"Do you think the Chancellor would approve the funding?"

"Oh," he murmurs, blinking. He takes a sip of his drink and clears his throat. "I already talked to him about it, actually."

"You did?" You look surprised, and his chest puffs up a little. The fact that you're impressed by his efforts makes him feel smug. "When?"

"A few days ago," he admits, shrugging. “And again when you called this morning. I told him how important it was to the city, and the refugees, and he agreed to review the proposal."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's..." You trail off, your expression stunned. You let out a relieved sigh and sit back in your chair. "That's...wow. That's incredible."

"He was intrigued," Fox explains. "Especially after I told him how hard you were working on it. He wanted me to thank you for your efforts, and for your commitment."

That was an understatement. The Chancellor had been delighted to hear about your plan, and his enthusiasm had surprised Fox. The man had seemed genuinely impressed by your initiative, and he'd promised Fox that he'd look into it personally. Fox had thanked him, but he was still a little stunned.

It was rare that the Chancellor showed so much interest in something like this, and he wondered if there was an ulterior motive. But, the man had always been kind to him, and the praise had made him feel proud, so he'd decided not to question it.

He was far too occupied with picturing the look on your face when you heard the news, anyway.

"That's...wow," you murmur. There are tears in your eyes, and the expression on your face is so happy, so hopeful, that he can't help but smile. "That's amazing. You’re amazing."

The compliment makes his cheeks burn. You're looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and the adoration in your gaze makes his stomach flutter. He's never had anyone look at him like that before, and the rush of affection that follows is dizzying.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours, and your eyes widen. The look on your face is vulnerable, and sweet, and he wants to kiss you so badly that he has to clench his jaw to keep from leaning forward and taking what he wants.

"It was nothing," he says, his voice low. He squeezes your hand, and you bite your lip, your eyes dropping to his mouth. "You're the one who put in the work."

"I couldn't have done it without you," you murmur, and you squeeze his hand in return. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he promises, and the emotion in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat. You look away, blinking back tears, and the moment passes, leaving the two of you in a comfortable silence.

Fox lets go of your hand and grabs his sandwich. He takes a bite and watches you eat, a fond smile on his face. You're staring out the window, a thoughtful expression on your face, and the glow of the city lights makes you look even more beautiful than usual. The feeling of warmth spreads through him, and the knowledge that he's responsible for the joy on your face fills him with satisfaction.

You turn and meet his gaze, and the look in your eyes is enough to make his heart stop.

"What?" you ask, grinning.

"Nothing," he murmurs, his cheeks heating up. He looks down at his food, but not before catching the way your face falls. "I'm just..." He trails off, trying to find the right words. "I'm glad I met you."

"Oh," you breathe. The softness in your voice makes him look up, and the smile on your face is bright enough to blind him. "I'm glad I met you, too."

He smiles back, and the two of you fall silent, returning to your meals. The noise of the diner surrounds them, and Fox finds himself relaxing, a contentment filling him. He's enjoying the moment, the peace, and he's surprised by how happy he is. For once, his mind isn't racing, his thoughts aren't plagued by the stress of his duties. There's only you, and the sound of your laughter, and the scent of lavender that fills his lungs every time he inhales.

And for a brief moment, a fleeting second, Fox is almost able to believe that everything is going to be alright.

It doesn’t last.

You’re in the middle of telling him a story about one of your coworkers, and he's listening, enraptured by the sound of your voice, when his comm beeps. He ignores it, too caught up in the moment to care, and it goes silent.

But then it beeps again, and then again, and he sighs, giving you an apologetic look.

"Hold on a second," he mutters.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's just—"

Fox freezes, his eyes drifting over your shoulder to look out the window. It’s late, and the street outside should be emptying out, but there's a crowd of people moving outside. They’re pointing and backing away, and the murmuring of their voices is filled with panic. His skin prickles, and a sense of unease fills him. Something's wrong. Very, very wrong.

"Fox," you murmur.

He stands abruptly, grabbing his helmet from the booth and jamming it onto his head. People are starting to run past the windows, and the screams outside are getting louder. 

“Stay here,” he orders, and his voice is cold, the tone he uses when he's on duty. You blink, clearly surprised by the sudden change in his demeanor, but you don't protest, and he heads for the door.

Before he can make it far, there’s a rumbling under his feet, and the building shakes. The lights flicker, and the tables rattle, and the patrons let out panicked cries. Fox turns back and sees you standing, looking around in confusion.

"Get down!" he yells, and he crosses the room, reaching you in a few strides. He grabs your arm and drags you under a table, shielding you with his body. He presses your head into his chest, holding you close. Your arms wrap around him, and the two of you huddle there, the sounds of screams and panic filling the air.

"What's happening?" you ask, your voice shaking.

"I don't know."

There's another rumble, and the building shakes again. You tighten your grip on him, and he presses his head against yours, trying to comfort you. The lights flicker once more, and then go out, plunging the diner into darkness. A few people let out panicked cries, and then the building shudders, and a horrible, grating sound fills the air.

The following silence is deafening.

"Are you okay?" Fox asks as his hands move from your back to your face, tilting your head up.

"Yeah, I think so," you murmur. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, his heart pounding, and he keeps his hand there as he activates his comm. "What about you?"

"I'm fine."

The line opens, and a cacophony of voices fills his ears. The noise is chaotic, and it takes a moment for him to understand what's happening.

“—can’t get ahold of him—"

"—need to evacuate the area, there could be more—"

"Thire, Stone," Fox barks. "Report."

"Sir, we've got multiple detonations at Level 5000,” Thire replies, his voice strained. "They knocked out the entire grid."

"Casualties?"

"Unknown, sir."

Fox swears under his breath, and you press closer to him, your grip tightening. A targeted attack on the power grid was no accident, and the implications of that fact send a shiver down his spine. This is exactly what they'd been worried about, what he'd warned the Chancellor about. But he'd never expected it to happen so quickly, or so suddenly.

"Thorn and the others are evacuating the Senate building," Stone informs him. "The Chancellor is sending out an emergency message."

"What about the security teams at the station?" Fox asks.

"We're trying to get ahold of them," Thire says, his tone grim. "There's too much interference."

“I’m on my way. Stay alert, we might have more coming our way."

"Copy that, sir."

"Be careful," Stone warns. “And…sorry for interrupting your date."

Fox rolls his eyes and cuts the connection. He sits up, and the two of you scramble out from under the table. The other patrons are doing the same, and there's a general sense of panic and chaos in the air. Fox reaches down and helps you stand.

"Fox," you breathe, and your voice is trembling.

"It's okay," he assures you, though he's not sure it's true. "I’m gonna get you somewhere safe."

“My apartment is near here," you offer. "If we can make it there."

"We'll make it," Fox promises. "Stay close to me."

"I will," you murmur, and he turns and strides towards the exit, keeping one hand wrapped around yours. The crowd outside has thinned, and the streets are filled with debris and broken glass. You look up at the sky, your eyes widening.

"Fox," you whisper, squeezing his hand.

The clouds are glowing, streaks of red and orange flashing across them. There are fires burning throughout the city, the flames leaping from rooftop to rooftop, and the smoke billows into the air, blanketing the sky. Sirens blare in the distance, and the air is filled with screams and shouts and alarms. It's a scene from his nightmares, a vision of his worst fears realized, and the reality is far worse than he'd ever imagined.

“Come on," Fox orders, pulling you along. "Stay with me."

"Okay," you murmur. Your voice shakes, and he tightens his grip on you, not wanting to lose you. You're his responsibility now, his to protect, and he can't afford to make any mistakes.

The two of you run through the streets, weaving between the groups of people hurrying past. There are civilians everywhere, their eyes wide with fear, their faces smeared with ash and blood. You're moving as fast as you can, but the crowds are thick, and the debris on the ground makes it difficult to navigate.

A group of people runs past, knocking into the two of you, and Fox stumbles, his grip on you slipping.

"Watch it!" he yells, steadying himself. You grab his arm, your hands digging into his armor, and he pulls you close, trying to shield you from the chaos. You're pressed against his chest, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "I've got you," he breathes. "I've got you."

The next few minutes pass in a blur. Fox does his best to guide you through the crowds, his focus narrowing to the path ahead. His only concern is keeping you safe, and his body reacts without him even thinking. He doesn't hesitate as he guides you down dark alleys, his eyes constantly searching for danger.

Finally, the two of you reach your apartment building. It's quieter here, the streets deserted, and the sight of your building, standing tall and undamaged, is a relief. He lets out a breath and turns to face you.

"This is it," you manage. You're shaking, your face pale, and he cups your cheek, tilting your head up.

"Hey.” He strokes his thumb over your skin, and the look on your face breaks his heart. "It's gonna be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, and he reaches up and pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. You let out a shaky breath, your hands clutching his shoulders, and the intimacy of the gesture sends a rush of affection through him. "I promise."

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Of course," he replies. The two of you stand there for a moment, your breaths mingling, and then Fox pulls back. He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin, and you let out a shaky sigh. "Get inside."

"Okay," you murmur, nodding. "Be careful."

"I will," he promises. He gives you a small smile, and then replaces his helmet, and you blink, as if waking from a dream. 

"Stay inside," he orders, his tone stern. "Lock the doors, and don't open them for anyone but me.”

"Alright."

"Comm me if you need anything," he adds, and the concern in his voice is clear, even through his vocoder. "I'll come back to check on you when I can."

"I'll be waiting," you whisper, and the promise in your voice makes his heart race.

He gives you one last look, his eyes roaming over your face, memorizing every detail. Then, before he can do something stupid, like take his bucket off again and try to kiss you, he turns and walks away.

"Be safe, Fox."

"You too."

And with that, you disappear through the doors, and Fox heads back into the chaos, his heart in his throat.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

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[always-just-red]

hello hi! ik the fandom mostly favors interactions between LIs & MCs/Readers but i was wondering if you have your own ideas between the LADS boys like friendship headcanons between them? how their dynamic works and which would be the best bros with each other or strongest siblings rivalry vibes between them (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

hopefully this is alright to request! 🙏🏻

Hi!! That's totally alright, I've seen so many good takes on this already and I love a good character analysis, so would love to weigh in! I waited to answer this since I was actually working on this fic when you sent it, and that's got all the guys interacting, so check it out if you're interested! 🥰

Disclaimer: These are all my personal headcanons! I'm not the authority on the boys and their characterisations, nor do I claim to be, so pls be respectful if you disagree with anything!

Ok so!

I can see Rafayel and Sylus getting on well once they're more familiar with each-other (though maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part).

I think Sy would honestly force Raf to confront a lot of his own insecurities? After all, Sy seems a lot more comfortable in who he is-- he's got that self-assuredness and charm that we all know Raf has to put more conscious effort into portraying. Whilst we don't know the extent of his past, Sylus has clearly made peace with the fact that he has to do bad things sometimes, whereas Rafayel still seems to have a lot of inner conflict around his actions, morality and identity.

I imagine Raf resenting Sy a little at first and so acting out a bit, trying to one-up him etc, and Sy being Sy, I think he'd probably rise to the challenge (he could be the bigger man, but like, where's the fun in that??)

Sylus is smart, so I think he'd probably realise pretty quickly that Rafayel is masking. They've both been through a lot, and once they see that in each-other there'd be a mutual respect I hope. Plus they probably have common enemies?? So if they can both get over the instinct to lone-wolf it, that's one kick-ass team ready to go (and I will be SEATED, ready to enjoy the view!!!)

If the guys are all out together, Zayne's probably gonna take it upon himself to be mediator, care-taker etc, especially as I think he'd be the one to read between the lines and notice if any of the others are struggling (e.g. if Rafayel's getting worn out in a social setting).

At first, it would be because they're MCs friends! He knows she cares about them, so he's gonna be looking out for them all. But he needs a break! So once they're all more familiar, I can see the others trying to coax him into relaxing and letting his guard down a bit, and he'll appreciate that! (But he will keep one eye on the ball because, like, imagine Raf coming up to you and saying 'I've got this, you can totally trust me' like you would have a med-team on standby, y'know?)

I think Sylus and Zayne would naturally have a bit of rivalry in terms of authority, but it would be light-hearted. There's an ongoing debate around who MC left in charge (Zayne) but there's only one person who's actually convinced by that debate (Sylus). He's gonna assume leadership position anyway, and Zayne lets him get away with it to a specific extent, unless it crosses a line, and then it quickly becomes clear who the real leader is.

Xavier!! I can see Xavier being the 'quiet one' of the group who secretly has a lot more sway than any of them realise. The others are super comfortable around him, especially Zayne when he actually wants to relax, or Rafayel when his social battery is dead. But! Xavier's no push-over, and that quickly becomes apparent in any conflict.

I actually think Sylus would enjoy stoking Xavier's darker side (if Xavier gets involved in an argument you best believe Sylus has the popcorn ready) and that the two would make pretty good sparring partners. They'd have fun with the whole Hunter's Association vs Onychinus thing, similar to the MC/Sylus dynamic.

But at the end of the day?

There's a reason we love the boys-- they're all good guys, and whatever conflicts there are, they're gonna figure it out for MC's sake. They've all been through so much, and they're all selfless in their love for MC, so that's always gonna be something they can relate to and appreciate in each-other.

And I think they could all benefit from more genuine friends?

So yeah! That's my take! I know I love angst but I'm choosing to be an optimist, mostly because I love the found-family trope and I wanna see the boys getting up to sitcom-type shenanigans! 😭😭😭

[lottielovelace]

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity and name [Elise Veidt]), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe. 

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please do newt (platonic/familial) with a younger sibling who makes/mends close and personality wise is similar to Luz from TOH? Thank you! :D

yesyesyesyesyesywsyes omg please keep the maze runner requests coming I'm very very fixated atm kdk how to function, PLEASE SPAM ME W TMR REQS RJNENE ; anyways thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; post writing robin here, I tried with the personality like Luz but I struggled for some reason so I'm so sorry about that LMAO

NEWT ; clothing maker/mender

summary ; you make and mend clothing around the Glade, and Newt is somehow always there to help

warnings ; language, Newt is still a runner so pre-injury era

genre ; platonic fluff

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

The day you came up in the box, you were frightened and felt like you didn't fit in with the other kids of the Glade. You were socially awkward and didn't know how to talk to people, although being a people pleaser.

Talking was just hard for you, but luckily, Newt understood. He tucked you under his wing and tried to help you fit in with the others, but to no avail. Nothing was sticking out to you, it wasn't like jobs were supposed to be enjoyable but you truly couldn't fit in anywhere. The fifteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair was there for you, though, reassuring you that actually becoming a Glader, even after remembering your name, took time.

Becoming a Runner was off the table at day one, you had zero stamina and could barely run for shit, let alone your life, you and Newt, and Alby, Minho, and the other Runners quickly agreed upon that. Being a Builder was quickly eliminated as well, because you didn't want to deal with obnoxious assholes like Gally, Hank, and Alec all day long. Plus, you knew nothing about "structural integrity" or whatever the hell they were talking about anyways, wood to hammer to nail was all you saw.

You quickly gained a friendship with Winston after a month or two in the Glade, but no way in Hell were you joining the Slicers either. You'd gain an emotional attachment to the animals much too quickly to then watch them die, the emotional despair would be a bit much at the moment. Bagger was also off the charts, leaving Med-Jack and Track-Hoe on the table for you.

Newt wasn't going to let you become a Slopper, considering you weren't bad at helping people nor farming, you just had to find your thing that you'd be comfortable doing. So, you settled on Track-Hoe as they needed more help in the gardens and you wouldn't mind getting your hands dirty, with dirt, that is. No blood.

You found, or maybe relearned, your nick for sewing one morning as you needed to repair your shirt, and ran straight to Newt with your new talent. After seeing it himself, Newt quickly bounced to Alby's side to ask if you could make mending and making clothes your job. You hadn't had any luck finding a job out of the many in the Glade, clearly, so this might've been your luck turning.

The next coming days were slow. Thankfully, Alby approved your idea of a new job, considering you and Newt wouldn't stop pestering him about it, and it'd be a great convenience to have you around for something as necessary as clothing. The builders graciously built you a little hut next to the Homestead to give you your own little place to go and work, instead of working around the Glade and potentially dirty-ing the clothes you fixed and made.

The hut consisted of a table, a loom, a hanging rack for finished projects, and a little chest system organized by all the threads, needles, etcetera. Alas, Newt was the one to help you with your new job on days when he wasn't running out in the maze. Minho switched him out with Ben or George on those days as per his request, as to help you learn how to talk to and understand the Gladers, whom you didn't understand too well yet.

But, by the time the next Greenie, Henry, arrived, you were right on track. You modeled and measured and patched and sewed your days away, finding peace in the seemingly boring activity. And by this time, Newt had become your brother figure and your best friend, considering how much he understood and supported you and helped you get some great opportunities around the Glade. And now, you were the Keeper of the Seamers, the only worker, but still the Keeper.

After a long day of running in the maze with Minho, Newt jogs to your expansion of the Homestead, desiring your help.

"Hey, Shank" He warmly smiles, closing the door made of sticks behind him. "How's your day been?"

You shrug in response. "Slow. Need me to fix anything for you?"

He awkwardly smiles and nods, looking down at his knees. His cargo pants are ripped, and the skin beneath painted a light red in comparison to his pale complexion, rug burns covering his kneecaps.

"Tripped and fell out in the maze" He explains, "Just don't want them falling apart because it kinda trailed 'round to the back" He says, tracing the little rips around his knees.

You nod. "I mean, the best solution would be keeping them like that or turning them into shorts for hot days. But I know the maze is cold and stuff, so, your call. I don't wanna ruin your running pants but I can always scrounge up new ones, and the next Greenie will be up in two days so it wouldn't be that long of a wait-"

"I'll just keep them ripped" He lightly smiles, cutting your rant off.

He knew damn well to not let you spiral over something so little, so he developed the radar to sniff out when you were about to rant about small things for an hour out of panic. He pats your shoulder before sitting down next to you, looking over at the rack of finished clothing you'd patched up and finished making.

"Oh, were you able to finish that shirt you were making for yourself?" He asks, running a hand through his hair.

Lord, he needed a haircut, although the best method of that was knives, which made it all choppy and blunt. Hopefully, WCKD would send up some cutting shears or something soon. All of your hair needed a cut desperately.

You nod, setting your needle and thread down to go grab it. You pull it off the rack and hold it to your chest. A simple, thin, off white, long sleeved shirt rests against your torso as you cheesily smile at him.

"Looks good"

"Thanks" You put the shirt back on the rack, deciding to put it back in the Homestead near your hammock later.

Newt was usually very supportive and went out of his way to show appreciation and reassurance for you, though making it casual to actually feel real for you. Once he found out that he needed to speak with you like that after reassuring that you'd live without rain, he learned the lesson.

Before you can speak again, Ben runs in, looking for your help.

"Y/n, I ripped up the sleeve of my shirt, can you fix it?" He asks, holding the grey-blue shirt up for you to see

"Yeah, sure, leave it on that table" You reply, pointing at the table in front of you.

"Thanks, you're the best!" He says, setting the shirt on the table before leaving.

Newt looks up at you and smiles, "You're getting used to talking to people, I see"

You nod, catching his infectious smile.

"Welcome to the Glade, Y/n/n"

[stellarbit]

i have a kinda strange ask.

so i have severe insomnia. i've done sleep studies and meds but sometimes i just CANNOT sleep, even as bad as multiple days no sleep. doctors and i are still working on a fix. it's a fucking nightmare (except i can't have nightmares if im not asleep, can i???)

i'm a very calm, quiet, logical, and collected person except when i can't sleep. then i'm a crying and genuinely insane wreck.

i would absolutely LOVE if you could do some kind of Crosshair x female reader with some kind of scenario like this. it would make me feel better. Like maybe he didn't see her sleep the previous night and finds her still awake at like 3am the next night and this normally stoic girl is just an absolute unhinged psychotic mess and he has to fix it 🤷🏻‍♀️

idk how far ur willing to go (leaving it up to you) but just as a general idea as to how i (and many other people with this problem) get without sleep, i can get kinda violent, super snippy with people, can't stop crying, impulsive, physically sick sometimes, and don't always sound coherent or refuse to listen to people even if they're trying to help me. it's not a fun mental state to be in.

i'm never sleeping so i might as well read your literature (it's like a nightly ritual i love your stuff)

thank you 🙏

I know what it's like. Insomnia kicks my ass occasionally and it wrecks me and takes days of my life away before I can finally sleep. I hope you find some rest buddy <3 alsothankyouforthecomplimentjfc

give this a listen while you read

Just Lay With Me

Word Count: 1.5k Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader SFW Warnings: insomnia kicking your ass all the way to next Sunday Summary: After a long bout of no sleep, you break and Crosshair is there to pick up the pieces. gif credit: @moonstrider9904

Sleep evaded you more and more often lately. Your new normal was turning into nights without more than an hour of dozing off. Nights that stretched into a week at a time with an occasional night of sleep, however restless. This time around the sleepless nights were quickly working their way to a month’s stretch.

After a few nights of frequently waking, two rotations went by without so much as a blink of sleep. At this point you weren’t just delirious, nausea turned your stomach and your head throbbed constantly. Every sound jarred you, pushing you to the brink of crying each time. 

Unable to string together more than a few coherent thoughts at a time, you’d planned on avoiding town the next. You were liable to snap at the smallest slight, but even in this state you knew it wasn’t fair to others.

By the time Crosshair came to find you, you were well beyond your limit.

Crosshair noticed your erratic behavior first. You’d snapped at Omega when she and Crosshair bumped into you on the street. Crosshair tried to stop you from walking off but you bit his head off too.

It was unlike you. Ordinarily, you were composed and rational—characteristics that had faded as your sleepless nights dragged on.

Your increasingly disheveled look became Crosshair’s next worry. You didn’t preen by any stretch of the imagination, but you took care of yourself and it always showed. Now, your skin took on a dull hue, your hair greasy and untamed, and dark circles gave your eyes a sunken appearance.

The night before he and Omega ran into you, Crosshair had noticed a light on in your home around 2 AM. Knowing you weren't typically up at that hour, he found it strange. The following evening, as he lay in bed, thoughts of your earlier encounter in town filled his mind. With a growing suspicion, he rose and stepped out to the patio. From there, he could see a dim light shining from your bedroom window.

He knew what insomnia looked like, had fought with it himself after being trapped on that Kaminoan platform, and didn’t want to push you if his suspicions were true. 

Then, the sound of glass shattering from your home shattered his hesitation. He leapt over the patio railing, his feet barely touching the ground as he dashed toward your house. Fortunately, your door was unlocked—an issue he noted to address later—and he entered your home in seconds.. 

He didn’t call out for you, instead choosing to quietly make his way through your space, tiptoeing through scattered blankets and clothes strewn over furniture. When he found you, you were on your kitchen floor, hunched over with your hands fisting your hair. 

Soft heaves shook your body as you rocked in place. Broken glass surrounded you, making the situation even more delicate.

Crosshair had been right, you hadn’t been sleeping.

Knowing there was no good way to break the silence, Crosshair softly called your name. Sure enough, you jumped hard and nearly slid onto a shard of glass.

Crosshair lurched forward to steady you by your upper arm only for you to rip out of his grip. You whipped your head around, hair falling in your face in a deranged look. It fit seeing as you certainly felt deranged. 

The sniper’s eyes were uncharacteristically soft, with brows slightly raised and shoulders relaxed. It felt like pity. Red hot shame flooded your system, sending you shuffling like a newborn fawn to your feet. 

In a harsh, hoarse voice you lashed out, “What are you doing here?”

Crosshair glanced at the mess around you.“Your lights were on and I heard something break.” You didn’t answer leaving only heavy silence between you. Crosshair sighed, looking back at you. “You’re not sleeping, are you?”

There wasn’t enough air for you to answer, your breath hitched into small gasps as tears warped your vision. Dipping your head back, you managed to blink back some of the wet from your eyes. With a determined shake of your head, you cleared your voice and firmly said, “I’m fine.” 

A line in the sand between you - a desperate claim to control something, anything.

His eyes on you, those sharp, all seeing, critical eyes, made your skin crawl. Not him specifically, but him seeing you as you were. This wasn’t how you wanted him to see you. Unable to stop the uncomfortable squirm that rolled through you, you waved both hands at him as if to ward him off.

“Please just leave.” Your voice was pleading, your eyes blinking furiously. 

“I’m not doing that.” Crosshair said gently. You weren’t sure if your tears, the lighting, or reality itself made Crosshair look so hazy.

Perhaps this was the next step into delirium. The thought widened your eyes with newfound fear. He’d appeared so suddenly - was he even real? Crosshair narrowed a worried look on you as a fresh, sickening feeling gripped you, spurring you back a step. Right onto a shard of glass.

You cried out, nearly collapsing, but Crosshair was quick to support you, preventing you from falling completely. The pain shooting through your foot crumbled your remaining resolve.

Crosshair swept an arm under your knees to scoop you into his arms. He hugged you close, even as you thrashed against him in fits of sobbing. He carried you to the bathroom and carefully set you on the edge of the tub.

Despite the sobs, you let Crosshair put your injured foot under the tap and rinse the blood still seeping from your wound. He felt the tremors wracking your body as he angled your foot towards him. Luckily the shard was sticking out enough that removing it would be easy enough under normal circumstances.

“I have to pull the shard out.” Crosshair said as inspected your foot. A choked sob pulled his eyes to your face again. Your lips wobbled in a devastated frown on your blotchy tear stained face.

Seeing you so fragile or haunted tore something in him knowing he could do little more than sit and watch you fall apart.

In an exhausted whisper, you confessed, “I’m so tired, Cross.”

“I know,” He whispered back and removed the shard in one swift pull.

Crosshair put your foot under the tepid water again, simultaneously pulling a towel from the rack beside him. As he dried your foot and applied pressure to the wound, he decided to share something.

“When the empire recovered me from the Kaminoan platform…” He paused on a deep breath. He hadn’t even told his brothers or Omega, but if he could do nothing else he hoped he could at least make you feel less alone.

Crosshair gently pulled you by your leg and pivoted you out of the tub. Braving vulnerability, he knelt in front of you and said, “I… I didn’t sleep for a long time. I don’t know how long, exactly, but long enough that I had to be sedated.” He smoothed a hand over your knee, adding, “I know what it’s like.”

You gave a small nod, focusing on regulating your breathing, too overwhelmed to speak. Sensing your need for comfort, Crosshair whispered, “Can I carry you to bed?” His tone was gentle, mindful not to startle you.

Your head fell forward in shame. Pressing a hand over your eyes you shook your head and mumbled, “It’s a mess.”

Crosshair couldn’t help the soft snort that came from him, drawing your head back up. A questioning, almost offended, look came over you. Crosshair didn’t ask for further permission as he came in close to you and lifted you with him. 

“You should see Tech’s room.” He teased, his breath warm on your cheek. “And he sleeps whenever he likes.”

The small joke did manage to lift your lips and you found some comfort in the cadence of his steps. He’d not yet gone this far for you. No one ever had. 

Crosshair crawled into bed with you still in his arms, pushing into your tousled duvet and placing you next to him. Leaning across you, he murmured an apology and froze before turning your light out.

Peering down past his arm at you, he swallowed before asking, “Do you mind if I stay with you?”

You didn’t think it was possible, but a small smile warbled over you. You hummed out an affirmative and rolled towards, rubbing your face into the soft fabric of his shirt. Crosshair chuckled under his breath and turned off the light.

He slid in next to you, sitting at an angle that his arms cradle around you. His made lazy trails over your back

“The kitchen-” you started.

“Tomorrow.” Crosshair cut you off. “For now, just lay with me.”

In the quiet hour, in your messy bed, in Crosshair’s arms you finally found rest.

[prentissluvr]

sam would be the best boyfriend when ur on ur period, he’d immediately know what to do, he’d go to the store and buy you what ever pads and/or tampons you need, snacks, everything. there’d definitely be a time where he’d make a little gift basket out of the stuff and it’s just so cute. he fills you a hot water bottle, lets you braid his hair (he claims to not like it but he deffo does), he lays your head like where his bellybutton is and plays with your hair whilst talking to you in a velvety voice and gives you so many cuddles and tells you how beautiful you are if you get bloated or breakout or anything and gives you lots of kisses on your body wherever you’re comfortable with it

-💽

babydoll you sent this at the perfect time!! because i just got my period yesterday lolll so i was totally thinking about this <33

tw mentions of throwing up, passing out, and overall bad period pain rip lol

i like to think about how younger sam had almost no idea about periods. he probably heard things here and there about it whenever he was able to be in school, maybe even learned about it on his own because he's a curious, intelligent, and kind sweet boy!! but he's never very close with an afab person until he meets jess. he's naturally sweet and caring, so he learns quickly with her.

so when he's with you, he's ready and prepared to be the best boyfriend in the world. he learns what you need specifically and what you like best and it ingrains it in his memory!! (crying i know this isn't about samjess but everything is about samjess to me, so i'm thinking about the fact that he still remembers what jess liked the most :((( sobbing . like what if the first time you text him to pick up pads or something, he unconsciously grabs the kind she'd buy before remembering he can just ask what you want. he probably knows your favorite candies by then, so he doesn't think to grab jess's, but he does remember. i just love them a lot SORRY) ANYWAYS !!!

i'm crying at the idea of sam only letting you braid his hair when you're on your period because you'll get upset if he doesn't LOL but that he secretly really likes it and would totally let you do it any other time if you ask him sweetly enough. (he's down bad and will do anything that you want. he caves so easy). and he like. feels like he should be playing with your hair instead, but he knows that playing with his hair calms you so he just sits there in utter contentment like. wow i'm soooo in love with them :,)

AGH laying on his belly makes me so :(((( that's when he gets to play with your hair to relax you <3 wahhh and i'm crying about how assuring he is with you <333 he's so so incredibly sweet and just pours on the compliments when he knows that you need them. so so so many kisses!!!

and on the topic of laying on tummies <3 for some people, pressure makes cramps feel better. and i just imagine sam absolutely melting and wanting to CRY at how in love and endeared he is with you if you ask him to lay his head on your tummy to help with the pain. while he's there, he'll tell stories and gently massage your legs or just lightly rub over your sweet skin <3

speaking of massages i think he's the bEST at giving them!! his hands are so big, which helps massively, and then his touch is so gentle, yet steady and it is just so completely soothing <3 he loves being able to take even a little bit of your pain away. and he hatesss to see you in any pain he's so :((( so he does everything in his power to make it as bearable as he can!!!

ofc everyone has different experiences with their periods, but i know that in the hunting context, i personally would have such a shit ass time with my period because i doubt it'd be too easy to get birth control to tame my horrible cramps. so i think about how concerned sammy is when he realizes just how bad it can get :( headcanon that jess probably got pretty bad period cramps too but i can imagine she had access to birth control or meds to help out, so when he sees you in so so much pain he's so so worried :((

he feels soo so awful seeing you throw up or get faint or even pass out from the pain because he knows he can't fix it. so instead he's just so so caring and soft and perfect about it. especially if it gets this bad for you, he's extra careful to keep track of your period to make sure that you're never going to be doing anything strenuous during that time. if you're in pain while on the road, he gets in the back seat with you to hold you and put his warm hands on your belly until you can stop at the nearest gas station to get you a hot water bottle or something for the pain. he's perfect and i love him so much and i need need need him to take care of me while i'm on my period lol

[grapementos]

night terrors

aged up bakugo x reader

cw: night terrors

bakugo doesn't sleep with more than one blanket or pillow. when he's persuaded into participating in halloween, he refuses to wear a full-face mask.

covid was a nightmare for him. he didn't go outside when he didn't have to, which meant plenty of grocery deliveries. masks triggered his anxiety to the fullest, but of course he wore it when he absolutely had to leave the house.

now, you had plenty of opinions and reservations about u.a. and the hero commission, most of them comprised of colorful language and a world full of screaming until you're red in the face.

they ruined not only bakugo, but so many other teenagers that thought they were doing the right thing. they thought they were training to become admirable role models, people who were going to be trained to use their unique gifts to save and protect people. they thought they were going to become heroes.

instead, all they got was ptsd and a handful of other mental illnesses that left them in therapy, on meds, or with debilitating night terrors.

bakugo unfortunately suffered from frequent night terrors. despite therapy and going on 3 years of being medicated for his anxiety, he still woke you up in the middle of the night with throat-ripping screams.

sometimes, you'd find him in the corner, screaming at you to get away, stop, leave him alone. it was heartbreaking.

-

some days you could gauge when he was going to have an episode. his hands were shakier, eyes unfocused, and his mind was just elsewhere.

today, he was exactly like that, only worse. you could tell his brain was all over the place, and you hated it. you hated how his brain turned against him and forced him to think the worst, most painful thoughts. it bound him to his worst memories, forcing him to relive his them over and over. his own brain.

you did everything you could to assuage the brain fog. you made him tea in the mornings, kept the house tidy, and tried to keep him from performing any heavy tasks. it was difficult, considering he didn't much fancy being helped or taken care of. when it was you, though, he let you.

after a particularly difficult day, the two of you settled into bed together, silent as you faced each other, gazing in silence.

"i'm scared." he whispered, finally breaking the silence.

just a look in his eyes was all it took for you to know it was true. he was terrified.

you placed your hand on his cheek, caressing your thumb over the skin, "i know. it's okay to be scared."

he shook his head, squeezing your hand. he squeezed his eyes shut, breaths quickening as he thought about the idea of sleeping. sleeping wasn't kind to him, and he knew it, because he never, never slept well.

"hey, hey, just breathe, okay?" you breathed deeply to set an example, one slow inhale preceding a lengthy exhale, "like that."

he followed your example, slowly relaxing his features, "yeah, yeah, okay."

"i know you're scared," you whispered, "but no matter what, i'm here. no matter what monster you see, no matter who's out to get you, you're going to open your eyes and it's gonna be me. it'll always be me."

he nodded, wordlessly, and scooted into your waiting arms.

-

you slept lightly since living with bakugo. that's what made it so easy for you to identify the earliest signs of his episode.

every shift in the bed, every ruffle of the sheets, you were stirring.

so when he sat up, you were half-awake. his steps fully woke you.

you shot up to a sitting position, watching carefully as he stood still for a moment.

"baby?" you whispered, scooting over to the edge of the bed.

no response. he walked over to the center of the room, going stiff.

"kats?"

just as you called out to him, he let out the most throat ripping scream you'd heard.

you jumped on the spot, blood going cold as the shriek reached your ears. your hands shook as you took your first step on the bed, careful to not get too near.

he faced you, eyes open but unseeing. they were glazed over, looking right through you with the most fear-filled eyes you'd ever seen. he was terrified, looking at you as if you had a knife in your hand and a slasher theme following you wherever you went.

"get away!" he screeched, staggering backwards, "get the fuck away!"

your heart shattered at his words, but you knew it wasn't about you. you sucked up your fear, your sadness, and took a deep breath to ground yourself.

"okay, okay. i'm sorry," you spoke calmly, sitting down on the floor cross-legged, "i didn't mean to scare you."

your voice still wavered, still shook with the fear you definitely felt.

he didn't seem to hear you, but your smaller presence seemed to make him feel less threatened.

he was grunting, groaning, crying. his stance was defensive, ready to defend. those hero instincts that he learned as a teenager, the need to protect himself because he was always, always in danger, never left.

that always scared you. the possibility of him activating his quirk and using it on you. but being hurt isn't what scared you--it was the guilt you know he'd feel. you were terrified of him leaving you because he thought he was a danger, or too much to handle. that couldn't be farther from the truth.

you just watched, at least five feet away from his shaking form. you wouldn't touch him, wouldn't yell or panic. you'd just watch, occasionally whispering some affirmations.

it took a while for him to calm down, to stop yelling and crying. about ten minutes later, his eyes went blank again and he walked himself back to the bed and laid down.

you followed him with your gaze and pushed yourself up with a soft sigh. after a moment of processing, you grabbed a water from the kitchen and set it on his nightstand.

you checked him once more to make sure he was comfortably asleep before taking your place next to him.

you watched his face, scanning it for any signs of discomfort or anxiety. nothing. as if it had never happened.

you kissed his forehead, "i'm so sorry, my love. i hope things won't always be like this."

ngl, i have so many opinions on all the trauma these poor kids have gone through, but i like to avoid discourse at all costs. also, i had to do some research on night terrors, so i hope i wasn't too far off.

[calware]

post about me. i added pictures to keep it interesting

i've had a problem for most of my life that i'm currently visualizing as a gray dorito poking into me. it's frustrating, inconvenient, difficult to deal with, and overall makes everything suck a little. many people have told me that this problem is most likely adhd, such as my therapist in high school who said it was "textbook." unfortunately, she was just a therapist, not a psychiatrist, and therefore wasn't actually qualified to diagnose me with anything. this was in 2021 when there were no child psychiatrists in my area accepting new patients (thanks, covid), so instead my doctor gave me a few adhd meds at differing doses to see if any of them stuck (i had literally no reaction to Any of them) and the whole thing went nowhere

so, is the problem actually adhd? i'm an adult now and could pay several hundred dollars (of my parent's money) to get a proper test, but it would make no difference as my issues would not be solved by adhd medication (maybe. i'm worried i somehow messed it up) or any form of accommodations. i don't want to ask my parents to pay for something that likely won't have much impact (and my mom wouldn't be fully convinced anyway. both parents are pretty sure there's nothing wrong with me). i want to know, but the time and money don't justify it. so the best solution i have is to keep going, keep learning which lifestyle changes to make and how to "work smarter". i'll be okay. and i say that with sincerity

whoops, forgot my glasses here. this is another gray dorito-shaped problem, only this one is much smaller. i rarely notice it, and when i do, it's superficial. it's only gotten genuinely bad twice in my life. it's my paranoia, obsessiveness, and, on occasion, compulsions that follow those obsessions. now, i know what you're thinking, which is that it kind of sounds like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. frankly, from my understanding, my issue is so negligible that it doesn't qualify as OCD. like i said, it barely affects me. it still bothers me that it's there, though. i do my best to deal with it, letting my thoughts pass as they come to me and not trying not to give into/breaking out of compulsions, but i just don't want it there at all

this is another thing i could see a therapist about, but does a problem this small really justify the time and expenses of seeing a professional? not in my case (not for me, at least. don't apply this to your own problems if you genuinely want to seek professional help)

i have a goal to have enough disposable income later in life to justify paying a scientist to pick through my brain for my own amusement. because, despite no substantial foreseeable improvements to my mental health after getting a psych evaluation, i still find the idea to be really exciting. i have a strong desire to understand how my mind works, how my brain ticks, why i am the person i am. that's how i know that if i ever played sburb, id have the heart aspect (that's right. you thought that this was just a personal post on my homestuck blog that had nothing to do with homestuck. do you really think i would do that? make off-topic posts solely about me on a homestuck blog? look, i even remembered to draw my glasses this time and i made them homestuck glasses. because i care about you guys) and i am vain and self-centered enough to desperately want someone with a phd to talk about me for an hour. and no, i don't need a therapist to tell me why that is, i already figured that one out allllll on my own