#first go at fan fiction

[annalu86]

Chris finally works it out.

Chris is stood at the entrance to the station. It’s 7:20 am and he’s already been there sometime. He yawns and stretches out his arms, he’s been working hard with a client and needed some fresh air, a change of scenery and a coffee. At least that’s what he’s telling himself.

He knows this is when Lucy should be arriving for her shift, she will pull into the parking lot, drive round till she finds a space and then walk through the doors directly behind him. Once inside he remembers enough of her routine, they’d not long split up after all, she’ll grab a coffee and maybe a dubious cereal bar if she had been in too much of a rush to eat at home. She’ll circle through the bullpen and catch up which ever of her friends are also on shift. Nolan and his rookie, Bradford, the detective pair (who he can’t help but be slightly nervous of) and anyone else currently in her sunny little world.

He wants to talk, he knows that he hadn’t given her a chance to explain when she had, so unexpectedly, broken up with him at her apartment. It had all been such a shock, they had been happy, planning a future and then suddenly she wanted his playbook (how did she even know what that meant). He had been angry, confused, and stormed out without letting her really talk. If had taken some time to cool down, weeks, but he’d started to wonder if there had been signs she wasn’t happy. That’s when his mind cleared and he was able to focus on the problem. Buying a house. They were moving too fast and she had panicked. It was clear to him now and so was what he needed to do.

So he took a deep breath and rehearsed the little speech he had put together. He still loved her (and of course she loved him), he could slow down, they didn’t need to buy a place straight away. They could live together, at his place, hers was small. They could revisit buying in four maybe even five months. They could get back how it was, it’s what he reallocated wanted. She was forgiven.

Many cars had entered, and left, the lot whilst he’d been waiting. Whilst he was looking very specifically for Lucy’s, he couldn’t help but be distracted by a big silver truck as it slowly drove past. His eyes followed it and he eventually recognised the inhabitants. Tim Bradford, a large, glowering man who Chris liked to think he was nothing like. Tim was brave and strong, sure, but Chris liked to think he was more evolved. He was a lawyer, an organ donor and not so focused on looking like a tough guy that he couldn’t crack a smile. Of course Chris had seen him smile, at the restaurant on the beach with his girlfriend and Lucy. Chris rolled his eyes, Tim had barely let anyone get a word in that night, he must have been so keen to impress his girlfriend. Lucy had told him on the way home that Tim was making holiday plans, it was getting serious.

The passenger, was Lucy. Chris was surprised, he wasn’t sure where Tim lived but he was pretty sure it wasn’t in a convenient place to just swing by and grab Lucy for a ride to work. Maybe there was something up with her car, or with Tamara’s car and Lucy had let her use hers. Chris sighed, there were plenty of logical reasons, she’ll probably order an Uber home or get a lift from Nolan or one of the scary detectives. His eyes, unwilling, follow the truck to a spot and he watches while they park, it’s not easy to see but they look like they’re laughing.

He watches as Tim jumps out his side and quickly walks round to open the door for Lucy, she laughs and he can see her eyes rolling from a distance away. Inside joke, another one, typical. Chris feels his eyes widen as Tim casually slides his hand around Lucy’s back and guides her through the parking lot, talking animatedly the whole time. Lucy is smiling up at him, not looking where she’s going. Trusting the arm around her, to guide her through the cars. Chris feels his mouth slacken when he sees Lucy twist slightly in his arm, she reaches up to swat at Tim’s chest. He has his head thrown back in a proper laugh but he still manages to gently catch her wrist. Chris watches both their expressions change as Tim rubs a slow, gentle circle with his thumb on the soft inside of her wrist. The playful smiles gone, replaced with an intense gaze. It seems too intimate, Chris shouldn’t be watching but he can’t stop. The pair seem to realise where they are and their heads snap round, looking about them. Tim let’s go of Lucy’s wrist and slowly removes his hand from the small of her back, he straightens back up to his full height and they continue walking towards the doors, still deep in conversation.

Chris takes a step back, he turns to the side and takes out his phone. He pretends to take a call, he glances up slightly as Tim and Lucy walk past and into the building. It’s clear they’ve not noticed him, they only have eyes for each other. Chris waits five minutes before heading in, he’s seen enough (for now) and it’s time to go.

[stripedstarsblueflags]

if you expect a driver to be world champion material (ruthless, ravenously ambitious, selfish, psychologically manipulative, killer instinct, able to be cold hearted to hypothermic extremes, competitive to the point of aggression, values winning more than anything and anyone in their lives) and also be a completely likeable person that is entirely a you problem

[copia]

THIRTY-ONE DAYS OF GHOST ⛧ DAY ONE

first song you heard — Mary On A Cross

September 1969; Papa Nihil and the beginning of the Ghost Project take to the stage at the Whiskey a Go Go club in Los Angeles, under the watchful eye of Sister Imperator. Fifty-three years later, in Tampa, Florida, Papa Emeritus the Fourth performs Mary On A Cross, unaware that he is singing the story of his parents—and that of himself.

[missriyochuchi]

The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer meet in the Jardin des Tuileries after the Opening Ceremony and commiserate about the Olympic Games.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Established relationship. Mentions of death.

Notes: I imagined these two like otherworldly beings blessing the games, what with the Olympics being invented by ancient Greeks as a partly religious event. As such, I would have preferred to keep them gender neutral, but because I’m writing this in a pinch and want to be able to distinguish between them without constantly using their names, I opted for gendered pronouns. But nothing about their physical descriptions are particularly gendered; I’m just leaning on the old linguistic quirk lol Also, how tf is there no video of the Flagbearer!? I wanted to gif her/their entrance but couldn’t find a damn thing! She/They deserves more love!

Read on AO3 - Part 2 - Part 3

Darkness cloaks the Jardin des Tuileries. Even the cauldron floating above its center offers little illumination on the ground. Shadows play along the perimeter, tourists passing in the midnight hour, their idle conversations lost to the humid air. The soft patter of rain echoes across the masonry scattered throughout the empty park. Only the occasional creak of metallic plates and restless hoofbeats betray the garden’s solitary visitors.

The Flagbearer looks up at the orange orb in the sky. She marvels at the city’s ingenuity. Decades of oil and gas have finally given way to an electric fire. Only with such technological advancements could engineers even dream of safely flying the eternal flame above the City of Lights. If only the future was as assuredly bright, the Flagbearer thinks. Her gaze drifts back down to the darkness below, the surrounding chill creeping back into her senses. Her horse stirs beneath her and jostles her mind back to the present.

“Easy, Zeus,” she murmurs as she presses her legs to the animal’s sides in an attempt to soothe both their anxieties. “Patience.”

No Olympic Games are ever truly free of political problems, an inevitability of any gathering between disparate peoples, but they weigh heavier on the Flagbearer’s mind now more than ever. Her part in the Opening Ceremony is small but significant, and though she spends less time among the crowds than her eternal counterpart, she catches enough to gauge that tensions are higher than ever before. The darkness of the night seems to encroach and bleed into the darkness in her mind as she ponders human history and her role in it. Before her resolve could lurch under the gravity of her thoughts, the light crunch of gravel announces his arrival.

“You are late,” the Flagbearer intones harshly. She steers her steed to turn around and face the approaching footsteps.

Enough ambient light creeps across the park to distinguish the Torchbearer’s silhouette, catching on the gauzy pieces of his attire bobbing in the breeze. His stride is sure, his stature straight, betraying neither weariness nor arrogance. Only a few meters away, he shrugs and raises his palms out at his sides, teasing, “I did not have a ride.”

The Flagbearer is unmoved but in no mood to quarrel. “How are you, my love?” Her voice floats soft and light through the misty drizzle.

“Exhausted.” His shoulders slump fractionally, perceptible only to his eternal flame facing him. “And you?”

“Concerned.”

The Torchbearer reaches for the horse’s muzzle and runs a familiar hand along his nose. “I hope you are not as troubled as your rider, mon joli cheval.” Zeus bows his long head and huffs in response. His palm runs along the animal’s left flank, lifting once he reaches the Flagbearer’s side. He extends both hands to her gloved ones and helps her to the ground.

“What ails my sweet?” He pinches her chin.

She hums and takes one of his hands in both of hers, squeezing hard enough to convey her worry. “In all our years shepherding these games, did you ever know the atmosphere to be this—”

“I know. The world is—”

“Restless.”

“Yes, and—”

“Not at peace.”

“Never has been, my love.”

“I do not remember it ever being this—”

“Your worries are not unfounded, cherie, but you must redirect your attention elsewhere.”

They circle the base beneath the cauldron, hand in hand. Zeus follows close behind, his reins tied to the saddle. While the nightlife bustles beyond the park’s pocket of silence, the few security guards on duty watch the hooded figures from a distance.

Event organizers had explicitly and numerously instructed personnel not to approach or engage with the Torchbearer and Flagbearer. They were both host and blessing to the festivities, and decades of tradition dictated that a respectful, neutral distance be maintained between the host nation and the two Olympic guardians so that there would be no suspicion of impropriety or favoritism during competition.

The Flagbearer recoils, incredulous. “How can you be so indifferent to the violence and rhetoric—”

“I am surprised that between the two of us, you, in your glittering armor, are the first to lose hope and declare defeat.”

“I have not!” She stops them in their orbit and shoves his hand back to his side.

The Torchbearer laughs. He crooks a finger under her chin and raises her gaze. She sighs and closes her eyes as the backs of his fingers graze her cheek. Her hands come up to open and press his palm to the side of her face, his pressure more than his warmth a soothing balm to her inner turmoil. Her voice is low and leaden when she continues.

“I merely wonder if the gods have not tasked us with an impossible mission.”

The Torchbearer falls silent as he contemplates the Flagbearer’s concerns. She did not interact with humans as much as he did, a natural consequence of their separate roles. While the Olympic torch exchanged hands with every kind of man and woman, the Olympic flag exchanged hands with a significantly select few. As a result, the Flagbearer’s opinion of humanity often leaned towards the optimistic while the Torchbearer’s leaned towards the pessimistic. He had come to know, better than she, the complexities of human nature, their heavenly highs and their hellish lows. They spent decades arguing about the tenuous balance. Now, as he watches his partner’s shoulders sag with the weight of the world, he finds himself despondent that she seems poised to concede to his viewpoint and knows it, knows that she lost this one important battle. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides their walk away from the cauldron.

“Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort.” The Torchbearer rattles off the Olympic motto.

“Citius, Altius, Fortius, my dear. Latin may be dead, but it is still your mother tongue.”

“‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. And that is precisely what they are doing and continue to do.”

“But for how long? We do not have a future if they do not, and my darling, I do not see—”

“We cannot predict the future any more than humans can. It is none of our concern. The gods will take care of us.”

“The gods have abandoned us, just as the humans have abandoned them.” The Flagbearer catches the ice in her voice and does her best to warm her vitriol. “We do not exist outside these games, my love. And if these games end, if the world can find no purpose to these communal competitions—”

Silence. The specter of death looms large in their periphery. Every Closing Ceremony marks the end of their days on Earth, a return to a darkness beyond darkness. And every two years, they are reborn and reimagined back into existence to inspire and perform and protect the Olympic Games. Despite the constancy of this cyclical event, the eternal guardians find humans increasingly less hospitable to the ideals they represent. What is sportsmanship to a world where even the rules of war no longer hold?

“Steel your heart as this city has steeled your form.” The Torchbearer steps close enough for the edge of his hood to kiss hers. “The next host cities have been decided, their venues under construction. We still have a future. There is no reason to despair.”

“For now.”

“For now.” He sighs at her obstinacy, but knows not to push further or risk wasting precious moments on a fruitless fight. “In the meantime, the games have begun, and we do not have much time together.”

A smirk plays beneath the Flagbearer’s hood. She perks up at her partner’s motives. “Sixteen days is not enough to spend with you.” She steps closer and brings her forehead to his. She squeezes his biceps, and he rubs her elbows in return. They exchange breaths for a moment of eternity.

“Come.” The Torchbearer takes her hands and swings her in circles. Their laughs echo as they near the horse. “Much of the city has changed since we were last here, and you will not see them if you continue to sulk beneath the cauldron.”

The Flagbearer mounts Zeus and extends an arm to help the Torchbearer take a seat behind her. He presses his front to her back, unbothered by her damp cape. He slides his arms along either side of her waist and rests his hands atop hers on the horn of the saddle. The horse ambles forward towards the city streets.

Buoyed by the Torchbearer’s embrace, the Flagbearer regains a sliver of her hope and optimism. “The Italians will call on us next. Perhaps we will meet a changed world by then.”

“We always do. I wonder what forms they have planned for us.”

“I quite like this form on you, my dear. The cut of your jacket complements you well.”

“As does this armor on you, mon amour.” His hands find the edge of her cuirass and sneak nimble fingers to the suit underneath.

She giggles at the light pressure below her ribcage. “I will miss hearing you speak this city’s language.”

The Torchbearer tightens his hold on the Flagbearer, impressing his being into hers. “You worry about community and forget that we are in the City of Love.”

“Paris is not the world, my dear.” They sway in sync as Zeus carries them towards the edge of the garden.

“Perhaps, but the Olympic Village is, or at least, as close an approximation as the humans are capable of producing. If it is unity you seek, we will surely find a certain kind—”

“You said you were exhausted.” Amusement lightens the Flagbearer’s tone, her heavy mind now fizzy with thoughts of the Torchbearer’s amorous intentions.

“Never enough to deter me from you.” He presses his chin to her shoulder, his words vibrating down the expanse of her armor. “Would you waste the energy of the players’ liaisons?”

Her hood whips to the side as he squeezes the unarmored flesh of her upper thigh. Before she can answer, he takes the reins and brings Zeus to a gallop towards the Olympic Village.

“No more talk,” he heaves with urgency. “I need you before the sun rises and our duties begin again.”

Footnotes:

mon joli cheval - my pretty horse cherie - dear Plus vite, Plus haute, Plus fort (French) / Citius, Altius, Fortius (Latin) - Faster, Higher, Stronger ‘Ensemble.’ C’est la partie importante. (French) - ‘Together.’ That is the important part. mon amour - my love

“The 100% electric flame burns no fuel. The ring of fire uses 40 LED spotlights to illuminate the cloud created by 200 high-pressure misting nozzles.” (source)

According to the engineers who built the mechanical horse, its name is Zeus.

[e-vay]

Savor Every Second - A Sonamy “First Time” One-Shot

[A/N: Yes, the title means what you think it means! Rated T. This fic is also available on AO3 if you prefer to read it there.]

[Additional note: I listened to "Sleep Well” - d4vd while writing this]

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

“Chaos Emeralds coming your way,” Super Sonic stated into the communicator on his wrist. He used two fingers to salute to his friends flying nearby in the biplane. He balled his hands into fists and braced his arms across his chest before throwing them outwards, expelling the seven Chaos Emeralds from him and into the dusk.

“I’ve tracked their trajectories!” Tails shouted excitedly. The plane made a tactical turn and headed in a pointed direction. “Great work, Sonic! Knuckles and I will work on collecting them. You take it easy and we’ll regroup tomorrow to go over…”

Sonic yanked his communicator off him and tossed it to the ground below, not able to focus on the fox’s instructions. As he slowly drifted to the ground, his fur fading from a vibrant glowing gold to its regular cobalt shade, his attention was entirely on the pink hedgehog in the distance running towards him. Her grin stretched from both corners of her muzzle and tears were welling up in her eyes.

Amy waved one arm in the air to signal the hedgehog slowly descending from the setting sky. She laughed incredulously and blinked away her tears. She knew better than to doubt her team (and especially the hero she had been calling “boyfriend” for the last several months), but this adventure was an especially close call. There was sure to be a huge celebration with the gang after they met back up for debriefing, but at the moment all she wanted was to wrap Sonic in her arms and revel in the fact they managed to survive this most recent campaign.

As the distance closed between the two, Amy couldn’t help but notice Sonic’s eyes darken once they locked with hers. That intense gaze made her weak in the knees and she had to slow her gate to keep herself from tripping. The second his feet touched the ground, he sprinted to her at full speed and swept her up in his arms, pressing his lips into hers. She kissed him back with equal passion, thrilled to be in his embrace. Their lips communicated without the use of words: I love you. Thank Chaos you’re alive. Thank Chaos you’re mine.

Sonic never made his concern apparent whenever they were waging war with whatever latest enemy crossed their path, but this time was too close for comfort. Sure they’d had near-death-experiences before (an occupational hazard), but not since he and Amy had officially started their romantic relationship. What if they didn’t make it this time? What if he couldn’t tell her he loved her once more, couldn’t hear her contagious laughter again, breathe in her scent, taste her… He steeled himself during battle to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but it did put everything into perspective for him. 

He needed to savor every second with her.

Sonic slid a hand up Amy’s back and clutched the nape of her neck, soliciting a dreamy sigh from his mate. He used the opportunity to open his mouth to hers as well, deepening the kiss. With careful coordination, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward, resting Amy on her back but not leaving any space between them while doing so. She mindlessly hooked her legs over his hips to bring him even closer. Her fingers laced their way into his quills and the sensual tugging made his fur stand on end. 

He finally broke the kiss just to smother his lips down her muzzle, under her chin and into the crook of her neck. The feel of his mouth against her and his hot panting made Amy tremble beneath him. The two had spent the last several months kissing and even enjoyed some not-so-innocent “exploration” here and there, but she was certain she’d never get used to this. His touch caused her to swelter and radiate so much heat that she was convinced she’d burn him. She let out a sharp gasp and writhed under him when he sucked on a particularly tender spot near her clavicle. Amy loved that he not only discovered that secret weakness of hers; he exploited it often. “Sonic,” she exhaled longingly.

The hoarse sound of his name on her breath sent pounding waves of electricity throughout his entire being. He wanted to hear more of it, in varying pitches and volumes.  

As his lips made their way back up to meet hers, his hands snaked down her delicate frame. Her form baffled and mesmerized him. She was so strong with such firm, toned muscles and yet some areas of her body were so splendidly soft and malleable in his hands. He traced her sides, her waist, her hips, finally gripping hungrily onto her thighs that were so tightly wrapped around him. They could feel the pummeling of each other’s heartbeats with how tightly their chests were pressed together, but it still wasn’t close enough. He needed to be a part of her.

“I love you,” Sonic moaned breathlessly into Amy’s mouth. Releasing his grasp from her thighs, he placed his hands on either side of her face and directed her to look up at him. His eyes roved over her as he hoped he could communicate this next part as urgently as he felt it. 

“I need you.”

It was as much a statement of fact as it was a desperate, ravenous plea. 

Amy’s breath hitched. This was finally it: the threshold they had danced dangerously close to but hadn’t yet crossed. The yearning fire broiling in her lower torso was so intense that only two words were able to escape her quivering lips.

“Have me.”

The split-second she gave her permission, Sonic bit the tip of his fingers and quickly yanked off his gloves before using his bare hands to rip open her dress.

♥ ♥ ♥

Amy’s eyes fluttered open from her slumber and for a moment she couldn’t recall where she was. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness and it was revealed she was in her bedroom. She raised her arms above her head for a full-body stretch, but a tender ache in her lower half stopped her short.

It wasn’t a dream. She combed her mess of quills from her face and laughed in disbelief.

What had started out there on the forest floor continued back here at her home. Her cheeks grew warm as she recollected everything that transpired. But with so many rounds that went on for Chaos-knows how many hours, some of the details got a little hazy. That was okay. She had plenty of mental snapshots to enjoy: his vivid green eyes boring into hers, their tangled forms writhing in the moonlight, the delicious harmony of their moans, his… dedication.

Amy decided she’d better snap herself out of it before she got too riled up again and awoke Sonic. Sonic…

She turned over in bed and couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment to see it empty. “Oh well,” she thought. Even before they were dating, an agreement was made that the aloof blue hedgehog could come and go from her place as he pleased. It was in his nature to be nomadic. Still, it would have been nice to have woken up beside him after the evening’s festivities…

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a figure gingerly tiptoeing in the doorframe. The shadow froze in place as soon as she looked over.

“Whoops, did I wake you?” Sonic whispered, a glass of water in his hand. Amy sat up in bed, thrilled to learn that he hadn’t left just yet. “Not at all,” she replied. “Have you been up long?”

“Nuh-uh,” he replied at his regular volume before taking several long gulps of water. He walked over and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I was out like a light, but…” Sonic looked over his shoulder at her, a cheeky grin plastered across his face and his voice had a feigned bewilderment to it. “I’m so parched for some reason. ’Wonder why…” the corners of his mouth stayed curled in a smile as he finished the last sip from his glass.

“How quickly you forget,” Amy teased. He set the cup on a nearby nightstand before suddenly tackling the pink hedgehog, rolling and tumbling the pair to the complete other side of the bed and tangling up in the sheets. He planted himself on his back so Amy lay on top of him. “How dare you,” he sneered but only in jest. 

She pecked his lips as a form of playful apology. “How do you still have so much energy?!” 

“Crazy, right?” He closed his eyes and smirked matter-of-factly. “I’m aboutta tell Knux he can keep his Chaos Emeralds. I just need my ‘Amy fix’ to go Super Sonic.” He punctuated the sentence with a goofy shimmy. 

Amy buried her face into his chest to stifle her laughter and hide her blush. “Stoooop,” she pleaded bashfully, but she did delight in the implication that she had such a strong impact on him. 

The two sighed in unison, grateful to be alive and overjoyed to be in each other’s arms. Sonic stroked her tangled quills, silently admiring how ridiculous her hair had gotten from their activity. The slow rhythm of their breathing started lulling each other back to sleep. 

“I love you, Sonic,” she whispered drowsily into the sweat-matted fur of his chest. 

“I love you, Ames,” he mumbled before dozing off once again. 

[lelsiemeyers]

"kit connor would be such a good hulkling" NO he would NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHUT UP PLEAAAAS

[housederiva]

I just posted a short story about my Crow Rook from the perspective of one of her contracts as they died. If anyone is interested in reading it, it's right here

Not going to lie it feels a little tone-deaf going to bed immediately after proofreading a story about how someone dies in their sleep but here I am

My Rook specialises in assisted suicide, so keep that in mind before you read it if you choose to xx

A few paragraphs of it is under the cut!

Juliette sighed as she set the brush down on the thin marble which made up the vanity’s table. In the reflection of its mirror, a cloaked figure sat on the ledge of her open window. The woman’s legs were crossed over one another, fingers interwoven and clasped over her knee while she watched Juliette with a gentle expression. She wore a long, thin, rich plum coat that draped behind her like the feathers of a bird’s wing. Sat beside her on the windowsill was a dark wooden box with intricately carved feathers on every portion of its surface. “The Crows send their regards.” The woman nodded once in greeting. “Ah, you’re early.” Juliette moved to stand but the Crow lifted a hand in one elegant motion before letting it fall, stopping her from leaving the stool.

[aussie-bookworm]

Going Through The Motions: Bonus Bits

Hi all! I'll keep this quick but we recently hit 4k hits on Going Through The Motions! I can't believe it! Thank you all for reading my silly little fic.

As thanks, I went through my cut content document and polished up these missing scenes from Chapter Four: Help. I originally wrote full scenes of Scout asking each merc for help but decided it was going to make an already long chapter too long and it was a bit repetitive so I cut it down to the basics.

These scenes take place between Scout asking Engie for help and asking Spy for help. Thank you to the lovely @gingerale13 for proofreading! Enjoy!

Demo finished his list of names on the blackboard and put a cross next to Engie’s name.

“Alright, next up is…”

***

“Heavy?” Scout asked, knocking on the man’s door. “Can we come in? I need your help.”

“Da. Just cleaning Sasha. Door is unlocked. Do not touch gun.”

Scout hesitantly opened the door to see Heavy sitting on the floor of his room, surrounded by gun parts, focused on cleaning the barrel. 

Scout shot a nervous look at Demo who nodded. 

Honestly, Scout doubted Heavy would be able to help him, but he had to make his way through the list.

“What is problem?” Heavy asked, not looking up from his task.

Scout slowly sat down, cross-legged across from him, making an effort not to touch Sasha.

How would he even explain this? Scout knew that with Heavy, you had to be blunt.

“I need your help. I’m stuck living in a loop of the same day.”

Heavy merely raised an eyebrow and continued cleaning.

“So you come to me for joke?”

Scout blinked, leaning away from Heavy.

“What? No! Nonono! Heavy it ain’t a joke! I'm actually in a time loop! Tell him Demo!”

Demo sat down next to Scout with a sigh.

“It’s all true, Heavy. Swear on my mum’s life.”

Heavy hummed to himself, as he gently placed the barrel down and started cleaning the rotor. 

“And you come to me because you have no other options.”

It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

“How did you…?”

“Little Scout would not willingly come to me for help with magic problem unless no options are available. So you come to Heavy.”

Scout bit his lip with a frown as he looked away.

Heavy was smarter than Scout gave him credit for. The team always saw him as a big gun-obsessed Russian. Maybe there was more to him than Scout originally thought.

“Yeah, but–”

“Heavy,” Demo interrupted, holding a hand out in front of Scout to shut him up. “Have you noticed anything off with Scout during the last couple of days or weeks? Or just… anything noteworthy that could change things?”

Heavy was silent as he slowly started reassembling his gun.

“Cannot think of anything. Little Scout is little Scout as always,” he eventually commented. “I have suggestions but do not think little Scout would listen.”

“Suggestions?” Scout’s ears perked up. “What do you have for me, big guy?”

Heavy sighed as he continued to skillfully put Sasha back together.

“Understand that team is looking out for little Scout and is not babying him. Understanding others’s motives is good thing for strong team, da?”

Scout sighed.

“Yeah, I know,” he responded dejectedly. “Been through enough loops of you telling me that to get it through my thick skull.”

Heavy was unperturbed.

“Team is only as strong as weakest link. When one succeeds, all succeed.”

That made sense, Scout guessed. No ‘i’ in team and all that. 

But Scout already knew this from his baseball days! How was this supposed to help?!

“Anythin’ else?”

Heavy was silent again as he finished up his assembly. Sasha stood proud in front of Scout, ready for action.

As Scout stared at the gun, Heavy finally turned his gaze over to Scout and assessed him.

“Teamwork requires communication. Speak to Sniper.”

“What?!” 

“You have been avoiding Sniper. I have seen it. Speak to Sniper.”

Scout spluttered, trying to come up with a response.

“He’s right lad,” Demo spoke up. “Even I have noticed you’re avoiding him and I’m drunk half the time!”

Was that why Engie had suggested it yesterday? Had he also noticed and decided not to be as blunt as Heavy?

No! He couldn’t risk it! He barely got through that awkward conversation when he tried to give Sniper a compliment! Why would he decide to do that again?!

“I… I’ll do it, tomorrow,” Scout lied.

Heavy nodded.

“Very good. Is there anything else Heavy can do to help?”

“Don’t think so. Thanks, big guy.”

Heavy smiled and nodded. He stood up and picked up Sasha. Scout took that as his cue to leave. 

Quietly, Scout stood up and Demo went to follow. He opened the door as Demo slipped through.

Scout threw a look over his shoulder to see Heavy starting to clean his supplies, before shutting the door behind him.

Scout turned to see Demo looking at him. Silently, they both turned and started to walk down the hallway.

“So, tomorrow you’ll talk to Sniper, right?” Demo asked, breaking the silence.

Scout quickly wiped the scowl off his face before Demo could notice.

“Yep!” Scout lied.

***

“So we’ve talked to Engie and Heavy? We’re making good time,” Demo commented.

“I guess,” Scout responded. “So who’s next?”

***

“Hey Medic, got a minute?”

Medic’s head snapped up from the corpse he was experimenting on and looked at Scout as he and Demo pushed the doors to the infirmary open.

“Herr Scout, you know where the plasters are. You do not need my help to put one on.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Medic sighed. 

“What is it then? Herr Demo might need my help and you are wasting my valuable time.”

Demo shook his head.

“No doc, I’m fine,” he responded. “Scout needs your help, though.”

“Verdammt. What is it?”

Demo gave Scout an encouraging nod as Medic continued to operate on the corpse. Scout let out a nervous breath.

Of course, he was nervous about this! He knew what Medic did last time Scout told him about the loop!

“I need you to promise me you won’t try to give me meds this time, okay?”

“…This time?”

“Just promise, okay?”

Medic shot Scout a confused look but slowly nodded.

“Ja, okay, I promise.”

Scout sighed. 

Good enough, he guessed.

“I’m in a time loop,” Scout blurted out. “If you can help me that’d be great. Have you noticed anything off with me in the last couple of days?” 

Medic blinked, processing the stream of speech that was directed at him. 

His scalpel slipped out of his hand and into the corpse’s rib cage as he turned his head to look at Demo who had a serious expression on his face. Medic turned back to Scout.

“O…kay?” Medic eventually answered, picking up the scalpel. “Am I to understand you have been experiencing the same day on repeat?”

Scout nodded.

“Yeah. Demo suggested I talk to everyone and see if they can help.”

“Really, we just want to see if there’s something Scout can change that I haven’t already noticed,” Demo helpfully added.

Medic looked up at Demo through his eyelashes.

“And what have you noticed, Herr Demo?”

Demo said nothing, staring at the doctor. Medic frowned and tilted his head. 

As the two seemingly had a silent conversation among themselves, only nodding and pulling faces, Scout bit his lip.

“Uh… I can go if you want,” Scout spoke up.

“No need, Herr Scout,” Medic replied with a bloody wave. “I was just making sure Herr Demo and I are on the same page.”

“Okay then. Can you help me? You’re smart – surely you can think of something!”

Medic put a hand to his chin in thought.

“Unfortunately, I can’t think of anything major that could break this loop you speak of,” he mused as he placed the scalpel he was using down and reached towards Scout. “Unless you let me look at your brain and the observable effects under the loop–”

“Nuh-uh! No way!” Scout interrupted, slapping one of Medic’s hands away. “Besides, you wouldn’t even fuckin’ remember it!”

“Ja, but how often do I get to observe the synapses of a brain undergoing extreme stress and magic? Oh! I wonder if brain activity would remain the same as the previous loop! Or would it change as you are experiencing a different flow of time?”

“You’re scarin’ the lad, doc,” Demo piped up.

Medic laughed as Scout staggered backwards.

“Just imagine…” Medic said to himself.

Scout frowned slightly. He wasn’t going to get much more out of Medic which was somehow both a blessing and a curse.

“I… I’m gonna go. If you can think of anything that can get me out, let me know before midnight.”

That conversation seemed pretty quick and painless. Scout wondered if the conversations with the rest of the team would be the same.

As Scout turned to leave, Medic perked up. 

“Ah, Herr Scout?” Medic spoke up.

Goddamn it.

Scout silently begged for this conversation not to go where he thought it was going to go.

“Yeah?”

“Have you spoken to Herr Sniper about this?”

Fuck.

What was everyone's obsession with him speaking with Sniper?! Scout avoiding Sniper wasn’t that bad, was it? 

“Oh um… he’s later down on our list. I-I’ll talk to him then.”

Medic nodded approvingly

“Good, good. I recommend you speak to him earlier. He might have seen something similar to this during his career.”

Scout frowned.

“Why don’t I speak to Spy then? He’s way older and has probably seen more shit.”

“The man is… Scheiße, what’s the word in English?”

“A prick?” Scout suggested.

“Secretive,” Demo offered.

“Ja! Secretive! He does not like to share details of his past. Although…”

Demo cleared his throat.

“One problem at a time, doc,” Demo interrupted. 

“But it might–”

“Doc, not our place to say, remember?”

Scout blinked.

“Are youse hiding something from me?”

Demo and Medic made an obvious effort to look away from Scout, who was starting to feel very left out.

“Okay… You don’t gotta tell me anything. Just figured it might help break this loop quicker,” Scout muttered.

Demo sighed.

“Sorry lad. If we told you, he’d probably kill us.”

What?

“Even if you won’t remember tomorrow?”

“Herr Scout, drop it,” Medic snapped.

Scout recoiled and stared at the two men.

“Alright, alright! I’ll go! I’ll leave you two to your secrets, assholes.”

With a scoff, Scout sulked off to his room. 

Quietly Demo shook his head at Medic.

“Plan B,” he whispered.

“Ah, I see. Good luck getting him to speak to Herr Sniper. He’s stubborn as a mule.”

Demo groaned.

“It’s gotta happen sooner or later. Either way, are we still good for drinks tomorrow?”

“Ja. Heavy found a new bar that’s opened in town that we haven’t been banned from yet!”

***

“This would be more effective if I could remember these previous conversations,” Demo muttered, drawing crosses next to Engie, Heavy and Medic’s names.

“Yeah, well, they’re not very helpful,” Scout said, trying to decipher the names on the blackboard. “Are you sure about this one?”

“Well, who do you go to for a fantastical scenario? That’s right, you go to…”

***

“Pyro! Hey buddy, are you free right now?”

“Mmph! Mm-Mmph! Mm!”

Scout and Demo walked inside and sat down at Pyro’s tea party table.

Now, this conversation should be nice and quick, right?

“Pyro, I need some help from you.”

“Mph mm?”

“Yeah. You see, Merasmus cursed me to live the same day over and over again.”

“Mm-mmph!”

“I know, buddy. He said that I can only break it when I make a huge change to myself, but I don’t know what else to change. Have you noticed anything I need to change?”

Pyro was silent before they jumped up from their seat and ran over to their bed where Balloonicorn was resting. 

They thrust Balloonicorn into Scout’s arms for a hug, bouncing slightly. 

Honestly, Scout couldn’t say no to Pyro. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around the plush toy and squeezed. Demo snorted from next to him.

“Does Balloonicorn know how to break the curse?” Scout hesitantly asked from his hug. 

Pyro shook their head.

“Mph mmphmm mph mph mmph mmphmm!”

“He wanted me to feel better?”

Pyro nodded.

“But you and Balloonicorn don’t know what else I could change?”

Pyro deflated slightly and shook their head. 

“Mmph.”

“No, it’s okay. We haven’t had much luck with the others either.”

Pyro looked away and started tapping their foot.

“Mmph mph mmph mmphmph?”

Not this again.

“What’d they say, lad?” Demo asked.

Was this coordinated?! How much did the team talk about Scout and Sniper behind their backs?

“They asked if I had spoken to Sniper yet. We’re doin’ that tomorrow.”

Pyro cheered and clapped their hands before going in to give Scout a bone-crushing hug. Scout gave a small smile and pat Pyro on the back. 

As he turned to walk back into the hallway, Scout’s smile slipped off his face and was replaced with a scowl.

He was running out of time and excuses.

***

“Okay, so we’ve talked to Engie, Heavy, Medic and Pyro. Now we’re onto the S’s. Are you ready to speak to…”

“Actually Demo? I fucked up. We spoke to Sniper yesterday. I just forgot to tell you,” Scout lied.

He didn’t want to risk anything. 

The way things currently were with Sniper was fine, Scout told himself.

He didn’t want to scare Sniper away thanks to some dumb feelings he had.

“…Why did you…?”

“I just forgot,” Scout responded. “All these talks with everyone are kinda blending into one. Sniper didn’t know shit and it was so similar to our convo with Heavy that I kinda just… forgot one. Sorry.”

Demo was silent, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Sniper didn’t say anything helpful?”

“Nah. It sucks but he didn’t know anything to help.”

One little white lie couldn’t hurt, right? 

Demo sighed and turned back to the blackboard, drawing a cross next to Sniper’s name. He muttered something under his breath Scout didn’t catch.

“Alright then. Today we’ll be speaking to…”

***

“Soldier?” Scout called, knocking on the door

“Atten…tion!”

Demo leaned into Scout space.

“…Do we salute or…?” Demo asked.

Scout shrugged as he knocked again.

“Solly, can we come in? I need your help.”

“Affirmative, Private Second-Class! You may enter!”

Scout pushed the door open to reveal Soldier doing push-ups in the centre of the room. 

Scout blinked at the sight in front of him. Did the guy ever rest?!

“At ease, Soldiers!” Soldier ordered, getting to his feet. “You requested aid?!”

Scout shot a hesitant look at Demo before turning back to Soldier.

“Uh… yeah, I did, Solly. I need your help. I’m stuck in a time loop and can’t get out. Is there anything you think I need to change about myself that could break the loop?”

Solider hummed as he put a finger to his chin and tapped his foot.

“Have you spoken to Merasmus about this?”

“Affirmativ- I mean, yeah, but he wasn’t able to crack it! He suggested I find something I needed to change, but I can’t find anything else! I’ve won so many matches, I’ve been to your boot camp so many times, I don’t fuckin’ know what else to do!”

Soldier frowned.

“Then, I have got nothing to offer.”

Scout deflated. He was starting to get sick and tired of this song and dance.

“Alright, thanks, Solly.”

As they turned to leave, Scout could see out of the corner of his eye, Soldier perk up.

“Private second class!” 

Oh no. If this was about–

“Have you informed the Sniper?”

Scout blinked, saying nothing, and just glaring at the corner of the room.

“P-private second class?” Soldier asked, sounding hesitant for the first time since Scout had met him.

Scout ignored him, robotically turning and leaving without saying a word, leaving both Soldier and Demo dumbfounded.

“What is wrong with Private second-class?” Soldier turned to Demo.

Demo sighed.

“Janey, he’s been doing this for fifty-nine days. All things considered, I’m surprised he hasn’t plumb given up.”

“Hm… His determination is admirable! When he fixes this, I think I will give him a rank-up! And a medal!”

“You do that, Janey.”

[adhdprincess]

Remember that crazy AU where Tess died? Fuckin brutal. Glad that didn't really happen.

Here's a multi-chapter fic where Tess lives, written in Ellie's snarky POV.

Summary: Ellie, Joel, and Tess learn to live on the road together without wringing each other's necks in the process. Ellie is feral, Joel is savage, and Tess is trying to get everyone to Wyoming in one piece.

Set during the 3-month timeskip before winter. There are wonderful character arcs and nice campfire scenes, but it gets dramatic as hell—buckle up.

20k words, 3 chapters. I worked on this for 3 months.

[sonic-adventure3]

Woahhhh that's crazzyyyyy sonic was transported to the alien planet mobius where he has to help the freedom fighters take back their kingdom from uhhh some guy who's turning everybody into robots that's willddddd

[19agbrown]

Just finished a chapter of a WIP that's been on my desktop since February. Feeling pretty good about it.

[narratorsandall]

[theeldritchcorvid]

So this is just an idea that's been haunting my brain and I needed to get it down on paper. Will this be a full fic? fuck knows, man.

---

Somewhere in the underbelly of the black archives, the Zygons and the humans are attempting negotiations between their races in an attempt to bring peace. Normally, this would enrage Sutekh. He is a god of death - nay, The God Of Death, note capitals - but he is a little bit distracted at present.

Because there are three of him in this room right now.

Three exact copies of him, each one bound to one of the three TARDISes sitting in a room in the National Gallery. He's seen some shit in his time, being an immortal god, but this? This is weird, even for him.

This, he thinks, is what the Doctor must feel like, and a shudder of revulsion goes through him at even empathising with the Time Lord.

---

[seaweedstarshine]

Hi! Long time no yap but I've been really bothered by this thing and I know you're just the person I can go to with this (even if we don't always end up agreeing at times).

I got into a tiff with someone in a comments section of a post that was about Amy (Which character do you think deserved to become a villain? or something similar). They brought up Amy's abuse of her boyfriend. I may have tried to defend Amy (key word is tried. I am officially rubbish at debating) but then I may have said something? Because they said that I (and apparently a lot of other fans) was excusing Amy's abuse because of her trauma. It got me stumped because isn't young Amy's treatment of Rory rooted in her trauma? Did I miss the memo where we separate trauma and abuse? Am I missing something?

That statement bothered me a lot because if there's one thing I never want to do it's defend an abuser. So here I am, humbly asking and hoping to clear the muddy waters.

Your really confused and disturbed moot, Tia 💌

TIA!!!!! Thanks for the ask 💌 , and I send you all the hugs.

Discussion of abuse, trauma, ableism, infidelity, and unhealthy relationship dynamics beneath the cut.

(First off… while I really appreciate your faith in my explaining skills <3 <3 <3 my passion for traumatized characters and mentally ill+neurodivergent rights doesn't make me especially qualified to fully clear muddy waters especially not knowing the full context, but I feel you, and what follows is my informed perspective!)

Speaking generally first, harm done in media is best examined by the impact on the audience, with a different lens than harm done to real people. While relatable experiences in media can be useful and validating and incredibly important, you can’t be “defending an abuser” when the abuse is fictional. It's actually normal for traumatized/ND/mentally ill people to project onto mentally ill villains, when villains are the only significant representation for those stigmatized symptoms in a media landscape that excludes and demonizes us simply for existing. RTD can't stop people who hallucinate from reclaiming the Master's Drums and projecting onto the Master, for example — 90% of the best Doctor Who psychosis fic by psychotic authors is about the Master, whether RTD likes it or not. It's not true crime.

(This is speaking generally. Amy Pond is very much not the Master.)

Abuse is a behavior, and there can be many reasons for it, but reasons based in trauma don’t make it not abuse (some forms of generational trauma can propagate abusive parenting styles, when the parent thinks abusive parenting is normal, or lives entirely vicariously through their child). This absolutely should not be taken to mean trauma correlates with abusive behavior; rather that abusive behaviors from traumatized people are more likely to present in specific ways.

Abuse is also a targeted behavior, based in control — not consistently displayed C-PTSD symptoms as seen in Season 5 Amy Pond through many aspects of her life. Mental health symptoms don't become abuse just because they hinder one partner from meeting the other partner's needs. Any life event can do that.

Without knowing the context of the arguments, this is the aspect of their relationship I've seen you talk about before (which I also feel strongly about), and what I assume is what you were debating? So, here I will talk specifically in regard to Season 5.

We all know Amy — she's never attached to Leadworth because she never wanted to leave Scotland, no steady therapist because none of them stick up for her, can't stick with one job yet her first choice is a job that simulates intimacy because her avoidant behavior (a known trauma response) isn't sustainable to her wellbeing. Rory knows her fears of commitment stem from her repeated abandonments, it’s why he’ll always wait for her, and it's why he blames the Doctor “You make it so they don't want to let you down.”, who apart from having caused a lot of her trauma, has actively taken advantage of her being the “Scottish girl in the English village” who's “still got that accent,” because he wants to feel important, so yeah, I think interpreting Amy's issues (and how Amy and Rory transverse them) as Amy abusing Rory indicates a fundamental misunderstanding of their relationship, as well as a misunderstanding of the (raggedy) Doctor’s role in Amy’s formative self-image (which of course she works through in Season 6, but I am sticking to Season 5).

Abuse is always based in control. That just doesn’t fit here. While Amy's detachment from her real life includes things like calling Rory her “kind of boyfriend” (which she is upfront about to his face; differing commitment levels isn't abuse, though it can be a relationship red flag for both parties IRL) — her Season 5 disregard of Rory’s feelings occurs only in response to the fairytale embodiment of her trauma. It's never a response to Rory; it's a response to the Doctor, who stole her childhood and led her by the hand to her death. She cheats on Rory with the Doctor in her bedroom full of Doctor toys, drawings, models, she made from childhood to early adulthood.

(And yes, like many repeatedly-traumatized people, Amy is prone to being sensitive and reactive. Take her “Well, shut up then!” line in The Big Bang; but given Rory responds to this by hugging her, clearly he doesn’t take it as her actually dismissing him. He knows her better than that.)

And by no means do I meant to imply this is fair to young Rory, poor Rory, who's left struggling with the feeling that his role in her life is in competition with the role of her trauma (aka the Doctor). But not every unhealthy relationship dynamic is unhealthy because of abuse. Labelling Amy's treatment of Rory in Season 5 more accurately isn't the same as excusing her harmful choices — but making mistakes is part of being human, Amy's mistakes are certainly understandable, and she works through them out of love for Rory.

If there's one thing to say about Moffat women, it's that Moffat allows his female characters the same grace that the male characters *coughTENcough* have always had, to hurt and struggle and make realistic mistakes and overcome those mistakes and to heal without being demonized.

Amy isn't perfect, but she is a fully realized character, and her story gives us a resonant depiction of childhood trauma.

[finemeal]

Can't Help Myself

Clark feels overwhelming feelings bubble up in his chest. His love for Bruce is all-consuming, devouring his very soul. And Bruce doesn't help when he does the sweetest things for Clark as if it's second nature. The closest Clark can get to sharing how he feels about Bruce is through kissing him, with all the love he feels. It still doesn't feel like enough, but it's the closest he can get.

-

Or: 5 times Clark kisses Bruce because of a sweet gesture Bruce does (even if he doesn’t know it) + 1 times Bruce kisses Clark because of a sweet gesture.

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.