#drabbles/scraps

[sanguine-arena]

all in a day’s work | misc drabbles #4

desc: As an equipment manager, sometimes, getting the stains out of the team’s jerseys after a game can be much harder than it needs to be.

cw: mild descriptions of blood, no major warnings

wc: 551

tags: @thetruearchmagos , @hottubraccoon , @elijahrichardwrites , @aquil-writes , @rsdan , @jezifster , @isherwoodj

All in a day's work.

That was the thought on his mind as he kept scrubbing at the mesh material of the bloody jersey he had in his hands. He sighed in mild exasperation as the faded red stain still stubbornly clung on for dear life. He could've sworn he'd been scrubbing at the damn spot for hours now, and he wasn't entirely sure that he'd made much progress.

He shook his head, setting the jersey and the damp rag he was using down to muse over a better way of doing this. He looked to the growing pile of others he had to get through before the night was up, probably about five or six jerseys strong by now. The game had ended hours ago for the players, but here he was, still grinding away at those pesky blood stains that never seemed to want to come out as easily as he'd expected them to.

Not helping things was the fact that the jerseys were dark gray, only a few shades off from black. It hit the perfect duo of inconvenience right on the head in the way that it was just light enough to show the blood stains from tonight's brawls in the first place but just dark enough for using bleach to be completely out of the question. He knew because he'd tested it already, and now had to pretend that the slightly faded spot on one of the sleeves didn't exist, or else his brain might've just shut down right then and there. He couldn't use it to get blood stains out on these sweaters, no matter how effective it probably would have been.

He ran the jersey under the cold tap water once more, hoping that maybe one more soaking of the material would loosen the stain up just enough to be willing to cooperate. His eyes stayed trained on the jersey as he gently moved it back and forth under the water, making one hundred percent certain that it was soaked through. He pulled it away seconds later, setting it back on his "work desk", as he liked to call it, laying it completely flat on its surface. 

He took the bottle of peroxide that had been idly sitting there for the last twenty minutes, carefully drabbling it on the stain. He took the now dampened wash rag and wrung it out, starting to gently scrub at the stain. He slowly went in circles, squinting to try and get a better idea of what he was looking at up close. He continued on, repeating the steps a few more times in hopes that something, anything would shake out. 

He hesitantly pulled the wash rag away, taking the treated material in his hands and pulling it closer to him. He squinted once more, picking at it as he meticulously made sure not a fibre was out of place. He sighed in relief, swaying a bit in his chair as he struggled to locate the stain now. He got to his feet, taking the jersey to the massive laundry machines he and his crew of other equipment managers had in the back room. He tossed it into the machine with every other dark garment already inside, leaving the door cracked.

All in a day's work, he thought.

[museaway]

prompt: a well-meaning lie

Dean/Cas, 100 words

--

would you still love me if—

Castiel turned his eyes from the made-for-TV romcom and focused his squint on Dean.

“What does she mean?”

“Oh, that’s a test. Does he love her enough to stay with her no matter what?”

“So she isn’t a shapeshifter.”

“No, she was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah.” Castiel went back to watching the movie. After a minute, his head canted slightly toward his shoulder. “I have another form.”

“I remember. Wings, cosmic powers, real loud voice.”

Those blue eyes met his again and narrowed in unspoken question. Inwardly, Dean sighed.

“Yes, Cas. Even if you were a worm.”

[saeyoungchoismaid]

Kaeya presses up close behind you, bringing his arms up to place them under yours. “Hold it steady…” he says softly into your ear. You feel a shiver go down your spine, your eyes rolling back the tiniest bit. “That’s it…” he purrs.

“Bang,” he whispers into the shell of your ear as you pretend to shoot your target, your gun jumping in your hand a bit as it fires nothing out.

His hands go light as you pull the gun back to cock it, reloading the weapon with an imaginary bullet before going back into your original state. “Well done,” he mumbles—in what you swear is a sensual tone—right below your ear against your jawline. “You’re such a fast learner,” he praises.

[fanaticsnail]

(inspired by this post)

Benn Beckman needs more "x reader" fics. If anyone finds some, writes some or crafts some out of marble and stone with a chisel: tag me please. I will write more, myself, but I love reading him.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Drabble request: post-canon "happy" ending for Bill & Ford, but find some way to imply that something super fucked up is going on just beneath the surface. Mind control, dream bubble fantasy, idk, dealer's choice, just something messed up.

Fragments of what was once Earth drift through the empty vacuum of space. They sit together on a summoned-up couch, watching it all float by. Ford fidgets with his brand new eye-shaped gold cufflinks. His ornately-embroidered sleeves are drenched in blood.

The henchmaniacs are busy elsewhere, expanding their reign of benevolent terror to the outer reaches of the galaxy. This mostly entails eating space rocks and crashing planets into eachother. For the first time since Ford accepted Bill’s offer, they’ve had time to really sit down and chat.

Bill throws an arm over Ford’s shoulder. “Lemme tell you something, Sixer. It doesn’t really matter how necessary it was–and believe me, it was necessary! What matters more is that it was the most fun you’ll ever have! Now that you’re immortal, I won’t sugarcoat it: Earth’s entire existence is a blip in the grand scheme of things. It was like a really dry log: destined to be burned!” He pats Ford on the back. “So don’t let me catch you moping about it.”

“I’m not moping,” Ford bristles, leaning away from Bill’s touch. “I’m contemplating.”

“Hah! Contemplating! You hear this guy?” Bill asks an imaginary audience, gesturing at Ford with his thumb. “Well contemplate this: we’ve got ultimate power over the entire multiverse. You might as well be a god. You can spend an eternity studying everything that ever was and ever will be. This is a sweet deal no matter how you spin it!”

Ford makes a noncommital sound. “That very well may be true, and I am grateful to you, but… human emotion is not so easy to logic away, I’m afraid. I want to move on as easily as you did, but…” he shrugs helplessly. “It’s just hard to believe it’s gone.”

Bill pats him on the back. “A little bit of shock is normal! Took me a few weeks to work through. Of course, I was brand new to the third dimension too, so it shouldn’t take quite that long for you. But humans are more emotional than shapes, so I’ll be patient! Don’t say I never did anything for ‘ya.”

Ford doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now! You know what helps me when I’m like this? A good distraction! There’s bound to be dozens of my enemies tracking us down right now–it’s not exactly hard to miss a whole planet blowing up. So we’d better get a head start on things, attack first before any of them can put us on the defensiv-” Bill squints at something approaching from the distance. “Hey, what’s that?”

Ford looks up sharply. It takes a few seconds to spot it, but as it gets closer, it’s unmistakable: a steely-gray entirely flat object, no more than two feet wide and long, flying towards them.

Once it’s right between them, it slows to a stop. From above, it’s clearly shaped like a 2D spacecraft, except that all four walls are enclosed, not just the perimeter.

A stick-thin door opens up, and out floats a dozen multicolored geometric shapes, all with skin covering their bodies from above and below, not just around their perimeter.

For the first time in eons, Bill is too stunned to speak a single word.

The leader of the group, a irregularly-shaped silver isoceles triangle, speaks first. “It’s you! It’s really you! We were starting to think you died in the aftermath of our dimension’s death. But the energy signals we’ve been following over the past week… we knew it couldn’t be anyone else.”

Bill’s voice is very quiet, and much less echoey than usual, as he says, “I thought you all died. I made sure you all died.”

The little silver triangle laughs. “Nope! The cleverest of us were able to escape. Your destruction only took the lives of those unwilling to change, unwilling to adapt to the higher dimensions. And the lives we’ve led since then have been so much better than anything our homeworld could have ever offered to us. We owe you a great deal.”

As he listens to this, Bill glows brighter and brighter and brighter, until he’s glowing the brightest that he’s ever been. “I knew it! I knew the worthy ones would live, I knew there was a way out for ones like you!”

He turns to Ford with a brilliant gleam in his eye. “Ford, these are survivors from my home dimension! Do you know how long it’s been? At least a trillion years! These guys are persistent. More than worthy of joining the gang, right Ford?”

Ford looks just as overjoyed as Bill. “Absolutely—but this is incredible! Liberating my dimension didn’t just give me an eternity at your side, but it’s also allowed these shapes to finally find you!” He shakes his head in wonder. “This whole time, you were right, Bill. You were right about everything. If our first act as joint-rulers of the multiverse can accomplish something of this scope, then there’s nothing we can’t accomplish together.”

Bill embraces Ford in a hug that sends them both twirling through outerspace. “Isn’t it exhilirating? Being free from all those stupid little ties to a planet that’ll be dead and gone in the blink of an eye?”

Ford nods wholeheartedly. “There’s a whole multiverse out there for the taking. You’ve finally made me see that.”

He lets go of Bill, and looks back at the handful of shapes floating nearby. “You must have so many questions. I know I do. But I’ll let you catch up with Bill, first.”

Bill zooms back to face the shapes. “Boy do I ever!!! How long do you guys live now that you’ve adapted yourselves to a three-dimensional world, because we’re gonna be here for a while.”

The group settles in for a very long chat, exchanging stories and ideas and many cups of tea. And way off in the distance, far out of Bill’s line of sight, his little world’s edge glimmers with the iridescence of a soap bubble.

[magnoliasforyourmedic]

Whenever things aren’t too busy the boys will go to Gene when they need something sewn, like holes in their clothing or reattaching patches. They know how to do it themselves, but Gene’s got so much practice that by the time he’s done you can’t even tell the clothing was damaged in the first place. He does enjoy it and takes his time with this sort of needlework, falling into a slow and smooth rhythm because what’s the rush? It gives him something constructive to do with his hands and it feels nice to breathe new life into something without all the blood.

[junosmindpalace]

unrequited love (& other clichés)

☾ ft. tetsuro kuroo

☾ sfw. kuroo starts seeing you in a new light.

you and tetsuro have been friends for a long time.

so much so that he knows you like the back of his hand. he knows how to approach you on your darkest days, to know the phases of your life that you’re most embarrassed about. he knows what makes you tick, what motivates you to get up in the morning, your favorite shows and movies.

the opposite is true too, because you always know what to say when it came to his volleyball club, you know his routines by heart and when not to interfere with them. you know which of his guilty pleasures to hold over his head as blackmail in case you ever needed to (but sometimes indulging in them with him as well). 

something shifted in the way kuroo viewed all the things he knew about you one day. over time, he started noticing how he he looks for you more often than not in the crowds of his games, that your little mannerisms you were more than often unaware of made him flustered, that the friendly touches on his arm or shoulder sent shivers down his spine. 

you and tetsuro never really understood love.

more like never really understood the kind of love poets wrote about, the cliches, and whatever else it was that people seemed to find so endearing. the two of you look on at the students in your school who cuddle close together, who stare at each other as if they were each other's entire world, who whisper sappy words into each other's ears and just couldn’t understand the appeal. the corniness of it all made you and kuroo scoff and laugh. 

some people may say it’s because the two of you were jealous, because you were alone and insecure and unimpressive when it came to romance. but you had your friends and family, good school careers and of course each other; you were perfectly content. simply looking from the outside in brought you more joy than you think you’d get being in a relationship. 

you and tetsuro leaned toward one another exchanging giggles under your breaths as you overhear a girl fawn over a love letter she received from an athlete on the soccer team. this was routine. you never sought out couples to tease, but eavesdropping was practically irresistible.

“what a romantic.” you rolled your eyes as tetsuro chuckled and looked down at you, arms crossed against his chest.

“what? you mean you wouldn’t like someone calling you a light at the end of their dark tunnel?” and the sarcastic question made you break out into a new fit of giggles.

but as his feelings toward you shifted, so did tetsuro’s view on love. suddenly, he found himself yearning to experience a tender moment in the rain, to wrap someone up in his arms and spin them around, to exchange kind and loving words with someone he could call his. he wasn’t so quick to judge affectionate couples in the halls anymore, or people who would go on about their relationships whenever given the chance. he became sympathetic, almost jealous that others could experience those things with the persons they liked and he couldn’t. 

kuroo has known you long and well enough to know that you hate cliché relationships.

you’re sitting on the sidelines of the gym floor as you watch kuroo practice. this was also routine. he’d come over in between games and talk with you idly, a common topic being whatever sort of cheesy exchanges you had witnessed from your schoolmates that day. 

“you’re gonna laugh when you hear this. a girl in my homeroom got a massive bouquet of flowers addressed to her but the message was anonymous! just some corny message about meeting them after school!” you snickered as you recalled the events from the morning, your friend sitting beside you on the balls of his feet, arms draped over his knees. for the first time, he wasn’t joining in the laughter. 

he really doesn’t know why or when the shift happened, especially towards one of his closest friends. maybe it was when you wore your hair a little differently than you normally did. maybe it was when you ran up to him after a game, punching his arm and chest as he recoiled into himself telling you to cut it out like he always did after he won. maybe it was when he watched you sit side by side with kenma on the sidelines after practice, both of you immersed in the game he was playing on his console and his chest swelled up with a sudden overwhelming happiness. 

“maybe they thought it’d be romantic?”

maybe it was when he vented to you about some problems with the team and you talked him out of his doubts. maybe it was when you pulled an all-nighter helping kuroo make game-plans for the team. maybe-

you snorted.

“they always think it’d be romantic.”

tetsuro watched you in silence as you looked onward with a dazed smile. you have a hair out of place, and he wants to tuck it behind your ear, let his hand linger by the side of your face to admire your features. just like a cliché. 

your eyes shine under the gym lights, and tetsuro thinks they look gorgeous, that he can stare into them forever. just like a cliché. 

when did this happen?

“yo, kuroo! we’re starting up again!” 

he’s startled out of his thoughts, and you both turn toward shibayama signaling the beginning of the next game. you eyed your friend with a smirk before shoving him to his feet, him tripping as you did so. “go get 'em, lover boy.” 

tetsuro’s face curled into a look of disgust. “don’t call me that.” 

he spared one final glance in your direction before turning away and calling out ‘coming!’ in response to his teammate.

he let out a long sigh as he jogged toward the court. what the hell was he supposed to do? 

[willowser]

bodyguard au + bathtime fic for kiri ?

oooooh, this is fun !!! i'm thinking of like, some situation in which you are the child of someone who is big and wealthy, maybe owns a few different multi-million dollar corporations and perhaps doesn't do it all legally 👀

kirishima has always been in the service of protecting your father !! you know him because he is a forever shadow in your home, quiet and large, peeking out windows and making sure doors are locked. he only speaks if you speak to him first, but his answers are always cut short when your father is around.

— so on a night when he has to go out of town, you're a little delighted to see kirishima sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work.

"hi," he tells you, rising to stand leagues above you. his face is sweet, despite his wide stature. shy. "your dad asked me to stay with you until he comes back, i hope you don't mind."

oh, you don't mind at all.

it's probably really fun !!! and you make the two of you dinner and he relaxes a bit after eating, even takes off the dark jacket he's always in. his forehead shines a little, like he's sweaty, and he hikes the sleeves of his white button-up to his elbows underneath the fluorescence.

he's still is a bit hard to talk to, but he listens as you prattle on about your day, scooting around the kitchen as you clean up. he offers to finish for you, but you shoo at him to sit back down and after a little bit of insistence from you, he finally agrees to have a beer. or two.

that loosens him up enough that the conversation flows a bit easier; you learn his first name, and his cheeks go red when you repeat it with a grin. he tells you a little about his mom, that he's an only child, that he never went to college: very basic stuff that paints a vague picture of him.

you know your father does some shady things, deals with shady people. why else would he need a giant for a bodyguard, that could probably snap a man's neck without even trying ?? kirishima tells you little things, but he doesn't go too deep. doesn't reveal what twists and turns he made in his past to put him here.

eventually you leave to get ready for bed, and the soft look on his face ALMOST has you sitting down for more with him. he shifts his eyes to the table, then, like he knows he's been caught staring too long and you wonder — when the last time was that he did anything for himself ?? not for your father, or even for you, but. for eijirou.

regardless, you slip on up the stairs and take your time making a nice bubble bath, putting on some light music. there's a bar on the second floor and you steal a bottle of wine from it and two glasses before nestling in the warm water, spreading your legs out to test how much room you have in the gigantic tub.

and then you call for him. a little more urgently that necessary, but it brings him to you quicker, suddenly appearing in the open doorway of your bathroom with wide eyes, flushing down his neck when he sees you.

you lean against the edge of the tub, smiling as you prop your chin in your hand. "i was wondering if you could help me wash my back."

the question seems to buffer in his mind for a long time before he's finally blinking, adam's apple bobbing. and then he's bringing the bathroom door behind him as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

✨️ trope game ! ✨️

[jayparked]

what do we do when we can't sleep? WRITE SMUT 😼

[sylkiddsey]

P.

One of the best things about being married to a PIC is that he almost always has a sub for Sanders. When Sanders calls in at six in the morning with another case of the flu from her kids, Matt doesn’t have to stress. Sylvie’s literally a nudge away and always more than willing to help him out.

She’s better than some floater and of course he has another reason for always suggesting her name. He loves working with her. He really enjoys operating under the same house together again. Especially because his off time is always much more fun when she’s around.

Half the time, they shamelessly make out in his office, but he’s earned that. He spent enough time without her during the long distance.

Matt truly loves having her around at work but sometimes, he regrets his offer. Sometimes, he unintentionally puts her in a dangerous situation. A situation that turns his blood to ice.

This is that situation.

He and his crew had been on the way back from a small self set fire in an alley. It was a simple hose down that didn’t take them longer than ten minutes to put out. Afterwards, they loaded into the truck to head back to the station.

However, they were rerouted when Jones, the less experienced paramedic at his firehouse, came over the intercom. She frantically told him how the ambulance witnessed an accident. A car apparently lost control and veered off the road, coasting down a slight mountain, crossing a fairly busy hiking trail before plummeting into the Willamette river.

That information wasn’t positive, but it wasn’t necessarily urgent either. Accidents happen all the time and whatever squad truck is closest would respond. He doesn’t have the equipment needed for that rescue, but he does have a wife.

He has a wife who goes above and beyond in her job. He’s married to a selfless hero who to his absolute horror, dove into the river herself to try and remove the driver.

Sylvie’s in rough waters without the proper gear and that makes him wish he just let her sleep in and found a different sub.

They get to the scene in record time. His crew member Tim has a lead foot which came in handy for this type of situation. He gets to Sylvie and her partner within five minutes of the call.

Tim hasn’t even parked the rig on the edge of the road before Matt is jumping out and running for the riverbank. The terrain is uneven, but he makes it to the paved trail. Sylvie must have parked the ambulance here, so she was close to the patient.

He doesn’t see anyone aside from the crowd of hikers gathered around, watching the water.

“Sylvie! Jones!”

“Down here!”

It’s not his wife’s voice who calls back to him and he tries not to think about what that could mean as he skids down towards the rocky riverbank.

Jones is crouched on the edge, looking out towards the water. It’s pretty calm today aside from the giant red SUV sinking towards the bottom. Matt can just barely see the top of the car.

“She hasn’t come up,” Jones says. “I told her not to jump in. I told her to wait for a rescue crew.”

Oh god.

He shrugs off his turnout coat and slides his suspenders down each shoulder. The less weight he has on, the easier it’ll be to get Sylvie out of the water.

“How long has she been under?”

Jones glances at him, tears shinning in her brown eyes. This is only her first year on the job and she looks as young as she probably feels. “Almost four minutes. The driver never resurfaced. She thought he was probably unconscious which is why she wouldn’t wait.”

He’s not surprised. Sylvie’s not the type to sit on the sideline even if he really wished she would. He wishes she was dry and safe on land.

He’s about to kick off his boots when he hears commotion in the water. Splashing and gasping.

It’s his wife.

Sylvie’s barely able to keep her head above the water with the weight of the teenage boy she’s holding up.

“A little help over here!” She cries, taking in water.

He springs into action, leaning as close as he can to the edge with his arms out. “I got you, Sylvie.”

She pushes her way closer, dragging the victim with her. “Get the kid. Please help him, Matt.”

He wants to help her.

“I need help down here,” Jones tells his crew. “Grab a backboard!”

Matt snags the kid’s t-shirt material and pulls him upward, passing him along to Tim who gets him laid flat on the ground. Matt hears Jones announce the kid isn’t breathing and start CPR but he doesn’t offer his assistance.

He grabs Sylvie’s hand before her head completely submerges into the water.

“Come here, baby.” He gets his hands under her armpits and is able to pull her up in his arms with minimal struggle. Even soaking wet, Sylvie feels light in his grip.

Sylvie grabs on, digging her cold fingers into his neck. She’s shivering and panting against his cheek.

He honestly has no idea how she was able to extract a victim twice her size and swim him to safety on her own. He can tell she’s exhausted from her breathing and weak grip.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, kissing her cheek. “I can’t believe you jumped into unsafe waters like that.”

She laughs. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing. You have done the same thing.”

She has a slight point.

[good-beanswrites]

LCSYS prompt?

Yuno: *looks up 'cat maid Fuuta'* That's a lot more results than I expected!

Omg yes!! 😂 Based on this convo and wonderful art -- it's so fun to picture the characters having access to the current fandom... I wish them all the best of luck............ (Obviously this would be part of the famous-variation of the au 👍)

“What are you looking at?” Amane leaned over to see Yuno’s phone, just as she hurriedly closed all the tabs.

“Nothing.”

“Yuno-san, it’s not good to lie.”

Fuuta looked up from his mobile game to scrunch up his face. “She’s probably looking into something scandalous for the upcoming photo shoot.”

Yuno rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad. I’m just trying to get some ideas. Haven’t you guys started brainstorming?” 

She looked between the pair who’d joined her on the break room couch. They had some time away from filming, offering the perfect opportunity to come up with ideas for the merchandise photoshoot that was quickly approaching. Most of the content that the team sold came from within the prisoners’ music videos, so they were abuzz with the prospect of choosing their own unique outfits for this one.

Amane straightened her posture. “I have. Mahiru-san helped me pick something out.”

“And you, Fuuta?”

He slumped further into the couch, focused on his game. “Who cares? It’s supposed to be our natural style, right? So, whatever I wear that day will be what I wear.”

Amane frowned. “You should have a little more pride in your appearance, Fuuta-san.”

“Eh, I care as much as I need to. What am I supposed to do, pander to the audience like some sort of a sellout?”

Yuno opened a new search. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. I was just looking through what some of my fans have been saying about me! I want to see if there’s any specific ideas I can get on my outfit, something they’ll find attractive.”

Fuuta scoffed. “Who in their right mind would find us attractive?”

“Could… could you look for me too? Look at what people are saying about me?” Amane dropped her gaze when she said it, ashamed of her curiosity. “I-I like the outfit Mahiru-san chose. I just want to make sure it won’t be disappointing to everybody…”

Yuno and Fuuta jumped to reassure her at once. 

“I can still find some things that they’re saying,” Yuno added, “if you wanted to hear their compliments firsthand!”

“No, no. That’s alright.” She squirmed in her seat, trying to hide the blush creeping to her cheeks at the thought. To change the subject, she quickly asked, “what if we looked into ideas for Fuuta-san?”

“Tch, I don’t need any help.”

“That’s a great idea! Hmm~ I wonder what his fans like…” Yuno shot him a look. “... in general.”

“Hey!”

Amane pointed to the screen. “What were you searching up for yourself? Could it be the same?”

Yuno’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the loud laugh that escaped. “I’m not so sure about that. I doubt Fuuta’s videos inspire talk of cat maids as much as mine.”

“Cat maids?” Amane’s face lit up at whatever mental image she’d conjured for herself. Her eyes were intense. “We should still check. You know. Just in case.”

Yuno made a mental note to find some cute art of cats in dresses to show the girl later. Still, she didn’t see the harm in indulging her now.

“I guess we can see if anyone’s mentioned it…”

Fuuta tossed aside his phone, Game Over scrawled across it. “You must be stupid if you think I’m going to wear a fucking dress at my photo shoot.” He peered over Yuno’s shoulder. “Oi, are you listening?”

“You don’t have to wear it. Right now we’re just seeing what the people want~” Yuno’s fingers flew across the screen. “Cat Maid Fuuta.” She hit search.

Her eyes widened. Then Fuuta’s. He slapped a hand over Amane’s.

Yuno pursed her lips. “That’s… a lot more results than I expected.”

Behind Fuuta’s palm, Amane was beaming. “It sounds like it’s a good idea, then!”

---

I like them chillin on the couch better but this was a doodle I had from a while ago 😂

[sanguine-arena]

phony court | misc drabbles #3

desc: Thatcher Leichenberg would rather be anywhere than where he was right now. After his first career fatality on a player from the Alekov Valiant, Nikita Asetov, Thatcher is forced to attend a disciplinary hearing from the CSHL Department of Player Safety.

cw: no major warnings, though there are mentions of the death of a teenager

wc: 1,620

tags: @thetruearchmagos , @isherwoodj , @elijahrichardwrites , @jezifster , @hottubraccoon , @rsdan , @aquil-writes

Thatcher Leichenberg really wished he was anywhere but where he was right now.

He watched the phony court of league officials and their so-called “unbiased” arbitrators mull over the summary of the gruesome details of his latest offense against league policy. He watched them get their bearings on the situation at hand, some of them rapidly flipping through the papers almost in shock, and he was almost certain at that moment that some of them hadn’t even heard a vague idea of the case’s details. Despite the fact that they’d so  graciously  informed him and the whole Kongsplass Thunder organization that, three days ago now, during the Thunder’s last game he’d somehow violated league code “Whatever”, subsection “Who Cares”, specifically the infractions listed and numbered as “This League Is Getting Soft” and “I Stopped Listening Ten Minutes Ago”.

Well, that’s what these things always sounded like to him, anyway.

If he were honest, Thatcher always stopped listening once the League’s player safety office started throwing their convoluted jargon around at him as if it should mean something to him. As if the needlessly complicated semantics of the supposed rules this league had weren’t a topic of discussion better suited for his agent, who sat right next to him at their desk in the current moment. Thatcher leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he boredly awaited the council’s decision to finally get things going.

It was already bad enough that they made him get up super early and that they made wear this stupid gray suit.

The least they could do is hurry up with getting the hearing started.

“Mr. Leichenberg.”

Ugh. Thatcher caught himself thinking immediately after the Safety Commissioner’s voice finally spoke up. The stuffy formalities of these people were grating on his ears, and he was surprised he didn’t instantly burst out in hives at the sound of it.

“Mr. Leichenberg. As you already know, we’ve called you here today to discuss your actions in the last game the Kongsplass Thunder played against the Alekov Valiant, three nights ago now.”

If Thatcher never heard his last name butchered out loud again, it would be too soon.

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

Thatcher could feel his agent’s eyes on him instantly, as well as the silent nudge to curb his attitude that came with it. The older man at the head of their desk stared Thatcher down with an attempt at intimidation that made him want to burst out laughing. There was a long pause from him, and a soft sigh that preceded the next words he would say.

“We are here because a check you laid on one of the Valiant’s players, Nikita Asetov, resulted in the loss of his life after he was taken to the hospital.” the man paused again, seeming to hope that the news would shake Thatcher in some way. The only response he got was a slight cock of Thatcher’s eyebrow, but it was one more of intrigue than shock or worry. “Were you aware of this before today?” “Nope.” Thatcher said the word plainly, not even turning to his agent who was certainly sitting on the edge of his seat, hoping he wouldn’t have to jump out of it to defend him in the next few minutes. “Didn’t know the kid died.”

He could see all four of the league’s figureheads for their take on player safety staring him down now, and he wasn’t sure if they were more shocked at the fact he didn’t know that Nikita Asetov was dead, or that he didn’t really give a shit that Nikita Asetov was dead. They were silent, clearly stunned from the straightforward response.

“Mr. Leichenberg,” the older man who seemed to be purposely butchering his name spoke up again, and Thatcher could see him swallow hard before continuing on. “In the video footage we have of the event, we see you take several strides towards Mr. Asetov, before eventually jumping into him and your shoulder makes contact with his head. He falls to the ice, and does not get back up.” Thatcher looked to his agent, who jumped into the conversation before he could even think of a response.

“Hold on a second,” he said, his tone firm and as pointed as his gaze on the Safety Commissioner was. “That’s not what happened. At all. Mr. Asetov was skating with his head down, and my client made a normal hit on the boards to knock him off of the puck. If Mr. Asetov has his head up, he likely would’ve been able to better brace himself for the hit.”

The Head Safety Commissioner looked to Thatcher, his jaw tightening at the challenge.

“Would you agree that this is what happened?” “Yeah, of course,” Thatcher said, barely holding back a scoff at such a stupid question. “That kid never had his head up. It doesn’t help that he’s smaller than me, but I didn’t charge him. I  definitely didn’t take ‘several strides’ towards him to make that hit.” “Mr. Leichenberg,” a new voice spoke up, an older woman who Thatcher always swore was wearing a scowl on her face every time he’d seen her. “The video simply doesn’t support that recounting of events. You were about forty feet away from him when you started skating towards him, and Mr. Asetov had already gotten rid of the puck by the time you got there.” “Am I not allowed to finish checks anymore?” Thatcher’s voice showed the most aggression it had all morning now, though it was nothing more than mild annoyance at the moment. “Listen, that kid never had his head up every time I played him and always bitched whenever anyone touched him. He was gonna have to learn that this isn’t minor hockey eventually.”

Thatcher watched as he lost the favour of a second person in the phony court, though he couldn’t say he was going to lose sleep over that fact.

The third of the group, a fresh face he’d surprisingly never seen before today, decided to try his hand at talking to him next.

“Mr. Leichenberg, you do understand that Mr. Asetov was only sixteen years old at the time of the incident, correct? And that he likely isn’t very used to the physicality of the League as a result?” “Nope, I didn’t.” Thatcher said it plainly once again, and his flippance towards the idea of having accidentally killed a teenager sent chills down the spine of everyone else in the room outside of Thatcher himself. “He definitely acted like it, though.”

“Also,” his agent interjected again, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look at the four who sat across from them. “Why should he have to tone down his style of play if there’s a teenager out there? Respectfully, Mr. Asetov should either have been down in the minors or his teammates should’ve done better at looking out for him.”

With that, Thatcher lost the favour of a third member of the phony court.

The fourth and final of the council straightened himself out in his chair, as well as the papers on their desk about the case. He looked to the three others sitting with him, all three equally as astounded at the responses they’d gotten thus far. He would be the last to try and get the message of how severe the situation was across to Thatcher, though odds weren’t looking so good.

“Mr. Leichenberg, your callousness towards the situation is, quite frankly,  alarming.” he said, the heavy judgment in his voice making Thatcher want to laugh in his face. He gave an exasperated exhale at seeing Thatcher roll his eyes in response. “Your actions during that game were a horrifying display of wanton violence that ended the life of a young man. I don’t understand how you can sit here and be okay with what you did, knowing how it ended.”

Thatcher couldn’t hold back the quiet laugh that wanted to come out for much longer, and with it, he lost the favour of the entirety of the phony court.

“Because of this, we are forced to take extra disciplinary action against you.” the older woman spoke up again, her tone almost as uncompromising in its convictions as Thatcher’s had been all morning. “You will be fined five thousand dollars, and you will also be suspended for 7 games without the pay you would have received for those games.” “Oh, come on,” Thatcher couldn’t help but say it out loud, the tail end of his exasperated laughter still hanging on by a thread. This was something that made his agent flush red with equal parts anger, shock, and embarrassment, and he stared down his client with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. Thatcher’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at how righteous these people sounded, all because they currently sat at a slightly higher table than he did. “This league has gotten so soft. I apparently can’t finish checks anymore. I accidentally kill a guy and I’m the problem? You guys have never had a problem with me making that play dozens of times before, but now that it happens to kill some kid who didn’t know to keep his head up, you’re gonna throw the book at me? You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Mr. Leichenberg, that sort of behaviour won’t be tolerated-”

Thatcher got to his feet, shoving his chair into the desk as hard as he could.

“Thatcher, sit down- ” his agent started, immediately cut off by Thatcher’s continued outburst.

“This league is a fuckin’ joke.”

With that and the heavy, stunned silence that followed, Thatcher shook his head, leaving the room without another word.

[erstwhilesparrow]

“I’m—” Pirate Joe sputters, caught by his shirt collar. What Sausage was doing patrolling a field of carrots, who even knows. “I’m getting supplies. For my crew!”

“Uh huh,” Sausage says, an amused quirk to his mouth. “Where is your crew?”

Think fast, Joe— “In GlimmerGrove, actually. She has important witchy duties to attend to.”

“Oh!” Sausage drops him. “You guys made up!”

“None of your business what we did—” Joe mutters, but he swallows the rest. “I’m making dumplings for her birthday. She doesn’t like fish or pork, the weirdo.”

“Ooh,” Sausage says. “Let me get you potatoes too!”

[crabsgate]

so i'm working on a longshot set in act 3, but a whole section of it is getting scrapped because the fic branched off in a way that it doesn't quite fit anymore. However, I really enjoy what i've written and I want to share it so ! under the cut is the bit i've deleted

I'm hoping that maybe I can work it into another fic, but I'm not entirely sure it'll go somewhere else. For now enjoy what i do have <3 It's unedited btw

"Really?" Astarion says, his hand curling around Gale's jaw like a claim. His fingers were cold where they brushed over his beard and onto his cheek. "You'd devote yourself to me, just as I am?"

"Of course," Gale murmurs, unable to look away from those red eyes, softer than he's ever seen them before. He wants to worship him, drown him in the endless fount of devotion that he's been bottling up since the night of the Tiefling party. 

Devotion and love have always gone hand in hand with him. He knows no other way than to give himself wholly to the other. What better proof of his commitment than to worship at his feet? How else can he be worthy of love in return?

"You'd forget your goddess," Astarion breathes, inching ever closer, until they're but a breath apart. "For me?" 

"I would," Gale responds, a rough sound pulled from his throat, gone before he could hold it back. 

Astarion's touch was intoxicating, and the little distance between them maddening. Anticipation curled around him like a dragon hoarding gold, eager and wanting, hungry for whatever Astarion decides to give him. Anything. Everything. Nothing. 

"How the hells could she have ever thrown you away?" Astarion muses, his eyes trailing over the whole of Gale's face. "No matter. She has no claim to you anymore."

Gale doesn't trust himself to speak, nodding instead. His throat is dry, body angling towards the elf like there's a magnetic pull bringing them together. There's an ache in his chest—not the orb, no, but something limitless in its intensity. 

Astarion pulls him close until their lips brush. It's hardly a kiss, the touch ghosting against his lips in a maddening tease. Still, he keeps his hands to himself as if touching Astarion would break the moment.  

"Gods," the elf murmurs, and Gale can feel the movement of his lips. Astarion sounds drunk, his tone breathless and the word slurred. "You are…"

"I am…?" Gale asks, steadier than he feels. The orb is angry in his chest, purple light glowing between them, but it's nothing compared to the hammer that is his heart, fast and unstoppable. 

"Dangerous," Astarion purrs. "You make an elf like me think things, darling."

[tenrousei-kuroi]

"and that was a million years ago"

“It’s happening. Rabastan, wake up, it’s happening.”

Rabastan cracked a single eye open at the sound of his brother’s voice. Rodolphus was hovering above him, his broad smile lit by the murky moonlight that filtered through the minuscule cell window.

Rabastan had been hearing stories from him for years now. When the Dementors returned for their midnight rounds, Rodolphus’s delusions would leave him and he’d calm again.

Rabastan let his brother lift him up to a sitting position. Rodolphus was still chattering away in a low, excited voice, and at the sound of a loud clang he dashed forward to the bars of the tiny cell they shared. Rabastan watched him curiously.

“There’s no one there, Rodolphus,” he said calmly, though another loud sound made him falter. Dementors made no noises; there were other humans on the cell block.

Next came the shouting: a slow, primal howling that grew in volume until it gave way to laughing. Rabastan swallowed nervously and stood up on atrophied legs. “Rodolphus, what is—”

But Rodolphus was no longer responsive. He himself began to cry, a desperate wailing laugh as the rustling of cloaked figures approached.

Rabastan could have fainted. He saw men in masks rush past his cell door, wands out and gleefully blasting away at walls and doors. Smoke and rubble began to fill the aisle, the acridity stinging Rabastan’s eyes until he was crying nearly as much as his brother.

In the commotion, one of the figures—alerted by Rodolphus’s grasping arms and constant hollering—stopped at their door. Rabastan stared deeply into that mask, a slow panic coming over him.

The Dark Lord had sent for them.

He and Rodolphus had dreamed of this day, had been so certain of its arrival. The day when their master would rise again and their loyalty be fully rewarded.

“Expulso!”

There had been no warning. Rabastan and Rodolphus were both thrown off their feet as the door erupted in a blaze of blue haze. Rodolphus clambered inelegantly back to his feet immediately, but Rabastan stayed down, his ears ringing.

Through the popping and crackling, he heard a woman’s voice come through. Blinking furiously, he saw his brother’s wife, Bellatrix, scrambling up next to the Death Eater who had freed them. He’d not laid eyes on Bellatrix for years and she looked worse for wear, hair limp and tangled, eyes sunken in...her movements were uncoordinated and flailing, like a newborn fawn.

But she was laughing with a brightness that defied their confines. And Rodolphus joined in.

Rabastan did not want to go with them. He’d waited years for this day but now that it had arrived, the victory felt sour. Over a decade spent rotting in this place for a cause that had never truly been realized. What was to say he wouldn’t end up right back in here? That fierce energy and zealotry that had so possessed him in his youth was...burnt out.

He still couldn’t hear anything properly, but he could see Bellatrix’s mouth moving as she approached him, reaching down to grab him by the forearm.

Her touch burned; it felt as though the Dark Mark were being freshly reapplied. Rabastan gasped and fell back from her, completely limp. Rodolphus rushed up to them.

“...he….somet—I don—...sure he’ll...fine…”

Bellatrix nodded in response and knelt down next to Rabastan, peering deep into his eyes. Rabastan did his best to look past her, with the same soulless fragility he’d seen in the long-time prisoners, the ones who were inevitably dragged down the concrete hall, legs and arms limp, on their way to a final stay in the infirmary.

Rodolphus knelt down, as well, and shook Rabastan harshly by the shoulder. A pop. A slow, warm trickle out one of Rabastan’s ears. “It’s time to go.” Finally Rabastan could hear him.

Bellatrix was shaking her head. She hoisted Rodolphus back up and began pulling him from the cell. “Leave him for now. If this place doesn’t burn to the ground, we can come for him later.”

Rodolphus hesitated, giving Rabastan one last look before allowing himself to get swept off down the smoky hallway along with his wife.

Rabastan took a deep breath and sat up straighter, alert. He felt warm, and not just because part of the prison was assuredly on fire. He was starting to feel the effects of the Dementors’ absence. He wondered if they had been scared off or if they had joined the Dark Lord willingly. Either way, it allowed a small sense of happiness to creep back into him.

Rabastan leaned back against the slimy wall, inhaling smoke and grime and not caring. When the adrenaline wore off and they’d been away from the Dementors for longer, he wondered if his brother and Bellatrix would return again to try and rouse him. Or if the remains of the Ministry would get to him first.

Had the Ministry completely fallen? If so, then it may be a moot point. The fire might get him first.

But it didn’t matter. There was a calmness here, among the yelling and the clattering footsteps. The snapping and clanking of fallen metal was one of the first sounds Rabastan had heard fully since being incarcerated. With no Dementors near to muffle his senses with a blanket of fear and despair.

It was peaceful, being mindless. A few more people rushed past his cell, and some even looked in, but Rabastan was careful to feign a listlessness that approached death. It felt like falling asleep...for the first time in years.

[hopeful-hugz]

A Letter to My Greatest Creation

My dearest Hope,

It's hard to believe that you're twenty-five now. Hard to believe either of us are in our mid-twenties really. It's kinda wild, huh?

My memory is absolute garbage, but even I still remember the day I thought you up. Back when you and I were still in first grade; your name was George back then and you were my only friend. Imaginary, but still my one and only anyways. We grew up together and eventually you went off on your own adventures... at least for a bit.

I was eleven when you came back home, and you were twelve. February twenty-fourth, twenty-eleven. I can't remember if we had just moved or were in the process of moving, but you came home as someone different. You called yourself Rose now and said you were a girl and we were perfectly okay with that. Again we'd become best friends and you stuck by me as disaster after disaster (at least for a preteen) hit over and over again.

Eventually you wanted to go on more adventures, but this time you didn't want to leave me. I had grown up past the capacity to create imaginary friends, so instead you became a character on paper. Thanks to my fixations at the time, you ended up a little MLP OC-slash-SI named Hopeful Hugz and I couldn't get enough of drawing you. Both in-person and on Miiverse for the... honestly decent following we had on the Youtube Community Tab.

Soon enough I found out about Tumblr and saw people making art on here and actually writing their characters. I wanted to do that with you. Though when we first made hopeful-hugz, it was a personal blog. I had no idea how to start sharing you until someone introduced me to the idea or writing instead of drawing. That's when RPing first started and you gained a human form.

Your story became one with Chamyle's for the first little while, until the two of you split off from each other. You became a blonde, one-eyed telekinetic who still went by Hopeful at the time. We still grew together, we still learned and became stronger. We found family, friends, and lost the same things.

When the purge of twenty-eighteen hit, you and the cast weren't the only ones devastated. I eventually lost my spark and stopped writing here and on my sideblogs. You went into hiding, grieving with the others. All of us fled to Discord for a little under a year...

Then late twenty-nineteen... We decided to give it another shot.

You came back with me as Hope. Just Hope. You brought with you my second greatest creation; the aethers and nagete. It was time we finally showed them to the world. You started rebuilding- we all did...

And now here we are.

We started here when we were sixteen and seventeen, now we're twenty-four and twenty-five. You've come such a long way since your beginnings and have grown so much in that time. You've become such a wonderful young woman and have blessed so many people. I couldn't be more proud of a creator.

I know there's still so much for us to do and adventures for you to go on. The multiverse only grows like we do, after all.

I love you so much, Hope Raymond. You're phenomenal, and I know you're gonna do fantastical things.

Thank you for everything, my dear. Lots of Love from Your Creator;

🥚~🤍