#he may be a useless piece of sunshine

[thfckhappened]

Okay I have an opinion? Thought? on something in mouthwashing and I've heard no one talk about this or something similar yk so:

I think the only reason Swansea drank the drink jimmy gave him was because daisuke helped, Swansea wouldn't have drank a drink jimbalaye gave him he knew what Jackson did that this point and didn't even trust him before he knew but he trusted daisuke and didn't think daisuke would ever do something jimbo would so he took it, I see is like how when a YouTuber that you trust advertises for a company you are more likely to buy from it even if it's a bad company yk. I also think that Swansea would have killed J*mmy or at least tried to if daisuke wasn't on board, he got more aggressive after (when I think) Anya told him (tho being drunk on mouthwash could have contributed) and after daisuke died he does try to kill jiming tho he fails So I think what was preventing him was the fact that he didn't want daisuke to be afraid of him or think he was doing it for selfish reasons like daisuke ended up believing for what happened with the pod but he couldn't explain why he did it because it wasn't his place and he didn't want to put Anya through what happened to her being put on blast, I also personally think that this may have been a topic of conversation when they talked alone along with who got the pod the decision being to get daisuke into the pod then take care of slim Jim I also think he might feel fatherly towards Anya too. He is a mechanic, he is a man that would throw his sobriety away the moment he thought he wasn't going to survive, but above all he is a father of (I think) daughters and he would have killed someone if someone if they hurt his daughters and someone kinda did, but Anya already told him that she didn't have any hope and couldn't go on and he didn't want daisuke to hate him like he thinks his actual kids do so he was stuck between a rock and a hard place and as soon as the rock was gone he did what he should have done from the start

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 4

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28 @kurowvie @vaugarkel

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-----

Don't look at him.

Gally stares straight ahead, not realizing that he's glowering at the wall where Frypan's apron is currently hanging. It's been three days and he's still not over his crazy theories because somehow his brain doesn't want to shut up.

He's tired, he lacks sleep and he merely wants to take a fat nap despite the risk of missing dinner tonight.

His fork, currently stabbed into a piece of meat from his curry bowl, is left unattended as he keeps on scowling at the apron like it's done something to him, and would've probably continued doing so if not for Alby's hand falling onto his shoulder.

"Gally."

That's when the said young man looks up at his leader, blinking and replying a gruff, "yeah?"

"You alright shank? You've been glaring at this wall for ages," the Leader motions towards Frypan's apron, "Fry did something to piss you off?"

"No," Gally resumes eating with a little too much vigor as Alby takes a seat across from him, "I was going to tell you that we're doing Bonfire night tonight."

"Why?" Gally says through a mouthful of food.

"Because we missed Mai's Bonfire night and I think everyone needs a break."

"Count me out then," Gally finishes up his bowl before he pushes it away, and when his leader's gaze turns stern, adds, "what?"

Alby leans forward just enough for the Builder to catch his eye,"You're a Keeper. How's it gonna look like to your Builders if you don't turn up?"

Gally's own blue eyes narrow, "I'm tired Alby. Just do it without me."

"We can't. We need you, and plus," a smile flickers across Alby's face, "who's gonna beat Mai up?"

Gally snorts at that, "the Greenie'll probably wet himself before he even gets to the circle."

"Is that a yes then?" Alby bumps his shoulder, "c'mon shank. Let's have some fun."

And that's how Gally finds himself mixing up his booze for Bonfire night, grumbling under his breath as everyone around him bustles with excitement. Stacks of wood are piled up high and Frypan's going all out in the kitchen, cooking up a feast for the occasion. Others are chattering his ears off and Gally wishes he can dump everything down the drain and find his hammock.

It is then that a particular blonde, second-in-command, sidles up to him, "ey Gal, you alright?"

"Fine as a ray of sunshine," Gally grumbles out, still not out of his hole of impending doom as he realizes what a mistake this is.

"Come and sit with us when you're done," Newt motions towards the table at the far back where Minho is knocking back a few drinks with some other Runners, "you look like you need a drink."

Gally has to agree with that.

He does need a drink.

As Alby lights up the bonfire and the flames bursts out like a million fireflies, the chatter of Gladers increase tenfold, the night slowly giving way to a much lighter atmosphere filled with hope and fun, an escape from the doom that usually fills their days. It's a different image from their routine and it's like a breath of fresh air, something that they need just so that they can hold on a little longer.

Finally done and ready to hit the sack, Gally decides to stride over to where Newt and Minho are currently discussing matters in hushed voices. He storms up to them, drops his body onto a nearby chair and takes a swig of his drink, relishing in the familiar burn down his throat.

The rest of the Builders are sitting at another table, laughter and boisterous chatter reaching his ears and making him want to walk away. It's in moments like these that Gally wishes he could be alone.

He hates noise, hates it so much more when it's useless.

And that's when the Greenie decides to plop in the seat right opposite him with a beam, "hey Gally!" the slur is evident in Mai's voice, causing the latter's eyebrow to rise up in curiosity.

He tilts his head towards Newt, eyes narrowed in suspicion when he glances over to Minho, "that shank's been drinking?"

"Mai wanted to know what your secret recipe was," Newt shrugs in response, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that this Greenie is literally swaying in front of Gally's face, "I think he likes it."

"That's an understatement," the Builder mutters. He spots Mai trying to swig another mouthful from his cup and quickly snatches it out of his hand before anymore damage is done, "that's enough for you," he snaps more sternly than intended.

Mai pouts, "but it's Bonfire night. Alby said anything can happen on Bonfire night."

"Yeah and if you keep drinking that clunk, terrible things will happen to you, slinthead. So slim it," Gally proceeds to toss the rest of it into his own cup, much to Mai's displeasure.

He makes a noise of protest from the back of his throat, "you're so rude, Gally. I was just trying to have fun!" his hands wave in the air in a dramatic manner, causing Newt and Minho to chuckle at the scene.

"Yeah I think you're right," Newt says, "the Greenie's a goner."

"He's a shucking lightweight, that's what he is," adds Minho.

Nevertheless, Mai is still challenged to a fight in the ring circle, and when Gally adamantly refused to fight a drunkard, is replaced by none other than another one of the Builders who seems all too keen to beat the newbie. A cut lip and a couple of bruises later find Mai sprawled out just outside of the circle, prompting hollers and exclamations of success, some sniggering as they leave Mai on the floor for Newt and Minho to pick up.

Gally's about to turn in for the night -- god knows he really does need that sleep and his hammock is looking tempting right at this particular moment -- when Newt dumps the Greenie beside him, cut lip and all.

"Gal, keep an eye on him for a minute will ya?" Newt says, and before Gally can say anything else, disappears into the crowd.

"Great," Gally mutters as another sigh falls from his lips. He doesn't have a choice but to gaze at Mai, whose face seems to be blossoming with new blue and purple decorative bruises every minute. "you look like shit."

"Gee thanks Gally, that's very kind of you," comes Mai's shaky inhale. Gally watches as the young Glader winces when he touches his face, "everything hurts," he whimpers like a kicked puppy and the Builder can't help but roll his eyes. Pathetic.

Finding a spare napkin that someone had left on the table, Gally holds it out to the Greenie, "here," he says gruffly, and when Mai doesn't respond, proceeds to press it into his palm.

"Thank you," Mai hiccups as he starts to wipe the blood of his face, "thank you very much...Gally."

The glader merely grunts in response. He's not quite sure how to respond to the rush of gratefulness in Mai's voice. He's not used to it, to people saying thank you and looking at him with anything other than disgust or fear.

Mai is different and he senses it. He's just not sure in what sense of the word.

Maybe because he's not what he seems--

Oh stop it, he says to himself. He should not be worrying about someone else's affairs when he has enough on his mind as it is.

So despite his reluctance to leave the Greenie alone with Minho and the rest of the Runners, Gally takes it upon himself to walk away to find the comfort of his hut, telling himself that the Greenie doesn't need him and in any case it's not his problem if ever something happens. He's not his babysitter after all, is he?

He tries not to think too hard about that.

----

The morning has started off on a wrong foot.

First off, Mai had woken up only to find a dark spot along the side of her inner thigh, a sign that her monthly duties are up. She'd scrambled around in a panicked heap as she tugged fresh clothes from her small rucksack hanging from her hammock before making a dash for the shower stalls, thanking god that it was still early morning and the sun hadn't risen yet.

She thought that would be the end of it -- setting a white protective cloth over her underwear and changing out of her dirty clothes -- but what she hadn't been expecting was the pain. It seared through her abdomen, squeezing her lower stomach as she made her way back to Homestead and Mai had no choice but to curl over, breathing loudly through her mouth as pain seized her body.

Great, and with those monthly duties came the consequences. As if she had time to deal with those in a camp full of boys that were not even aware of what she was exactly.

She was mentally kicking herself for not having divulged the truth in the first place when she's suddenly met with a familiar-looking asian.

"Hey Mai," Minho leans down to frown at her contorted face, "are you okay? You look like shit."

Despite herself, Mai forces a shaky smile onto her lips, "yeah, I'm fine. Just hungover."

"Ah, that would be Gally's doing," Minho grins as he falls into step beside her, "you can tell him off at Breakfast."

"Do I look like have a death wish, Minho?"

The latter lets out a bark of laughter, "yeah you're right. Not a wise idea."

Still, Mai has no choice but to feign that she's not that bad, trying her best not to curl over her stomach whenever a cramp would suddenly pulse through her abdomen. Her pelvis was aching and her spine felt so sensitive that every turn and motion had her wince in pain. Frypan took notice around mid-morning before asking her if she was alright, to which Mai reassured him that she was. But not wanting to have her in the kitchen and engulfed by flames for a second longer, the Cook then decides to send her out to the Builders to give them food instead.

"Are you sure Frypa--" he shoos her away with a wave of his hand, "I'll be fine, just go give them their lunch, would ya? These shanks are probably starving."

So Mai does as she's told even if every step makes her want to scream.

She'll need to change at some point in the day, but she's not quite sure how to do that without raising suspicion.

Reaching the Builder's area is like stepping through a different dimension. They're all big and huge and look like they could pack a punch, and Mai swears she feels all eyes on her the moment she steps around the half-built pieces of furniture. Quickening her pace, she finds the table where all plans and drawings are laid out before placing down the sandwich bag onto its surface.

Her brow is filled with sweat and she swears she might collapse, but then spots Gally and a few other Builders making their way towards her, and straightens up, "hey Gally," she says meekly, trying not to think of the embarrassment she'd made of herself last night because of his concoction.

"Greenie," he nods at her, eyes moving to the bag in question.

"Ah, Frypan told me to come give you guys lunch because you have a busy day today," she explains as she unwraps the bag. Handing out the sandwiches to each Builder that give her muttered thank you's, she leans down to get the last sandwich, her figure trembling with effort.

That doesn't go unnoticed by Gally, whose frown deepens tenfold, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she's quick to dispel his doubts as he takes the sandwich from her hands, quickly grabbing the empty basket and turning around to get away as soon as possible.

Her vision darkens and for a moment she sees stars.

Mai sways, stumbling against the side of a tree and causing all Gladers to react.

"Hey!" Gally's first to grab her, yanking her up and against him, "shuck. I'm bringing him to the Med-Jacks," she hears him say to the other Builders before she's suddenly scooped up into a pair of strong arms and brought to a chest so warm that she almost nuzzles into it. Gally's scent wraps around her like a blanket as he brings her to the Med-Jacks hut. He smells of pine and something like grass after it has rained, an earthy smell mixed in with the scent of boy that he carries around with him and if she closes her eyes, she's sure she can fall asleep to it, burrowed in its comfort.

She's not quite certain of her whereabouts until she hears Gally speak again, his voice rumbling through his chest and resonating through her, "Greenie collapsed a few minutes ago," he seems to be explaining her situation and a second later, Mai is deposited onto one of the beds before a hand is laid across her forehead.

"He's got a fever," another voice says, "we gotta strip him."

But when a sudden pair of hands clasp onto the edge of her shirt, Mai's eyes fly open in realization. She squeaks out a loud, "no!" causing all Gladers to fall back in surprise.

"Y--You can't--" Mai grips her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white, "no, no, please--"

Gally's the one that speaks up first, "You're burning up Greenie, we gotta take it off and let you cool down."

Still, she fights off any hands that come close to her, clasping both arms around her middle and curling up her legs in defense, "no," she gasps out, "you can't."

She spots the two Med-Jacks exchanging glances, but Gally is getting impatient, for he snaps out, "stop being a crybaby and let them do their job. We haven't got all day--"

"Please," her eyes land on his own and he curses at the way they're begging him, pleading. Mai's voice drops to a whisper, "please don't."

"Alright Greenie, no need to get antsy. We won't do anything," one of the Med-Jacks speaks gently, pressing a reassuring hand onto her shoulder so that she has no choice but to lie back down, "but we're gonna keep you in this room for a little while, 'cause we gotta monitor your condition. Sound good?"

Mai only nods in relief, and the Med-Jack responds with a smile, "good that, Greenie."

"Stupid, stubborn shank," Gally mutters under his breath. Mai's about to open her mouth to thank him, but he's already whirling around and walking out before she can even try to formulate a sentence. She sighs out in exasperation and closes her eyes. Gally is so complicated in all senses of the word, she just doesn't understand where his temperament comes from sometimes. What she's pretty certain of though, is that for one reason or another, he's mad at her. It's clear from the way he's stormed off and in any other situation Mai would've just brushed it aside without caring. But somehow, she can't.

Maybe it's the fact that despite all this aggressive exterior he's been the extra helping hand she needed throughout those few days, which makes Mai guilty of the fact that she hadn't been able to even thank him for being there when he's got loads of other stuff to do around the Glade. She makes a mental note to find him later.

In the end, Jeff and Clint -- the two Med-Jacks-- allow her to have a bit of a shut-eye until she feels better, attributing her symptoms to that of a common cold. By sundown, Mai has gathered enough energy to stumble out and towards the Homestead, just in time to bump into a sweaty Minho along the way.

"You still look like death," he comments, causing Mai to scowl. He extends a hand towards her, "need some help?"

"I'm--" Mai's brain stutters. No, actually. She's not fine, and so quickly replies with, "actually, yeah. Please."

And so this is how she finds herself being supported by the Runner as they make it back to the Homestead just in time for the Dinner bell. After forcing her down onto one of the seats so that she can at least regain some of her strength with Frypan's food, they are soon joined by Newt and the Track-Hoe Keeper Zart, who quickly usher her off to her hammock while stating that they'll take care of her utensils, all while brushing away her thanks.

Mai's heart can't help but swell with gratitude at how eager they all seem to be in helping her, and struggles back to her Hammock where she all but collapses into it. Her breathing is shaky and unsteady and she places a hand over her heart, feeling it vibrating right through her chest.

Maybe she just needs to sleep a little bit more. She knows she's gotta shower -- with her period, it's even more complicated -- but that'll have to wait. She resigns herself to sleep, rolling to the side before closing her eyes.

"Hey Greenie."

Her eyes fly open. She almost jumps up, spotting a disgruntled Gally standing beside her hammock, a towel slung around his neck and -- did she ever notice how handsome he is with just that mere towel?

She clears her throat, swallows thickly, "hey Gally."

He shuffles a bit in place, looking uncomfortable. Silence prevails and Mai blinks at him. It's not in his nature to be so quiet, "is there anything I can help you with?" she asks instead.

Finally, he grovels out, "I'm gonna shower."

"Oh," she blinks once more, "uh--okay."

"You need to shower."

"I--" flames of heat burst through her face, "yes, I do."

He sighs and frowns at her, "Are you coming or are you gonna ask one of these other shanks to stand guard for you like a shuckin' idiot?"

"Oh, right." Realization dawns on her, "you're right, uhm--" but the young man's already storming off at this point. Mai scrambles for her set of fresh clothes and a new cloth pad before dashing to him, almost tripping over her own feet as she does so, "wait, I'm coming!"

He didn't have to, but he did ask. And that's enough to make Mai grin at his broad back. Gally can act all tough and intimidating, but there's no way there's only just that. No, he's hiding behind this cold and menacing exterior for other reasons. But it's good enough to know that deep inside somewhere in the crevices of his heart, he cares in his own way.

[persy-r-bozo]

DHMIS- The Yappining! 2/6 - Yellow

i diddnt know who to fully start with! so i decided yellow was my first victim.

Yellow is a very interesting character. he tends to play into the "Dumb yet sweet" character trope. but the steady reveal that this cannot be farther from the truth is amazing.

I feel him and his reflection could mean alot of things. and i believe it does. a part of me thought it could resemble the two sad sides of neurodivergent Youth. "The gifted" and "The trouble maker" gifted kids tend to be given to much pressure to succeed and troubled ones are ignored or just pushed aside.

i don't think the car killed him, just hurt inside and out. Causing a drift within an already possibly drifting family. (Perhaps this switch disappointed some. or made others go mad.) I think the gravestone and mirror could simply mean that version of him is dead. someone who cant be brought back. He's still the same, just not the way others might have wanted him to be.

The batteries could be a metaphor for meds. or hell he could be a cyborg. I mean his dad made a computer that just spawned bitches so i wouldn't put it past him.

the show or the world their stuck within tried to paint yellow stupidly. However he is quite emotionally intelligent. the world tries to paint him as useless but he isn't. I like the idea that yellow can read people very well. he can understand them in ways that make him super helpful, however he has issues with words and thought, often stumbling over himself.

his kindness and optimism is both a blessing and a curse. it makes him easy to control, but it also makes him a sense of stability and comfort.

he is such an interesting character!. a melancholy character. a sunshine behind a cloud. from a blind and innocent lad within the web series to a more dependable one later on. he has much to overcome, we can only hope he may.

But lets get into the-

-RELATIONSHIP VIEWS-

Red: Yellow and red are a very interesting pair. i feel as though yellow likes red. but he can read him, probably better than red can even read himself. Yellow can sense he is a ticking time bomb. that despite his quiet, he is breaking. so yellow is distant, keeping himself always a few steps away, just in case. He trusts red, its hard not to feel a little protected with a big fellow around. but yellow can just sense it. that red could snap, and that trust might break too.

Duck: THATS HIS RIDE OR DIE RIGHT THERE!. his ride or die! yellow loves duck, and feels a sense of comfort from him i think. I like to believe that duck might have even been a non related uncle of sorts. the brain fog may persist but you never forget that one guy whose never related to yall but still shows up. They are chaotic and i love them. while yellow can read people very well but cannot speak very well. Duck cannot read people for shit BUT BOY, IS HE LOUD N PROUD. They are two puzzle pieces together. pure chaotic opposites. This may cause big fights between the two but oddly enough i feel there's potential for the two to work really well together too. What im saying is PLEASE PLEASE IF WE GET ANOTHER SEASION I WANT TO SEE DUCK AND YELLOW HAVE THIER OWN ADVENTURE AND ITS CHAOTIC AND MESSY AND FUNNY AS FUCK PLEASE!!-

Roy: Roy is more sad. yellow loves him, yet that love is not mutual. and if it was it wasn't true families love, as it never stayed. Yellow flinches when Roy shows up in family. Yet he still wants to believe he came for him. Maybe yellow will realize this. that even though he loves him, He's not a good puppet person.

Lesley: This is interesting. If we are to believe she is his mother. he surely doesn't remember her. He Seems uncomfortable within her presence and skittish. But he stays and tries to be sweet. Maybe the reason he seems so skittish around her is because she might be the only creature he cant read that well. She's a mystery, her minds a mystery her everything is an enigma. Even to him. I don't think he remembers her at all. But one things for sure, even in the face of the unknown my boy aint rude.

EXTRA YAP JUST FOR YOU GUYS <3 !!!!!!!!!!

Yellow and clayhill-

Even though clay hill issnt cannon in the slightest and is played as a joke for all the older fans and the creators themselves IM A FREAKAZOID OK? IM INSANE! (i made a small headcannon weird thingy about yellow guy and clayhill to fit clayhill and its "Inexistence" into the series.) BEACUSE IM A MAD MAN OK!!?

I thought of the idea of clayhill being yellows little fanfiction (Babes first fanfiction!! he's following in the footsteps of his eldritch world building parents / guardians!!! <3 ) Yellow used it as a way to vent his little brain foggy daja vu head away.

Ill go though what i remeber clayhills plot line to be. Key thing is remember because I live in the US and i learned off of word of mouth mostly.

Its yellows ideal situation. hes with the other two. they are safe in a town with neighbors and people who love them and see them. Red is calmer, duck is more joyous. its yellows birthday today!. But a mean key comes to life and the mayor is missing.

Duck follows the key and is manipulated and hurt by steave. Yellows venting his frustrations with ducks blind following of the world even though it hurts him. but he understands, its because some of the objects are just so mean. Red runs away, Yellows venting his fears or daja vu like feeling that red will run away. leaving him all alone. He understands it might be for the greater good (finding the mayor) but he is still scared.

Yellow on the other hand, Gets a make over, he outsmarts an object. he finds a way to rescue duck and find red. to save the entire town and have his birthday party at home!. and i believe someone said the age on his badge changed from 38 to 48?

well if it did that might be yellow wishing to be older. Thinking if he was older he could control more things, talk better. Help more often. So in this world. everyday his is birthday, everyday he gets older. everyday he is seen and in control.

But This level of escapism doesn't really work for Lesley/Roy. so whenever they can they remind him that clay hill isn't real. it never was. and it never will be.

[liauditore]

Thought I might say hello and make some small talk, seeing that I'm camping on your trafficshipping tag and all.

Well hi! Lovely place you've got here. Fantastic art, GREAT vibes, very nice. I'm specially enjoying your character rambling; your takes on them are super interesting and they tickle my brain 👀

May I send Divorce Fource/Quartet and Majorwood for the shipping bingo? Divorce Fource were a right mess (affectionate <3) and a perfect one at that, but I can't help but wonder how the recipe would have turned out if the soul ties were Cleo-Pearl, Martyn-Scott.

Also there is so much potential in Limlife Majorwood for eroguro if you're nasty. Which I am. Time cannibalism, respawning mechanics, birthday time... blender go brrrr 👀

!!!!!!!

y'all are really enabling my habit of long ass posts huh 😭😭

OK SO first off thankyou so much?? thats so sweet?????? 😭😭 i really don't think my character ramblings are anything special, but i like reading other ppls insane takes so i thought i'd provide others with the same 👍

not to get too into it but i feel like a series like life smp is best enjoyed with your own crazy delulu takes (similar to touhou if anyone heres familiar w/ that fandom). and it makes me kinda sad to see ppl arguing abt whats 'canon' or 'correct' cus that's no fun lol

ANYWAY yeah uh im glad u like the vibes!! :J

TREEBARK

this one first cus chronology. I honestly don't know if there's anything I can say here that hasn't been said before? But yeah they're. tasty. something about martyn waiting the entirety of third life to betray ren and never getting the chance and now longing to have him back. lots of regret but regret. for what. yknow. and ren always looking out for martyn even from a distance. and then martyn losing that connection in limlife.

yeah i can see why people ship lmao

uhh i don't really know what else to write here so have some of my insane ramblings copy+pasted from my shipping doc 👍

Martyn fancies himself a schemer, someone who's not afraid to play the game the way it's intended. If that means earning a powerful ally's trust only to shatter it then he was going to do it. Only, Martyn's bark is worse than his bite, and every night he spends in lying awake in those soft, warm sheets that Ren had laid out just for him (freshly washed too, he might add. Smelled like sunshine) he wonders if he can do it. He can, of course. (he can't. he won't. he's too soft. soft and useless.) He'd cut his head off already. (he wants to vomit) (this is why no one needs you. wants you. loves you) Who cares about other people anyway? He is the only one who really matters. (the thought of being alone makes him want to cry) Ren, on the other hand, is a capable leader. The definition of loyal and dependable, if not a bit dramatic. He struggles with self-worth, being good enough, useful enough, powerful enough. But to others, he's the opposite, caring and protective of any who would ask for his aid. After all, every citizen deserves to live in safety and comfort, and providing that is what a good King would do. ~ Martyn's not as sneaky as he thinks he is. Ren knows. Ren sees the signs. It's a death game for a reason. But he doesn't let Martyn know. He doesn't even hold it against him. He doesn't see the bloodthirst anymore, only the broken pieces lying underneath. ~ or the King's Hand, it was the thrill of feeling Useful, Powerful, Feared (loved). He was going to miss it after he betrayed him, the high of bloodlust, the smell in the air as he charged into battle. (the way his hands held him so gently) For the King himself, deep down he knew it was never to be. He had met a monster, but he hoped his efforts calmed the storm ever so slightly. On some days, he pretends to forget about the death game entirely and imagines the speech he'd give to retire his Hand. "You don't have to fight anymore," he'd say, "I'll take care of you from now on, I promise. So put the sword down, okay?" But in the end, it was all a fantasy, wasn't it?

^ yes this is so cheesy but so are they.

Cry with me again Smile with me again Scream with me again Sing with me again Dance with me again Talk to me again…

"Lower One's Eyes" (Oktavia translyrics)

MAJORWOOD

I think.. I talk too much abt scott seeing as that's who everyone points out when it comes to my headcanons 😭😭 but uh i swear everyone else is just as messed up. and martyn is like. just as bad if not worse (if that wasn't made clear from my ramblings before)

anyway uh say it with me rebound 👏 relationship 👏

i think they're both.. very numb to it all once limlife rolls around. they're just tired and have this mutual understanding and both think they're horrible people. martyn just wants to play the game. scott doesn't even know what he wants anymore.

but ofc, they're both still human and want love and comfort, so they try to seek that from one another. even if it's fake. even if it doesn't matter in the end.

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

Washing Machine Heart (Mitski)

We’re the Delusioned Victim Cash-in Union Praise to the “love” that will bring salvation!  Two fools singing to a shallow melody Restart, reflation, teleportation Time and again we’re stuck in rotation Circles inside a love without any ending

MKDR (SirHamnet Lyrics)

Scott uses Martyn as a replacement for Jimmy and Martyn uses Scott as a replacement for Ren. they know they dislike eachother (see: all of double life) and that only one of them will make it out alive. but they can't get that love and comfort from anyone else now.

also uhhh eroguro my beloved...... im assuming this is getting brought up cus of my mentions of loving eroguro in the past. and yes to all of that very much i agree. but i do have kind of.. a limit to what i do w/ these characters specifically because of the fandom/ccs (at least publicly). if i ever do decide to share the nastier stuff in my head or go into detail on gore and whatnot i'd probs make a sideblog and tuck it away and maybe block scott and martyn for always somehow showing up on my posts lmao

[ayda--demir]

Mistletoe 2022 | Canon

Where: Outside of Nevra’s home

When: Dec 9, 2022

Who: @ayaz--ates​

Ayda hated running late. 

She had sent Nevra a few texts letting her know that she’d be there in ten minutes. 

Ever since the two of them were officially out of the Turk gang, they started making their own traditions. Christmas was something that she was lightly exposed to growing up considering that she was Muslim, but she loved the feeling that would float in the air. 

That the possibility of miracles could really happen.

Now it was about spending time together. Reminding each other that no matter what happened throughout the year -- the bullshit they would endure, the anxiety attacks she would have when Nevra was sent out, that this time of the year they would make for them and celebrate. It would involve corny decorations, their love for their Christmas tree, and Ayda would make sure that there was always cooked food in the house over the month for Nevra. It was the one time she would have a drink, or two, because she knew with Nevra, she was in a safe place. 

It was their way of healing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Ayda mumbles, slowing her steps when she comes up to Nev’s home. Normally, over this month she ended up spending more time here, the couch becoming her bed, or the floor if she wanted to spread out more. 

Her hand rested on the handle of the door, lingering, when a flicker from the window caught her attention, showing two shadows inside – barely making out a second one, but there were two heads. They weren’t expecting anyone, usually it was only the two of them, 

She slowly opened the door and it was his voice that made her stop in her tracks. Berat. What was he doing here? Ayda pulled out her phone to see if Nevra texted her back letting her know they were having company, but nothing. Still only her texts saying that she was running a little late. 

Quietly she moved inside, towards the living room, seconds from making her presence known when she caught sight of Nevra and Berat kissing from one of the mirrors on the wall. Her head started to spin, a hand coming up to lean on the wall, and she felt like the walls were closing in on her. She couldn’t breathe. 

Air, I need air.

Her body screamed at her to get out, and she did, where she made it back outside and the door shut softly behind her. Her small frame leaned against it and all she could see, eyes open or closed, was the two of them locked in a kiss – her ex boyfriend and her best friend. 

Tears instantly sprung to her eyes and a tsunami of emotions crashed upon her, wave upon wave of hurt, betrayal, humiliation, never being enough, rippled through her. Nevra would always be the one he would chase after. The pieces of her heart that were barely hanging on dropped to the pit of her stomach and she felt that empty shell start to swallow her; the place she so desperately tried to pull herself out of. Ayda didn’t want to be that person anymore. 

She wanted the sunshine and light. Ayda wanted to feel the warmth and let it envelop her. 

A hand comes up to wipe under her eyes when a crunch of a branch catches her attention and her head snaps up to see Ayaz coming towards the house. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This was bad, real bad. There was no way she could let him go inside and see them. There may have been a small part that thought about it for a second, but no matter what, she had to protect Nevra, and she was going to be stupid enough to protect Berat. How much more could she allow him to tear her down?

The Turk steps down the stairs, putting on smile to hide the hurt that was slowly killing her on the inside. Hiding emotions was something she was good at. 

“Ayaz, I am surprised to see you. How are you doing?” Ayda needed to keep some small chit chat, where she was certain he would remind her how useless she was, but she would bare it for them. 

“Are you joining Nevra and I for dinner tonight?” That could definitely be a deterring factor for him to stay away. He wouldn’t want to spend an evening with her around. 

[cherrieswithwhiterosemary]

loving it all

”we’re not really strangers” has merch, and one of the pieces is a baseball cap/dad hat that says “overthinking”. i wanted to buy it for plum because i would tell him “don’t overthink this” and he would say “you’re telling that to the wrong person” and i would say “i’m telling that to the exact right person because i know you overthink. i should also purchase one for myself (though i typically do not look good in hats). i am, you guessed it, overthinking. i like to send risky messages for the hell of it all, i suppose. but after i do that and he does not text me back and just leaves me on read, i start to think. now, dear void, thinking is sometimes bad for me. i asked him a few times if he still wanted to talk to me, and he would always tell me that he loved talking to me. he would then ask why, and i would reply, “you understand anxiety”. thus, the overthinking. i wish he would still text me as often as we used to, but alas, he never texts me first.

i always wonder if i did, in fact, make it weird by confessing my love to him. it is about 99.1% likely that i did. that has never stopped me before. i wear my heart on my sleeve, my cheek, my forehead, my lips, my collar, my irises, and every word i speak. i am never one to hide my emotions. i love hard. i love freely. i love endlessly. i love fearlessly. i know that hurt is always lurking around, but looming hurt does not deter me even in the slightest. i tell my friends i love them constantly. some may consider it too much, maybe. but my people will never not be loved because my heart is always full for them. there have never truly been holes in my heart that have left my love leaking, spilling over my ribcage, just to be left rotting and useless in the corpse they want me to be. even if so, my love is an endless fountain that showers onto everything around me, and the holes just help spread it. i love life. i love talking to people, i love sunshine, i love rain, i love the air, i love the ocean, i love the little dandelions that spring up in between sidewalk cracks, i love being a friend, i love laughter, i love my family, i love singing badly in the shower to whatever earworm i have that day, i love dancing to myself when i pick out clothes for the day, i love the smell of my kitchen, i love my nose, i love napping with my friends, i love playing classical music on the aux in my best friend's car, i love kissing my cat and cuddling my dogs, i love the softness of my body, i love planting flowers with my father every spring, i love sweets, i love making friendship bracelets, i love my acne scars, i love drinking lemonade tea, i love making myself a sandwich for lunch every day, i love cutting my own hair, i love putting on a full face of crazy makeup and high heels to just sit around in my room, i love the 'little' things. i have a great capacity for love outside of romantic love. i hold an endless love for so many parts of life.

though, i also freely and fearlessly love romantically. my romantic love is all for one, and right now it is for him. honestly, i probably date to marry. but i put in hard work in all my relationships, romantic or not. i know that i have not been the greatest partner in the past, but that was mostly due to trauma, and i was still a child, really. i am ready to love in a romantic sense in a greater way than i already know how. i love soft kisses, i love long hugs after a hard day, i love domestic affection, i love long conversations on the phone, i love listening to all the details of their day, i love hard conversations, i love asking questions, i love working together, i love communication, i love cuddles, i love sweet lazy sex, i love their smell on my pillow, i love their evidence, i love learning about them, i love them telling me how we can be better, i love simple dates, i love makeout sessions, i love soft touches, i love sneaking away together, i love the whispers, i love the devotion, i love the forevers, no matter how temporary they may be. that's the part of loving fearlessly. i know it is likely not going to last forever, but when i say forever i truly mean it. even if it's not mutual, i have enough love in my heart that a small part will always be for a person in my past, no matter how bad things went. not a soft spot, but a love for what the good things were, and a belief that that person can achieve greater things and better love outside of our relationship that did not work out. 'forever' is not a plan; 'forever' is not a promise. a 'forever' is a love that will always be there, truly romantic for the person at that time, and perhaps eventually, simply a love for the memories, and a hope for that person's future.

i love hard. and i hope that's a part of me that i will never lose.

[sezja]

Aethersup: Vampire AU

It isn't the first time Guydelot Thildonnet has woken up chained to a bed with no memory of how he got there or the events that may have led him there, but it is the first time he's woken that way while still fully clothed. And alone. Ostensibly. 

He sits up, slow and cautious, but no one emerges to explain his predicament. The room is luxurious in its opulent decay; the enormous four-post canopied bed draped in red velvet is but the centerpiece of a bedchamber he could run laps in, could he but dodge the aged mahogany luncheon table with its gilded engravings, the matching dust-covered desk and armoire, and the towering bookshelves full of leatherbound tomes that look as though they’ve not been touched in decades. 

And if he could run laps with his right ankle chained to a bed, of course.

Drawing slow, deep breaths, refusing to panic, he examines the chain itself. Heavy and strong, sturdy. The Matron alone knows what they’ve done with his boots, to snap this nasty thing in place - his feet are bare and cold. The leather-lined cuff on his ankle isn't so tight it chafes, nor so loose he can wiggle his foot out. The chain looks to be long enough to let him properly explore the room… but not so long as to allow him to reach the door, nor the room's single window. Not that reaching the window would do him much good: even from the bed he can see the heavy bars that cross the panes, forbidding any attempt at escape. If he had to guess, he'd bet on the door being locked tight, as well.

Never mind. The window and door are useless to him if he can't get himself unchained, right? One problem at a time. He grasps the ankle cuff, prying at it - aye, it's as sturdy as it looks. Damn. The lock looks ancient - might be pickable, but here he is without a damn thing to use to pick a lock! He wrenches futilely at it once more, more a token effort than a genuine one, and moves on, examining each link in the chain for weaknesses. A bent ring. A weak joint. Anything.

Nothing.

His heart is racing by the time Guydelot reaches the other end of the chain - another, larger cuff, tight around the bedpost. He yanks at it, pulls at it with all his might. Over and over. One good pull, he tells himself; one good pull and he'll snap himself free: sooner or later, some link in the chain will snap, or the cuff latched around the bedpost will give. 

There are scars on the bedpost around the cuff - many, many scars, as though uncountable prisoners have also strained and struggled against this chain.

He tries not to wonder what became of them.

It was sometime after dawn when he awoke; by now, the wan light streaming in through the barred window suggests it must be nearly noon. All he's got for several bells' worth of wrestling with the chain are sore, raw hands and a throbbing headache; he flops back heavily on the bed, staring up at the canopy above. Right. Well and so, I'm not escaping today, am I? The chain's not letting him go any time soon, and the room he's been trapped in is well-appointed - like he's expected to stay there a good long while.

Little by little, he examines his predicament, with the same piece-by-piece studiousness as he'd used to examine the chain.

Whoever's captured him, they've gone to the trouble of setting him up in a fancy room, presumably to stay. He's not been injured; not so much as a bruise nor scrape. Indeed, save for the chain around his ankle and his missing boots, he's in precisely the same state he'd been in… yesterday, presumably, when he'd dozed off beneath a tree in the East Shroud, drowsing in the late afternoon sunshine. Guydelot sits back up, then carefully stands, wincing at the sound of the heavy chain slithering to crash on the polished stone floor. 

Well, it ain't his fault if the floor gets scuffed, is it?

 First he makes his scraping, clanking way over to the desk: it’s a writing desk, several decades out of fashion, and Guydelot doesn’t dare try to guess when last it saw use. It wears a fine coat of dust, undisturbed, presumably, by any of the room’s previous occupants. Curious, he tugs at the drawers, and is unsurprised to find them locked, as well. The desk’s chair is, surprisingly, not bolted to the floor as he might have anticipated… though perhaps he oughtn’t be so surprised after all, given the hefty weight of the thing. He struggles to pull it out from beneath the desk, never mind lifting it to use as a weapon - or perhaps a battering ram against the locked door he can’t even reach.

There’s an inkwell, long since gone dry, and a feather quill that’s seen better days: like the desk, it’s coated in dense dust. Whoever last held this room, they saw no reason to write.

Then again, even could they write for help, who would bear the letter? And how would it get free from this room?

Guydelot shudders, stepping away from the desk, moving instead to the armoire. He half-expects to find it locked, as well, but it opens at his touch - albeit with a painful screeching of the hinges, left unoiled for the Matron only knows how long. The armoire itself is empty, of course. His host, whoever they may be, has not seen fit to supply him with clothing for the duration of his stay. How very rude, he thinks, grimly speculating as to how long he’s expected to stay here, in the first place.

There’ve been disappearances around the Shroud lately, he recalls, since the Calamity.

Folks gone missing, sometimes for several weeks, only to turn up again later, dazed, with no memory of where they’d been… but with their aether strangely diminished, requiring the better part of a moon’s rest before they were strong once more. 

First was a young lad, scarcely more than a boy, snached from out of the blue. Such tragedies happened, even in Gridania’s sheltered boughs. Guydelot recalls the searches, the terror turning into outrage. The duskwights were blamed, the Ixal, adventurers from Ul’dah, slavers; for a time, no one was trusted, while the search for the young Smyth boy went on, futile. He’d never been found, dead or alive. But then…

The first few to vanish after the boy’s evident kidnapping had been outsiders, their disappearances blamed on taking a wrong turn in the depths of the Black Shroud, lost to the forest’s twisting paths and dangerous shadows… but then locals began going missing, as well, with no explanation. Seasoned hunters who knew where the dangers hid; locals making the same deliveries they made every week; botanists simply checking familiar harvest points - it made no difference. One and all, they vanished.

And all - nearly all - have returned, Guydelot reminds himself, as his heart begins to race once more.

Remember that part, he tells himself, as he kneels to begin tugging at the drawers of the armoire. They’ve all come back in one piece. So will you.

At first, he thinks the armoire’s drawers are locked, as well - they don’t come loose when he tugs… but then he realizes there are no locks; the drawers are simply jammed. He wastes several more minutes prying at the weathered wood, to no avail - locked or no, clearly he’s not getting into them today, and he doubts strongly that the shallow drawers hold the key to his salvation. He stands and closes the armoire’s doors once more, and moves on, continuing to examine his little cage.

The walls are bare, he realizes: bare pale stone, cold and sterile, stark against the elegant furnishings. Something about the color of it tugs at his memory. He approaches the wall, slowly resting a hand against it, as though he believes doing so might help him recall why it seems so familiar. Not quite marble, but smooth and veined all the same, it gleams in the light streaming in through the window. Guydelot’s eyes narrow as he studies it. Where…?

Amdapor, his mind supplies, and then reels. Amdapor! Old artists’ renditions of lost Amdapor, with its halls and spires of white stone. Gods, is he in bloody Amdapor? How!? The elementals barred the way to the city, and even could someone slip past the godsdamned elementals, still there are flesh-and-blood guards standing watch over the only known entrance. No one’s seen the city in person since… since… well, since its fall, as far as Guydelot remembers, and that was before the great flood. Before Gridania. Before even Gelmorra! This can’t be Amdapor, he reasons, backing away from the wall - not Amdapor at all, but somewhere else, somewhere else far from the Shroud, that just so happens to use pale stone.

He drags his chain over to the window, as close to it as he can get, straining against the full length of the chain. He reaches, brushing aside the mildewed curtains, peering through the bars.

The light outside is golden, but sickly, but he can’t make out his surroundings. No trees, though; that’s enough to prove to him that this isn’t the Shroud, at least not a part of it he knows. Could still be Amdapor, his terrified mind tells him, and he swears under his breath, burying his face in his hands. 

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t bloody panic; he’ll never get out of this if he panics.

The furniture. The furniture is old, but it’s not Amdapor old - if he is in the ancient city, this room’s furnishings are far more contemporary, and that means… what, that some ancient creature isn’t responsible for his abduction? No, what it means is, someone’s able to get in and out of Amdapor without being seen - and they’re able to do it repeatedly, both to decorate this room and to spirit captives away from the Shroud. 

But what sort of person - or thing - could do such a thing, and right under the noses of the elementals and the Wood Wailers?

He lifts his head, abruptly aware of a change in the room.  Some shift in the air. He slowly turns around, tense as a bowstring… but he’s alone, still. Nothing has changed. Nothing has moved.

But there’s something on the table.

Something that wasn’t there a moment ago.

His gaze flicks to the door, but it is still closed - surely he’d have heard if someone came in, right? That door looks heavy, and if the hinges of the armoire are any indication, surely the hinges haven’t been oiled. He’d’ve heard that door open and close. He’s sure of it. So that means… what? Either someone slipped into the room without so much as a squeak of the hinges, which is absurd, or…

Suddenly he wishes he could throw that heavy desk chair, if only he knew which way to throw it. The room looks as empty now as it did before - not even the dust stirs to mark some invisible presence, and no matter how Guydelot squints and strains his eyes, he can make out no telltale sign of someone hiding in plain sight. Little by little, his jangling nerves quiet. If he’s being observed by some invisible someone, there’s not much he can do about it, is there? 

Besides, what’s a rusty-hinged door to a creature that can slip in and out of Amdapor unseen?

Cautiously, he approaches the table, belatedly deciding he ought to inspect his offering: a silvery dome atop a silver platter. Food, he hopes; he’s not eaten since… well, since before his nap in the Shroud, and thus before his abduction. It smells like food, savory and comforting. He reaches slowly to remove the lid, halfway dreading what he might find beneath…

But it is food - simple fare, but more than adequate for Guydelot’s roused hunger. He devours it standing up, not even troubling with the gleaming silverware; if he has an audience, he figures, let them be repulsed by his table manners. As he licks his fingers, he realizes that the table, like the bed, is free of dust - doubtless because unlike the rest of the furniture, these items have seen use by his predecessors. Or perhaps the table was cleaned by the same unseen visitor that delivered his meal? He cannot recall now if it was dusty during his cursory glance over the room… and ultimately, he decides, it likely doesn’t matter.

Fed and bored, he returns to the bed, flopping himself heavily upon it face-first and folding his arms under his head. 

Right. So that’s the lay of the land, such as it is.

It’s not so bad, he realizes - it’s luxurious, more or less, and it looks as though he’s going to be kept fed, at least. No onerous duties have been shoved on him as yet; indeed, no one’s so much as shown their face to start throwing about orders. If he’s to be enslaved, he’s a pampered slave, with better quarters than he has even at home. And if he is expected to work, well, they’ll have to take this chain off of him sooner or later, eh? And that’ll be a chance to escape, to get out of Amdapor or wherever the hells they’ve locked him up. And even should he not find a way to escape, well, history suggests he’s likely to be released sooner or later, with only his memories of his time as a captive missing.

He rolls onto his back, contemplating his circumstances. All things considered, this could be a good deal worse, right? All he need do is go with the flow, let things happen as they will, and sooner or later, he’ll be turned loose, no worse for the wear. No sense panicking over it. Hells, if it’s all this easy, all he’ll be missing before long is his harp, which his captor evidently didn’t see fit to bring with him.

With a pang, Guydelot hopes someone finds the poor instrument and brings it inside, out of the elements. Who knows how long he’ll be stuck here?

Sighing, he peers at the door again. No sign of it opening, nor yet any sign of his - possibly invisible - visitor from earlier. 

Nothing to do, then, but to wait. Surely sooner or later, his purpose here will be made clear.

With nothing better to do, the bard closes his eyes, determined to sleep.

When he wakes again, the room is dark, illuminated only by a candelabra he could swear hadn’t been on the nightstand before. He eyes it as though expecting it to bite him, as he slowly sits up. The candelabra is as clean as the bed and table, though the nightstand itself is still dusty - he is certain it was placed there while he slept. Outside of the window, the sky is black, though he cannot guess the time; a clock is not among the room’s sparse furnishings.

“You are awake.”

The stern voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin; he settles for scrabbling to the other side of the bed, away from the door, dragging his chain with him to clatter noisily on the floor. He seizes the candelabra as the only weapon readily at hand, brandishing it toward… toward…

A hyur?

The wavering candlelight illuminates a man standing before the closed door - a midlander, unassuming and unthreatening. Seemingly unarmed, so far as Guydelot can tell. It’s hard to be sure in the lack of light, but the man’s hair and eyes look dark, stark against his pale skin. Too pale, Guydelot thinks, as though he’s been ill lately, and hasn’t seen the sun in several moons; he looks gaunt, too, like he’s been kept half-starved. His clothes look several decades out of date, at that, and they look as though they were tailored for a man at least a size or two larger - a short elezen, perhaps, or a highlander - but clean; they’ve not brushed up against any of the dust here.

Is he a fellow captive? Someone tossed in here with the bard while he slept? He’s not chained to the bed, Guydelot notes, but then, given the poor bastard’s state, their captor might not have thought him worth the effort. He looks as though he couldn’t lift his own hands, let alone a weapon, and forget making a run for it - it’s a marvel the man’s standing upright at all.

Feeling foolish, Guydelot sets the candelabra back on the nightstand, heaving a shaky sigh. “Matron’s teats, give a man some warning next time.”

“My apologies,” the stranger says - sounding a touch baffled, to Guydelot’s ears. “Given your circumstances, I thought perhaps you would expect my arrival, but I’d not anticipated you might have fallen asleep while you waited.”

“Expect you?” Now he’s baffled. Guydelot hobbles his way around the bed, dragging his chain along the floor, until he can sit down on the other side, the better to converse with his decidedly unexpected visitor. “Can’t say as I’ve been told to expect company,” he says, hands on his knees. “I haven’t seen another soul since I woke up here this morning. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Aye. You.” The hyuran man is attractive enough, Guydelot decides, despite his evident illness. He can imagine worse companions to be locked in with, and worse ways to pass the time than getting acquainted with one another. He doubts the fellow would be any use in an escape attempt, but no mind; they’ll sort it out when - if - it comes to that. “How long’ve you been stuck here?”

The man stares at him owlishly, his eyes enormous in his gaunt face, and doesn’t answer, though he opens and closes his mouth several times. “I-...”

“That long, eh?” Maybe Guydelot won’t be turned loose as quickly as he’d hoped. He refuses to let his terror - the way ice prickles at his nerves - show. “Never mind all that. I’m Guydelot,” he says, leaning back on his arms, casual as he can manage. He doesn’t want to spook his only companion by calling too much attention to their predicament, after all. “Guydelot Thildonnet, of the Gold Bulls. You?”

“Me,” the man repeats again, still clearly bewildered.

Hells, Guydelot thinks, pity stirring. He must be even sicker than he looks. He rises from the bed, crossing the room to the stranger - though he’s near the door, he’s still just within range of Guydelot’s reach. “Here, now,” he says, gently, taking the man’s arm to tug him back to the bed, just to have a seat; pale and thin as he is, standing must be taking a hell of a toll. Beneath the oversized shirt, the stranger’s arm is freezing and hard to the touch, like grasping marble - and after a moment’s hesitation, the man jerks away with surprising strength, stepping out of Guydelot’s reach.

“You misunderstand,” he says, alarm in his voice, in his eyes.

Guydelot holds up his hands, taking a step back. “Easy, now; I mean no harm-”

“But I do!”

That, at last, gives him pause. “Pardon?”

“I mean you harm,” the man says, drawing himself up to his full - unimpressive, by Guydelot’s elezen standards - height. Only now does Guydelot see the glint of fangs in the candlelight. “‘Twas I who brought you here, I who hold you captive! I am a beast, cursed to feed on the aether of others for my own survival, and for the space of this moon, I must feed on you, and there is naught within your strength you may do to prevent it!”

Hells. Oh, seven hells.

“You’re a godsdamned vampire.”

[goroaix]

Hair like silk, face like a siren.

Scaramouche x gn reader. Spoilers for his name. Kind of naïve reader (?)

He could hardly remember the last time that he had spoken to someone who wasn't a fellow wanderer. He had traversed the lands of Narukami island a thousand times, had seen every cave and minute crack in the cliff walls. Every thing that has made up the island was engrained in his memory and he was cursed never to forget any of it.

After all, he was the shadow of the archon that ruled over it.

Kunikazushi had forgotten the sound of his own voice, of anything beyond his meaningless walk as he went to and fro with no purpose or meaning. What was a puppet like him useful for if he failed at his inert purpose? These thoughts were the only thing that rattled in his head, that repeated themselves to him day in and day out. What else did he know other than wandering?

He sat in the boat, his knees drawn up to his chin, and he stared at the endless expanse of ocean that was in front of him, distant strikes of lightning hitting the water and sending currents of electro to all living brings underneath the epicentre.

He caught sight of his reflection and he turned his head, not wanting to see the dark void in place of pupils. Everything that made him up was useless, empty and decrepit.

The waves sloshed against the hull of the boat and he forced himself to row, to row row and row until he reached the shore of the next island and then to walk, walk, walk so that he was surrounded by something unfamiliar.

The air was cooler, more dense with cold than with memories. He found himself moving with slightly more vigour, something almost akin to excitement as he made his way through this new land and thought of what to do. Kunikazushi doubted he would find another meaning to his creation, but he could stave off the heartache with distractions.

The night turned to sunshine over the course of his movements, his shoes dirtied by mud and grime that had accumulated over days of toil. He slipped them off of his feet and stared down at himself once more. There was no difference to his face, doomed to eternal youth, but his hair had grown longer and his lips had lost their ability to curve upwards.

So lost was he in his owj countenance, that he barely registered the sound of footsteps and of someone calling out to him. "Mister, excuse me, Mister?"

He turned his head, seeing a young person make their way towards him with something in their hand and a spark in their eyes. "Yes?" To him, his voice was croaky and unpleasant from disuse.

"You have beautiful hair. I wanted to know if you have any advice for keeping it so lovely."

He had nice hair? Well, that was news to him also.

"I do not do anything to it."

"Really? Not even lavender melon juice?"

His eyebrows pinched together slightly. "No."

"Oh."

They didn't move and he didn't say anything else. "You are also quite beautiful. It's not often we have people come through the village."

His mouth opened but no words came out. Beautiful? Was that something that could be used to describe him?

"A village?"

"Mhm. Most people go straight to the gorge or the main plaza, but not here. I thought I would come by and ask anyway."

"Oh." He picked up a strand of his hair between his fingers.

They poked their cheek with their tongue and he followed the movement.

"Mister? If it's not too much, may I plait your hair?" They rocked slightly on their heel and he realised that they must not have been very used to others. They looked around their early twenties. "You don't need to agree if you are uncomfortable."

"Go ahead," he said without conscious choice, words leaving his lips before he was ready. "Do as you please."

And so they did, sitting behind him with the object in their hand revealing itself to be a brush made out of maple wood. Their hand was light and their touch delicate, making sure not to tug too hard on his head as they smoothed out the knots and the stray pieces.

Kunikazushi kept his eyes on his reflection, staring at each little change and watching as they braided two strands from his temples to the back of his head. It was a design he had never considered for himself.

"Your hair is like silk," they murmured and he found his shoulders slumping at their touch, a soft sigh leaving him. "Mister, what is your name?"

And he continued to stare, seeing their hands brush hair away from his ears and redo whatever braid wasn't perfect. "It is Kunikazushi," he said simply.

"I've never heard that name before." He didn't think anyone had.

He found he enjoyed the fingers against his scalp, the interaction of another being something that made him feel lighter than before, like his arms were his to move around. They ran the brush through his hair once more before getting up with a satisfied 'hmph'. "There, all done! Thank you so much."

His unspoken thought hung in the air as he moved his gaze from the river to them, and nodded.

You have made me look beautiful.

[cdyssey]

Okay, I’ve been playing a lot of Pokémon lately and wanted to come up with a headcanons for members of each Abbott character’s teams. I’ll only do three a piece for rn!

Melissa (Krookodile, Scrafty, Braviary):

Melissa would largely gravitate towards Dark/Fighting types as they fit the persona she’s cultivated! (Braviary is the outlier in this batch to represent her love of the Eagles.) However, I imagine that much like their trainer, her Pokémon may seem intimidating on the outside, but they’re all softies at heart. Krookodile would be her ace, and while he leers at anyone who looks at him the wrong way, he also curls up on the rug and takes naps with Melissa’s kids.

Barbara (Cinccino, Delcatty, Roserade):

Barbara’s Pokémon would all be elegant and regal, much like herself. They all have a certain primness in their personalities that is only matched by their inherent and breathtaking warmth. Roserade represents her love for gardening, but Cinccino is her ace, and she acts like a little human, gladly wearing pearl necklaces and whatever else Barbara decides to dress her in.

Janine (Eevee, Wigglytuff, Cubone):

Janine would go for largely cutesy Pokémon to match her sunshine personality… this being said, though, Cubone is there because she sympathized with the little creature’s intense longing for his mother. Eevee’s her ace because, like Janine herself, he has a unique capacity to grow into so many wonderful things as he continues to mature. <3 I think he’d eventually evolve into a Sylveon, but I’m also partial to him staying an Eevee, eventually content with who he is and what he has to offer just by being himself.

Gregory (Grovyle, Grotle, Eevee):

Gregory has a lot of Grass-types in his roster because of his dad’s landscaping business, but I also gave him an Eevee for the same reason I have one to Janine—there are so many possibilities for both Eevee and Gregory’s futures alike. Grovyle is his ace, and while the Pokémon may seem a little cool and detached at first glance, his caring nature is impossible to miss the more you get to know him.

Jacob (Sprigatito, Linoone, Mr. Mime):

Jacob’s team doesn’t exactly have a theme, but his ‘mons carefully reflect his personality and interests in some way! Sprigatito is there for his love of gardening, but the little kitten will eventually become Meowscarada, who evokes his love of performance. Mr. Mime, his ace, functions similarly. He’s an energetic character, known for perfectly mimicking the funny looks that his trainer gives to the omnipresent cameras. Linoone’s there because, as Jacob proved in the desking episode, he’s pretty damn dexterous.

Ava (Rotom, Absol, Lopunny):

Ava’s team is also less about a certain theme than it is a reflection of her colorful identity. Absol, who can sense danger, is an essential companion for any Doomsday prepper. Lopunny matches her preppy aesthetic. And Rotom, her ace, is about her adeptness with all things technology. Her Rotom will often possess her phone, helping her to make fun TikToks.

Mr. Johnson (Garbodor, Klefki, Magikarp):

Garbodor and Klefki are pretty self-explanatory, but I really liked the idea of Mr. Johnson catching a Magikarp on one of his frequent fishing expeditions. He complains all the time about Magikarp being useless, but he‘s extremely fond of the little bugger and it’s clear to anyone who sees them interact for very long.

[salty-rey]

Saving Lives

Bad Batch Fic | Sequel to Come Back

Pairing: Crosshair x reader (hinting)

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: Bodily injuries, blood, story time!

A/N: Hello! I wanted to write something that elaborated on the relationship between the sniper and combat medic. It’s rather rough, proof-read once (thank you Grammarly), and I may not captured Crosshair’s personality perfect. I hope you enjoy, and I will be back with another story!

Roughly two weeks have passed since the last mission, and during those long days, you were recovering from being shot. Being bedridden was not ideal, almost driving you stir crazy. Especially whenever you tried sneaking out of the barracks, there was always one member of the Bad Batch there to stop you. 

Wrecker freaked out when he caught you slowly shuffling towards the bathroom, asking why you were out of bed in panic. He only helped you after explaining your destination, waited outside before actually carrying you back to your cot. 

Echo spotted you slowly making your way to the kitchen area before redirecting you back to bed like a concerned older brother, staying by your side and offering his arm for support in case you felt weak. Quite the gentleman.. At least he went back to get whatever food you were craving. 

Tech found you attempting to do some stretches since you were stuck in bed for Maker knows how long. He lectured you on the facts that your wound may open again if you attempt any movement during a specific time frame. Even when you decided to lay back down he was still lecturing!

As for Hunter, he entered the barracks, catching you standing on your feet. You were in the middle of putting your chest piece armor back on when you winced at the slight sting of your wound. The Sergeant went full dad mode on you, scolding you for moving when you’re still recovering. Now you knew how it felt like to be Omega, which caused you to accidentally say, “Okay, dad.”

You watched Hunter’s back stiffen, an unreadable expression crossing his face before he turned around, leaving you alone in the barracks. What was that? You thought before sighing, slowly removing your chest piece. 

Speaking of Omega. Maker, bless that little girl. 

When you were initially knocked out after returning to the Havoc Marauder, Omega refused to leave your side. The boys tried to reassure her that you would be alright, but she wouldn’t budge. After a couple of hours, you woke up, disoriented at first, before spotting the little girl fast asleep on a chair at your bedside. Hunter was awake at the time, and he explained everything while you rested. The boys learned that it was indeed a trooper who shot you and not Crosshair because Omega was persistent in backing you up in your story. You watched the Sergeant carefully picking the youngest member up and carrying her to her makeshift bedroom.

You were awake when Omega rushed into the small barracks, eyes wide before spotting you. She first cried tears of joy, happy to you see that you were okay. Hearing her crying caused Hunter and the other boys to rush in, worried that something was wrong before relaxing after you explained why Omega was crying. 

Since that moment, Omega stayed and kept you company. Whenever she wasn’t informing you of the group’s next objective, she would ask if you needed anything like food or water. You felt bad having her grab something to eat for you, and you mentioned it to one of the boys whenever they pass the barracks. 

“I’ll let her know. She is looking after her teammate though.” Hunter commented before leaving. 

One day during the weeks of recovery, Omega came to your bed per usual and sat down. You were reading on your datapad before glancing up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she first started off, looking a bit nervous. 

“Sure, what’s up?” You asked after putting your datapad down. 

“I heard stories of the Bad Batch back on Kamino, but I was hoping to hear how you became part of the team. Since you’re not a clone like us. I-if you don’t mind!” The child asked bashfully, causing you to smile. 

“Of course! Heh, no need to be shy,” you grinned before relaxing against your pillow. “I was formally part of the 501st under General Skywalker, still as a combat medic. I helped aid their soldiers and taught any clones who wanted to become a medic. But I was taken out of that battalion and introduced to these guys after Wrecker’s accident.” You said, pointing to the left side of your face. 

Omega frowned at the mention of the deep scar on the more giant clone’s face. 

“Do you...know how he got it?”

“Not the specific details. Just that his fondness for exploding things up got the best of him at that moment,” you answered. “But that is a story for Wrecker to tell you himself. After his incident and intense care, the Kaminoans and High Command thought that it would be best for the Bad Batch to have a medic at all times. And that’s where I came in.”

“What was it like first joining them?” Omega asked, scooting her chair closer, eager to know more.

You laugh nervously before answering awkwardly, “A nat-born joining a bunch of mutated clones who have a distaste for regs? It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows, Omega. At least, for some time.”

“Wait. Hunter and the others were mean to you?” Omega looked shocked, unable to imagine any of her older brothers being cruel. She began to turn towards the door, ready to get up and give the boys an earful.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, targon.” You quickly said, grasping her hand to stop her. “They weren’t mean to me. Just...indifferent.” Omega looked confused still, but she was no longer about to charge out of the room. Seeing that the girl was relaxed, you let go of her hand. 

“The boys are thick as thieves. Having a complete stranger joining them for Maker knows how long it was off-putting. But, one by one, they slowly welcomed me into their merry band. Well, all except Crosshair.” The mentioning of his name caused you to frown, your hand gripping the sheets. 

Omega noticed your shift of emotions, her eyebrows knitting together in worry. “You two were close.”

You couldn’t help but softly laugh a bit. “Not at first. He was the hardest one to be accepted by. It took us potentially dying just to get close.”

At that, Omega’s eyes widened, her jaw-dropping, and you knew that you had to tell her the story now, or she will never leave you alone. 

“Keep up, medic. Or I’m going to leave you behind.”

“Where have I heard that before?” 

It has been several months since you have joined Clone Force 99. And each mission has been quite eventful. All dangerous, non-stop action and heart-pounding moments. You had seen your share of action before joining this group, especially when you were with General Skywalker and his boys in blue. But the 501st pale compared to the Bad Batch. Then again, the Bad Batch is sent to suicide missions, unlike the 501st, so the comparisons aren’t fair. 

Such missions that you were on right now. 

Infiltrate a Separatist’s stronghold, eliminate the enemy commander and destroy their entire base. Nothing new but this time, you found yourself on a thick rainforest-like planet. It was the dead of night, using the shadows to your advantage. While the boys handled the assigned target, you and Crosshair were tasked to eliminate any remaining outside forces and retrieve a getaway vehicle. 

You have been paired with Crosshair in the past, but they have never been pleasant. The sniper all but ignored you or let out harsh remarks, insulting even, but you did your best not to let it get to you. All attempts to befriend him or have him loosen up a bit around you. It was all in vain, though, and even the rest of the batch members have told you to simply give up.

“It’s not you,” Hunter said one day as they were currently jumping through hyperspace. “He’ll come around. Just you wait.”

But it has been so long now. When will it happen? You were getting tired of the glares and sneers, but you refused to give in. 

Focusing back on the mission, the two of you reached the edge of the forest, locating the hanger currently guarded by battle droids. 

“Those dwarf spider droids may be a problem,” you stated, spotting the said droid following the standard clankers. 

“You should have stayed on the ship if you’re going to get cold feet. You’re useless on the battlefield,” Crosshair sneered under his helmet. You remained quiet, refusing to glance at him. To give him any satisfaction of his words stinging you intensely. 

“Just give me some cover fire. And don’t hit me,” you stated before donning your eyeshield then rushing in with your dual pistols. 

Having done this countless times, taking down the droids has become second nature to you. So, one by one, the droids fall, caught off guard from a sniper shot from the thick forest. They were also surprised to see a single soldier rushing them with nothing but two pistols. 

Once the separate hangar was secured, Crosshair silently joined you, neither one speaking. No “thanks” or “great job.” Then again, the Bad Batch weren’t the ones to compliment each other. Do the job, and get out alive. 

“Crosshair, (Y/N). What’s your status?” Hunter’s voice came through the comlink. 

“Just cleared out the hangar. We’re getting the getaway vehicle right now,” you responded as Crosshair began to hotwire one of the landspeeders. 

The landspeeder came to life, and you quickly hopped on, not wanting to test to see if Crosshair would actually leave you behind. The speeder raced down towards the rest of the crew’s location, staying on time with the plan. As the wind whipped through your light armor clothing, you began to hear a faint beeping sound. Leaning down to the ground, the beeping was getting louder and faster. 

“There’s a bomb!” You shouted with realization before rushing towards Crosshair. 

The sniper didn’t have enough time to respond because you tackled him off the ledge of the speeder. You had thought that you reacted quick enough, but the planted bomb exploded, launching the two of you further into the air. You felt your hands slip from Crosshair’s armor, separating the two of you. 

Then, you landed hard onto the ground, and you felt something snap within you. You couldn’t scream, the air being knocked out of you as your body tumbled and rolled to a stop. Summoning whatever strength you had, you slowly pushed yourself up with your arms before sharply sucking in some air, pain flaring on your right side. Carefully feeling your side, you came to a quick conclusion before gasping.  

Crosshair?! Looking around, you spotted the nonmoving clone a few feet away from you, and your stomach dropped at the sight of him. The silver-haired man was lying on his back, his helmet knocked off his head, and you spotted blood oozing from a cut above his eyebrow. Not only that but his right arm and left leg were awkwardly twisted. 

Fighting off your own pain, you crawled towards him before pushing yourself on your feet. The world spun, almost causing you to fall backward, but you quickly regained your balance. We can’t stay out in the open. That explosion will attract more droids to our location. 

Placing his helmet back on his head, you hook your arms under his shoulders. 

Dragging his body deeper into the forest was no easy feat. You were panting and sweating, your head was pulsing, and the pain on your side was overbearing. With every shift, you felt your bones poking at your lungs, causing you to slow down before resuming.

There! 

You spotted a large tree, and underneath the roots, the ground sunk and became hollow. It was a perfect hiding spot, and droids are dumb; they never look up or down. 

Not wasting any more time, you slid both you and Crosshair into the hole, and once settled, you immediately went to work. 

.

.

.

.

Crosshair slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times as his vision cleared. He tried sitting up, but that caused his head to ache more than it already was. Raising a hand, he felt bandages wrapping around most of his head.

“Leave it alone unless you want to bleed again.” 

Crosshair looked over, spotting you sitting nearby, weapons at hand. “What happened?” The sniper groaned, lowering his arm down.

“The landspeeder had a bomb planted and exploded. You broke your arm and leg and had a concussion.” You answered, receiving another groan from the clone after he noticed those said injuries wrapped up in wooden splints. “I’m guessing if the vehicle was activated improperly, it would self-destruct. No wonder the GAR had issues with this Separatist; they thought of everything. Hey! What are you doing?”

Crosshair had begun to sit up, using his good arm to push himself from the floor. “What does it look like?”

“You’re not fit to move around, Crosshair! And neither am I.” You shouted, shuffling towards him, putting your hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop. “I broke 3 ribs, and I can feel them poking my lungs. Hunter knows of our situation, and they’re working right now to find a way to pick us up.”

Crosshair pushed your hand off of him with his good arm, his glare piercing you. “I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

“Apparently, someone does. As your medic, my word is final when it comes to your wellbeing.” You snapped back, putting your hand back on his shoulder and pushing him down. “I’m not letting you toss your life away, all because you want to be stubborn!”

“Don’t act as you care about us clones!” The sniper growled, struggling underneath your hold. “We’re exposable for you perfect nat-borns!”

Your grip on his shoulder loosen, and your glare slowly softened. “Is that why you hate me? Because I’m a perfect nat-born?” You questioned almost a bit too calmly, which startled Crosshair a bit. He wasn’t expecting this reaction from you. No glares or quick remarks. Just silence. 

“I am not perfect, Crosshair. No one is perfect. Nat-borns, regs, defects, we’re all the same. Living and breathing, filled with emotions and flaws. What we do with ourselves is what makes us unique.” You said before moving away from him. “I chose to be a medic because I was tired of seeing everyone dying around me.”

Crosshair slowly raised an eyebrow, his face slowly relaxing. “What...do you mean by that?”

You spare him a brief glance before leaning against a stomp, steadying your breathing. And so, you began your tale. 

You were born into slavery and having no memories of your parents, too young to really. Among the slaves were children such as yourself, and you called them brothers and sisters. However, one by one, they either died in accidents, killed by their masters, or sold off to buyers. Finally, after years of servitude, you managed to escape, sneaking onto a shuttle and never looking back. 

“The moment I left the shuttle, I was given another chance. A chance my brothers and sisters would never have. That’s when I decided to become a medic. Then I volunteered to be a combat medic because I wanted to save lives.” You finished your story, your breathing steady.

“Even if you were created to fight for someone else’s war, that doesn’t mean your life is meaningless. Believe it or not, but I do care about your life. And that of your brothers’. Losing a loved one is never easy, and I don’t want to see any of you go through that.” You fell silent before taking a small breath. “I didn’t tell you my life story so that you can pity me or for me to win you over. Just to tell you my reasoning in life. What you do with my story is up to you.”

Silence fell between the two of you. Neither one dared a glance at the other. You didn’t like opening up old wounds, telling others your story. The only one who knows is Anakin because the two of you share a kinship of being former slaves. 

An hour has passed, and your comlink came to life. Hunter and the rest of the Bad Batch contacted you, informing you that they have returned to the ship and are en route to pick both of you up. Their arrival was quick, and so was being carried into the Havoc Marauder. 

They had succeeded in their part of the mission, even if they were now chased by any remaining droids. It wasn’t an issue, though, once they left the planet and jumped into hyperspace.   

“After that, we were flown to the closest medical station, and we were both healed up.”

Omega was speechless. She had heard stories of the Bad Batch’s missions back on Kamino through word of mouth from the troops, but nothing detailed. This was quite the tale, and she felt a lot of emotions. The first thing that the girl managed to say was, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. The important part is that we both survived, and after that, Crosshair wasn’t so harsh on me. In fact, he always had my back. It was his idea to outfit my old armor to that of Clone Force 99, officially making me one of them.” You replied with a soft smile. 

“Thank you for telling me your story. I hope we get Crosshair back soon because I would like to know what he was thinking throughout that moment.” Omega said, causing you to smile sadly. 

“Yeah, me too...”

Omega noticed your sadden expression at the thought of the sniper, awkwardly shifting in her chair. Hoping to lighten up the mode a bit, Omega asked you, “So, why is your nickname “Freckles”?” 

Your cheeks warmed up and you softly laughed, looking embarrassed. “When the rest of the boys checked up on us, I was being removed from a bacta tank. All I had on was my top and tight shorts. They saw that my mostly covered areas like my thighs were littered with freckles, and that’s where I got my nickname. It was embarrassing.”

“Yeah! But Crosshair was the one who pointed it out!” The booming voice of Wrecker came as the boys now stood at the doorway.

“From what I remembered, you were the one who whistled at her in the first place.” Tech pointed out. “Quite improper if you ask me, since she is part of our team.”

“Need I remind you that you were the one who recorded the whole thing,” Hunter added in. “Don’t you think that’s improper?”

The boys began to bicker among each other, except for Echo who simply listened to the retelling of that moment with intrigue. All of this just made you blush harder, covering your face with the sheets. Because you also remember Crosshair looking you up and down, before smirking and saying “Nice freckles.”

[writerbri-archive]

⚫️ exes

I definitely did not use bits and pieces of my own (dreadful) mental health to get into Buck’s mindset here. Doesn’t sound like me at all.

This is angsty. Not very happy. I cried writing it. Enjoy!

Tw for hints at alcohol abuse.

send a colorful prompt - buddie only

–––

His first instinct is to run.

He remembers how it felt when he was younger, jumping from place to place so quickly that he could barely catch his breath some days. Meeting new people and trying new things and leaving it all behind when the thrill began to fade and the loneliness of knowing he doesn’t actually belong began to creep in.

Years and years of being whatever he needed to be if it meant forming even the briefest, most meaningless connection.

Buck thought those days were long behind him. It took time and a lot of hard-won battles but eventually everything fell into place and he started to think that maybe this didn’t have to end.

Maybe that’s where he went wrong, thinking that he could have something so good for the rest of his life.

Because it was good, like warm sunshine on the skin after months spent in the cold. It was smiling between kisses in the kitchen and curling up on the couch after a long day and learning every inch of the other in the intimate quiet of night.

And now it’s gone.

That final, conclusive slam of the door still echoes in his mind every time he remembers that he’ll never have any of that again.

And he’s overwhelmed with the impulsive need to wreck what is left of his life. It’s a temptation that grows with every minute and hour and day that separates him from that brief, golden period when his heart belonged to Eddie Diaz.

It still does, if he’s being honest. But now it’s twisted and cracked. Lifeless and burdensome.

Or maybe it always was, he thinks when he sits alone in the dark, a bottle of something strong in his hand, the taste still lingering on his tongue. Maybe that’s where you went wrong, offering him something so ugly and useless that no one ever wants to keep it for long.

It’s never been easy to be the one left behind, but at least his time with Abby and Ali and Taylor ended with a clean break. Nothing messy left behind, if you don’t count Buck himself. He still had his life then. His work. His friends. His family. But everything that he can count as his own belongs to Eddie too. The same station. The same friends. The same family.

And he thinks about what the future looks like.

Days at work spent breaking every habit he’s formed over the years. Trying to avoid sharing the same space when he’s used to bumping shoulders in the loft and knocking knees together in the truck. Doing everything he can to avoid being alone with Eddie when those quiet moments between calls used to be his favorite.

He thinks about the end of the shift, when they would walk out with their fingers intertwined, and he would know beyond a doubt that he belonged right where he was, at Eddie’s side. Whether they were at work or at home or Bobby and Athena’s or a bar with their friends.

Now that feeling is gone, and that realization brings him to tears.

So he thinks about running.

He still has his training and his experience, and he can be a firefighter anywhere. He can be more careful, try to give less of himself to the people he meets.

But then he thinks about Christopher and Jee-Yun, and the unspoken promise he made to both of them. The day may come when they don’t need him, and maybe that day is already here, but he won’t ever leave them. He knows how it feels, and he never wants to be responsible for that.

I should have been there.

He never wants to have that regret again.

So he keeps drinking and he thinks it through and he wonders if every sip of burning liquor washes away the remnants of Eddie bit by bit.

As if it’s that easy.

He finds the paperwork despite how the room spins and goes far over Bobby’s head to do what needs to be done once he’s sober enough to fill it out.

He cleans out his locker during the hours that C-Shift is on and ignores their curious, confused looks.

He dodges every call that lights up his phone for the next three days, and he drinks too much and cries too much and stares at piles of unpacked boxes is his new, cold, empty apartment without bothering to empty a single one of them.

And on a bright, early Monday morning, Buck starts his first day with Station 46.

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

Self Insert And/Or Original Character Fic Recs

[Twilight]

A Hundred Winks of Sunshine (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

In which Bella is confident, cheerful and striving for a happy (second) life. Cullen Clan, meet little Miss Positivity.

Sanguinary By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

Vampire venom has a way of eating through human memories. Having lived one life and remembered another before being turned, it's no surprise Lucy has a bit of a problem trying to remain focused. Self Insert

DISCONTINUED

[Harry Potter]

Black Blooms (Series) (FF1 | FF2) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

Reborn into the world of Harry Potter, Poppy Evans has only one goal; make sure she's not the only magical Evans alive by 1982. And maybe save that smug Potter while she's at it. Regulus Black didn't fit into the equation; he wasn't suppose to be so distracting. A Mature SI fic

Fractured Fairytale (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

Three years after he escaped from the nightmare forced upon him by the Gaunt wretch, Tom Riddle meets another witch.

The Castle Where Eternity Dwells (FF | AO3) By: The Carnivorous Muffin (FF | AO3)

Elizabeth Riddle knows too much about things that prove to be both out of time and mostly useless as her twin brother searches for the castle where eternity dwells and the revolution which must open its doors. AU SI insert.

Cisme (FF | AO3) By: Dark and Chaotic (FF | AO3)

The world had always been such a terrible, beautiful place, full of colors. Then why do we always split it in half, in Black and White? In Good and Evil? Nobody has one without the other. I thought I knew what the world was about. But then I died. Then I found Magic. Or, rather, it found me. Fem!harry OC insert.

Magical Me By: Publicola  

Most self-inserts are exercises in vanity, and nothing says 'vanity' quite like Gilderoy Lockhart. But with a new personality and knowledge of the future, who knows? Maybe Lockhart will turn out to be a useful DADA teacher after all.

Triumphant, the Dreamer (FF | AO3) By: Shadowblayze (FF | AO3)

(Please see the remix of this work for new chapters.This version is discontinued, but the story lives on!  Chapter 58 has some new content!)

Heather's not exactly sure how she got here, but at least the role of 'older sister' is a familiar one.

it is better to light a candle, than to curse the darkness By: Shadowblayze (FF | AO3)

(Remix of my work, "Triumphant, the Dreamer)

Heather's not exactly sure how she got here, but if these people thought that they would be able to manipulate her little brother without a her raising hell about it, they were about to be unpleasantly surprised.

Blackwand Chronicles By: S’TarKan (FF | FA | SIYE | PS | RR | VD)

Dumbledore, despite his misgivings, offers an opportunity to a boy temporarily lost in the muggle world. There are some disquieting similarities to another student he remembers from before.

[Rating may increase later in the story.]

[One Piece]

Unintended Consequences By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

Mermaids are very free with their affections and pirates aren't the type to say no to a pretty face; logically then any number of those who sail the Grand Line might have offspring they've never met. A parent casts a long shadow over the life of their child regardless, but pirates' children have so much more to prove and Dracule Lisska is no exception to this rule.

Unexpected Complications By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

Dracule 'Fox' Lisska, Angel of Death and the King's Assassin, would have quite happily lived out her life without ever finding out why dozens of ships' crews vanished every year within the Florian Triangle. Unfortunately it was not to be, but that didn't mean she wouldn't make the most of things.

Rated M for explicit scenes.

Sequel to Unintended Consequences.

This Bites (FF | AO3 | SV | SB) By: Xomniac (FF | AO3)

Sea Kings, sea-sickness, sunburns, a 95% genocidal Navy and more than a million and one other assorted ways to die. It's official: Being inserted into an anime sucks ass... Buuut I guess it could be worse. I mean, look on the bright side: At least I'm sailing with the future king of the pirates.

(Self-Insert)

Twelve Red Lines (FF | SB) By: Vikingr

I expected to die when I went into the water. Instead, I was rescued by a crew of people who I knew only as characters in a story. But what does it take to become worthy of being a Straw Hat? And why are so many little details not matching up to what I know?

One Piece, Two Piece, Red Piece, Blue Piece By: Bluejay Blaze   

I was four years old when I fell through a doorway between worlds. Luckily for me, I didn't end up alone. Three brothers and a gang of mountain bandits were kind enough to take me in. My older brother's gonna be king of the pirates, and he's bringing me and an ever expanding family along for the ride. Crazy? You bet. Awesome? Most definitely. Allons-y!

Murphy’s Law By: Plouton   

You know that moment when everything you've ever known and loved and understood is brutally ripped from you following a painful death, and then you're forced to deal with the fallout when you realize you have been reincarnated into the corrupt, discriminatory, criminal-infested, gruesome, bastardized world of your favorite anime? Yeah, me neither.

Cover by Kurobook

Firefly (Series) (FF1) By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

Do you believe in afterlife? Lana didn't but she always hoped it was true. She hoped for a chance to be free from the shackles of her illness. And when a year was given for her to live, she hoped for it more than anything else. And there was a world she wanted to live in more than anything. And that was the world of One Piece.

OC falls into OP story.

DISCONTINUED

North Star Pirates By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

Slingshot through the barrier between universes, scattered across the oceans ruling the new world, born under new names and varied understanding and recollection of the situation... The beginning was not made easy for the seven of them.

But they made do. Each of them took a course to become stronger, to learn skills needed to survive and find each other. It was unlikely that they'd ever get back home but at least they'd find piece of home in each other and the family they'd create together.

Nine Finns meet at anime convention and get dropped to One Piece, separated from each other. Story starts from there and from the beginning.

Ground Zero By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

When you keep reincarnating again and again to different worlds and very rarely even reach double digits, you become pretty indifferent to the world and just keep wondering how soon you'll die next.

Of course exceptions are made. Reiko was satisfied with her current life even if circumstances were less than ideal. She had no idea which world she was at again but she had a wonderful brother. For the first time she found herself wishing she wouldn't die quite so soon.

“Do you really believe you’ll die soon?”

“Maybe not for a few years… but I’ll be lucky to reach my teens. But if I die, I hope I’ll be reborn to this world again soon. I wanna see Saka-nii again.”

“How will we find each other then?”

“Hm… You’ll be a marine. And I’ll…” Reiko paused to think. “I know! Regardless of the name given to me, I’ll call myself Umikaze Tooru. That’s a good name. And I’ll make sure that you’ll hear it someway.”

Or, a girl is born as Sakazuki's younger sister, dies and is later born again to One Piece world.

Margins (Series) By: Abalisk (FF | AO3)

Juniper Wilde never stood a chance against the call to adventure. A collection of her journeys through space and time and everywhere in between.

Alabaster Pieces (Series) By: Abalisk (FF | AO3)

Join Leith/Spoons on her wild adventures whether she likes it or not!

Gone Fishing (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

Life in the world of One Piece…isn't so great as one would think. Of course, I'm in no position to talk, considering how lucky I've been. Though, if there's one thing I've learned the hard way since my first life, it's that luck eventually runs out.

SI OC

[Cover Art: kurobook]

Three Sheets to the Wind (Series) (FF1 | FF2) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

Because sometimes a tale is too tall not to tell. Even if no one will ever believe her, this isn't Riskua's first shot at life. It is her first time as the 'big sister' of the nuisance that is Monkey D. Luffy however.

Self Insert.

(Slow burn on the pairing)

In the Interest of Justice (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

As if being reborn into One Piece isn't bad enough, of course she ends up thirty years before the actual story begins. Forget trying to survive everything the world can throw at her, before any of that, she has to survive childhood as a member of the Monkey family.

Self Insert

[Naruto]

Zenith (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

The Senju allowing women to fight was a pleasant surprise. That she's part of the family where the two youngest brothers will die before ten? Not so much. But Sōkōma is Tobirama's twin; genetically, she can become something great. Here's hoping greatness will be enough to save her brothers.

(Self Insert, Clan wars)

Ten Whispers of Rain (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

In which the Self-Insert is confident, cheerful and striving for a happy (second) life. Citizens of Konoha, meet little Miss Positivity.

Weight of the World (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

Naruto Uzumaki is the saviour, the prophecy child. If there is one body you don't want to get shoved into, it's that one. Suddenly female or not.

And as the gods would have it, that's exactly where I ended up.

In the body of a blonde, whiskered female child with a mountain of expectations pressing down on those tiny little shoulders.

Brilliant.

Self Insert. FemNaruto

DISCONTINUED

Mesuji Ripples (Series) (FF1 | FF2) By: Vixen Tail (FF | AO3)

The adventure of a reincarnated US Army Staff Sargent in the Naruto-verse, renamed Mesuji Natsumi. An SI/OC AU.

Skanji Clan Chronicals (Series) (FF1) By: Vixen Tail (FF | AO3)

A character study into why the older generations of shinobi are harsher and less inclined to compromise.

SI/OC Pre-Konoha, Warring States Period, Post-Founding. Currently up to the middle-end of the Second Great Shinobi World War.

Part One, the beginnings of Sekanji Terazawa. Poison Mistress, occasional kunoichi Lady, and the aunt of Orochimaru. Part Two, the establishment of Konoha and the character of the village Founders. Part Three, the end. Now on Part Four, the dead rise.

The Price of Living By: LovelyWeather   

Knowledge of the future is not the safest thing to possess, she learned...

[Realistic SI/OC]

Dreaming of Sunshine By: Silver Queen     

Life as a ninja. It starts with confusion and terror and doesn't get any better from there.

OC Self-insert.

No pairings.

Bitter Step (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

It all starts when you're born in the middle of a battlefield, and it's only downhill from there. And really, it doesn't get any better from here.

[SI, Self-insert as Fem!Tobirama]

Que Será, Será (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see. "Que será, será," she bitterly remarks.

[SI, Self-insert as Fem!Naruto.]

[Cover Art: kurobook]

Metamorphosis (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

It's quite sad to say there are definitely worse things than being covered in bugs, as one victim of circumstance finds out the hard way after being reborn into a fictional world. Of course, fictional, for Aburame Shiki, has now become factual.

SI OC

[Cover Art: UnstableFable]

Butterfly Child (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

I was never a fan of irony, even more so after died. I should be pretty happy that I was given a second chance at life, except guess who's still irony's b*tch? Yo. My name is Akimichi Chōko and I just wanna live...

SI OC

[Cover Art: skyfloe]

Entropy By: Plouton    

The second law of thermodynamics states that the universe, and any isolated system in it, demonstrates an inexorable tendency to slide toward a state of increasing disorder…

Or, in which a clueless girl makes everything worse with the assistance of an international ninja terrorist.

Like the Blade of a Knife By: Abalisk (FF | AO3)

It was like falling into a dream and she waited for the day that she would wake up. All of this couldn't be real, it just wasn't possible. But time passes and seasons change and she is left to wonder what her purpose truly is.

Twelve flowers of Hanafuda (FF | AO3) By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

It is a strange world where Kaede lived in. Not that she was normal either. Not anymore. She lives in recently founded Konoha, is part of Senju clan and for a reason or other it seems the Mokuton has decided to show up in her. Graduation is approaching and soon she has to step into the real world to test her skills in.

Self-Insert, SI-OC

Out of the Darkness: A Jinchuuriki’s Tale (FF | FA) By: S’TarKan (FF | FA | SIYE | PS | RR | VD)

People have asked for a sequel with Riley from There's Always A Way... So I got to wondering what someone with his sarcastic personality would be like in Naruto. Warning: This is darker and grittier.

Without A Sound (Series) By: EmptySurface (FF | AO3)

This is a story about child soldiers. It's a story about family and friendship. It's a story about war, suffering, loss and grief. It's about finding comfort in each other in the face of terrible things, and making it through trauma.

About falling down and getting back up again, no matter how many times it takes.

This is a story about soldiers and assassins, subterfuge, and growing up to endure the harsh realities of a world constantly on the brink of destruction. Where survival means sacrificing things. Things that matter.

This is a story about Shiranui Kyo, who does her best to survive and build a life that's worth living.

Inhale (Series) (FF1 | FF2 | FF3 | FF4 | FF5) By: Lang Noi (FF | AO3)

Inspired by Silver Queen's "Dreaming of Sunshine." Ripples turn into waves and crash upon the shores of what is and what could be, and I was just someone else who got pulled under. I didn't realize that even a drowning person makes waves of their own.

A SI OC story.

Blood in the Water By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

This was not the plan, okay? It wasn't! Shisui however can't quite bring himself to care, not when he's just been rescued from certain maiming by the most magnificently well-muscled kunoichi he's ever met.

[Crack. Fix-it. Behold the chaos! Uchiha Shisui is Hoshigaki Shizuma's father, there is no other explanation for the Boruto bishonen sharkboy. DoS compliant. Random updates.]

A Little Tied Up (Series) (FF1 | FF2) By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

A Compass Points North AU wherein, rather than as Kita, the SI is born as Izuna. Where you are makes as much of a difference as who you are, and changes in circumstances lead down surprising rabbitholes.

The Compass Points North (Series) (FF1 | FF2) By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

Most people don't get asked before they're reincarnated into a whole new universe, but a little care really does make all the difference.

[KHR]

Bolt from the Blue (FF | AO3) By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)  

Xanxus picks up his first Guardian very early; his father rather wishes he hadn't. Things change accordingly.

(SI-OC Fix-it fic. Canon-typical violence and themes, including terrible parenting, organised crime and murder-for-hire. Diverse pairings. Characters discussing mature themes; also fluff, common sense, happy endings.)

Heart of Ice By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

Trapped by the Mafia and sent to Namimori to keep an eye on the son of the Vongola External Advisor, Helene tries to settle into her new life under an alias and look after her little brother. However when Sawada Tsunayoshi is made the Vongola heir her past and present begin to intersect...

Incomplete

Pick Up The Pieces (Series) (FF1 | FF2 | FF3) By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

Xanxus confronts -and gradually begins to heal from- his childhood trauma, eventually escaping his abuser with a bit of help from his loved ones.

The Dragoness' Library (Series) (FF1 | FF2) By: Vixen Tail (FF | AO3)

No one ever said an SI gets a place in canon events, or that they would be ideally placed at all. How much would you recall if you had decades to go before anything in a long forgotten story comes to be?

SI/OC as part of the Russian Mafiya, liberties taken with crafting said Mafiya Family.

Turn Turtle (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

Sawada Kamehime starts off her second life with a built-in cheat-code. Well, that's not entirely true; it's more like a sixth sense, something that warns her about certain things, about certain actions. It's strange as hell. Then, during middle school, Byakuran comes barrelling into her life and things get a little more hectic.

(Female Tsuna SI)

Apathy (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

It's all fun and games until you realize that you've been reincarnated into a once fictional world where you're the next in line to become a mafia boss. Sawada Setsuna is anything but amused because it took a baseball to the chest to realize who she actually was and even then, her first thought is to buy a lock for her room.

SI reincarnated as Fem!Tsuna

[Cover Art: kurobook]

Mirrored Flames (FF | AO3) By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

They were six teens wreaking havoc among the Flame Mafia. Of course they were changing things. Hopefully for the better.

OC-heavy story with two Self-Inserts

(SI-OC)

[HxH]

Monochrome By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

"Even if the world were a monochrome, we all have the right to see rainbow colored dreams..."

Sara died. And she was born again. Kinda. Her age was about the same but the past behind her was different. Past she knew nothing about. Past she had lived in the Hunter x Hunter world. So what now? Living the life, trying to survive and figure out her past.

Self-Insert, SI-OC story

De Mí a Usted (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

From me to you: It's one thing being reborn into the world of Hunter x Hunter, and it's definitely another when there's a language barrier in place. Add in some miscommunications and a dash of culture shock, and you're in for an unpleasant experience from which there is no escape.

SI OC

[Cover Art: kurobook]

[BNHA]

Tempo Rubato (FF | AO3) By: KlonoaDreams (FF | AO3)

There's no telling what life will give you—especially if it isn't your first. Rather than worry about the future, Hibiki Miki decides to live life the way she sees it. It just never occurred to her that her existence could amount to anything beyond a second chance at life...

SI OC

[Cover Art: kurobook]

Blindsided By: Browniebearie    

When Calliope and her two mentors travel from America to help tutor the students of UA, their short trip will prove far more than they bargained before. Will this visit to Japan help Calliope come to terms with the cruelty of her quirk? Or will the events of her journey destroy all that she had worked so hard to achieve?

Loosely based on the anime ft Undertale influences

Picking up Steam (FF | AO3) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

In which Endeavor knows there's something not quite right with Rei, the Todoroki children are optimistic, and Todoroki Rei is trying to figure out the difference between amnesia and waking up in another woman's life.

(SI stuffed into Todoroki Rei's body/Todoroki Family Fix-It)

Hawtify (Series) (FF1) By: Tsume Yuki (FF | AO3)

"Your, your daughter?" Izuku wobbles, his legs unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the intense workout he's only half completed.

"Yes! Nana-tan is my incredibly talented, smart, bea-"

"I think he gets it, you're proud of me."

(SI with no knowledge of BNHA)

Static By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

She was Kide. He was Denki. Kide was Denki and Denki was Kide. They were one.

And this world was a story.

Right?

Would Kide be allowed to be herself or should she fit into the mold?

[Bleach]

Created Life from Death (FF | AO3) By: MoonRaven1412 (FF | AO3)

Mirai means future. And a lot of hopes were placed on her when she was created. She was one of a kind but perfectly ordinary too. Though there was one trait no one predicted she would have. Knowledge of this world when it was just a manga for her. She used to live in another world. She used to live another life. After dying she had a new chance to try again.

SI-OC fic, Self-Insert.

Heart Bound: Shinigami By: Umei no Mai (FF | AO3)

Falling in love can have far-reaching consequences when you're a kami, especially when you happen to be under an inconvenient curse. Falling in love with a shinigami captain had the potential to be disastrous.

Slight Rurouni Kenshin crossover.

Ethos (Series) By: Abalisk (FF | AO3)

The tears that overflow your heart Are surely proof of your wish for a future Gaze forward without lamenting your current powerlessness

Breach By: Plouton    

Some things are meant to be broken. Piñatas. Glow sticks. Bad diets. Smoking habits. Records. Rules. The oppressive military regime of a two and a half thousand year old system that governs the world of the dead. It's a good thing, then, that I am a master of breaking things.

Life is Full of Surprises By: Kira michi      

Kenpachi/OC, Byakuya/OC, and Hitsugaya/OC. Don't like, then don't read. No flaming. Didn't mean for it to be this long! X3 Completed!

A New Chance By: Kira michi   

The new sequel to Life is Full of Surprises. Don't like, don't read. No flames.

Hiatus

Captains' Love By: Kira michi    

What if three friends win the hearts of their Captains? They won't know what to do, since they never been in love before. But they do know one thing, they will have fun being in their squads.

Zara/OC, Bya/OC, Hitsu/OC

Don't review, please.

Love Finally Known By: Kira michi    

COMPLETED!

Shun, Rio, and Yuri are back! And this time, they've changed in the past three years. And the big change, is that they all have Bankai. Follow their crazy adventures as they discover love.

Sequel to Captains' Love. :D

Sucky summery? Yep.

Don't review, please.

You Can't Hurt The Ones You Love By: Kira michi    

Sequel to Captains' Love and Love Finally Known.

Don't likey, don't readey.

Completed! :D Finally!

Don't review, please.

Technological Advancement By: Kira michi    

Kenpachi/OC, Byakuya/OC, Hitsugaya/OC

Don't like, don't read. No flames.

The title sucks, I know. XD

Formerly titled "How Are You?" :D

Hiatus

Ordinary By: Kira michi    

Kenpachi/OC story.

Guy meets girl, girl meet guy, girl is terrified of guy, and guy is annoyed of girl.

Title was originally "World Upturned."

I'm Not A Seer By: Kira michi    

They weren't sure how they got here, but they were getting back home somehow. But these people won't let her go, and if she was honest, she was tired af and wanted to go home.

Ta dahh! This is a self-insert fic. :V

Family Troubles By: Kira michi    

Chisako's a normal teenager on her way to adulthood... if you discount the fact that she's starting to see some things and that there's something out there called 'shinigami'. Crazy people is what they were. Heck no, she'd rather have a normal, non-crazy life, thank you.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

Previously titled: Beauty is in the eye of the Beholder.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Just Come Home - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Summary: Valerie's relationship with Ron comes to a climax and she finally works up the courage to contact her parents

Warnings: Brief language, but honestly this chapter's just really soft

Word Count: 4.6k

Tags: @50svibes @cagzzz107 @yentroucnagol @mads-weasley

-

Berchtesgaden was quiet, serene, the anguish of warfare entirely unseen in its confines, as if an invisible, impenetrable wall had been erected around its borders, effectively sheltering those within, despite the fact those protected had been some of the evilest of all in this grisly conflict.

Valerie's bare feet skid gracefully over the polished floorboards, the expensive silk robe she'd found in one of the upstairs wardrobes rippling with a liquid quality around her legs as she walked. The house was empty - Ron and the other few officers staying in the adjacent rooms having headed out in the early hours of the morning. She revelled in having such a house to herself, strolling about the kitchen and peering nosily into the larder, a hankering for a cooked breakfast making her stomach rumble impatiently.

After overcoming the initial confusion surrounding how to actually heat the stove, she plucked a pair of eggs from the pantry and buttered up a pan, smiling smugly as they sizzled gradually to perfection. No matter how incompetent Val may have seemed when it came to domestic tasks, the satisfaction she took from completing them was incomparable. It was the tiny things that mattered the most to her these days - washing her own clothes, making her own food, curling up in a bed that didn't hurt her shoulders once the day was done. She knew without an ounce of uncertainty that she'd never be able to go back to her old life - not only had she changed, but so had her ability to be complacently useless. Valerie held no ill will for the girl she once was, but the woman she had become was not the same person.

At least, not entirely.

The pure silver fork balanced daintily between her fingers, absently picking at her fried eggs as she wandered the hallway, pausing in front of grandfather clocks and gold-framed paintings to admire their artistry. As she reached the far end of the hall she approached a mantlepiece, frowning as she noticed the sudden absence of some intricate candlesticks that had been on display there the day before. Val pondered this for a moment before scoffing to herself, turning on her heel towards Ron's room.

There was no lock on his door, and she left her breakfast on the table outside before slipping into the dimly lit bedroom, a long beam of sunshine crossing the floor through a gap in the curtains. It hadn't taken Valerie long to become accustomed to Ron's proclivity for theft, although she'd never missed an opportunity for scolding him - particularly when he took things she would've liked to have nicked for herself.

The candlesticks glinted slightly from their spot on the far table, clustered next to a small clock and a handful of silver spoons wrapped in an embroidered handkerchief. She almost laughed as she reached out and picked one up, but the sudden shift in the shadows revealed another item.

A piece of crinkled notebook paper lay out on the table, a flattened circle in its centre from where the candlestick had been placed upon it. Its edges were torn and worn out in places, and each note was scribbled with a different instrument - some in blunt pencil, others in different shades of blue and black ink.

As she scanned the handwritten list, it seemed to compromise of many of the artists and architects she'd studied in Paris, their spellings occasionally off, but annotated with tidbits of knowledge she'd dropped on such subjects.

Canaletto, Caravaggio, Brunelleschi, Michelozzo, 'Chateau d'Amboise'?

Below the names were a few additional notes, things such as 'Visit Newport' and 'Read Charlotte Bronte' - all of her interests and passions compiled into a scribbled little document that made her beam.

Val could picture Ron hurriedly scrawling whenever she wasn't around, compiling almost anything she'd ever mentioned in passing, every drop of easily ignored knowledge - the kind of things she would say but never expect anyone to consider, never expect anyone to care. They had been Valerie's interests alone, and she'd been almost isolated by her own myriad of ostentatious knowledge, always without someone to relate.

Until now, that was.

Because now someone was trying.

With a grin, she slipped the paper into the pocket of her pyjamas and backed out of the room, pettily returning the candlesticks to the mantlepiece before retreating back upstairs to her bedroom.

-

Val had been lucky to snag the house's master bedroom, the only one connected to a huge ensuite bathroom. The others had grumbled and complained, but she wouldn't relent for anything, and they soon grew content with their own setups. The elegance of the place felt like home to her, the perfumed smell that lingered in the air reminding her of her mother.

Her feet felt cool against the polished tile, and as she looked at herself in the huge bathroom mirror she raised her hands to cup her own face, squishing at her cheeks slightly as she stared into her own eyes, thinking about everything and nothing all at once.

The tub was smooth against her bare skin as she slipped down beneath the floral-scented bubbles, her eyes closing as she submerged her whole body under the water for a moment, relishing in the feeling of her hair pooling and rippling around her head.

She must've sat in that tub for an hour at least, washing her skin and her hair until the water had turned ice cold and she shivered under the soft towel as she dried herself. Heading back into her room, clothed in just her underwear and wrapped tightly in a long dressing gown, she sat down at the vanity, hand wrapping around the handle of a silver-plated hairbrush.

Suddenly Val felt like she was home, back in her bedroom at her parents' country house, awaiting the smell of eggs and bacon to waft up from the dining hall downstairs. She brushed through her soaking wet locks with care, so absorbed in these memories, so vivid and true, that she didn't even notice the door opening behind her.

Movement in the reflection of the vanity mirror startled her, wet strands of hair sticking to her neck as she turned suddenly. A smile stretched at her cheeks as Ron closed the door behind himself on his way in.

"Hello," She spoke.

It was something about the way the sunlight glinted against her damp cheeks, the way her face had lit up the moment she'd seen him, automatically as if it were muscle memory. Ron supposed it was instinct for him by now, too. And he realised at that moment that the past few months much of his life had simply revolved around entering a room and hoping Valerie was inside. A subconscious prayer that she'd be there to smile, pass a witty quip in his direction, or to just be there. He figured that he would spend the rest of his life just wanting her around.

It was as if time was being pulled together by a thread, some invisible string binding every moment he'd spent with her into a perfect package that he'd die to be able to unwrap and live all over again. It's a strange realisation, and one he wasn't certain anyone but him had ever faced - the realisation that a cold afternoon in war-torn France, staring down a barrel of a pistol, had been the turning point of his life. Ron began to wonder when he'd begun to fall in love with Val, but when he recalled the first he'd seen her smile, the first time she'd made him laugh, the day he'd flirted with her and she'd bolted from the room, he realised it had been a gradual thing. There had been no act of falling, it hadn't been anywhere near so perilous or dramatic. It had been warm and golden, it smelled like cigarettes and sounded like a breathy chuckle.

Ron's feet had carried him forward before he even realised what he was doing. Valerie began to rise from her seat, but was only halfway up before his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, fingers knotting themselves in her damp hair, and he kissed her.

He felt the air move against his cheek as she sucked in a sharp breath, and his shoulders tensed in panic for a second before he felt her hands press against either side of his face. As she pressed her front against his, Ron's other arm found its place secure around the back of her waist, clutching her as if he never intended to let go.

Val couldn't help but grin against his lips as he kissed her, drawing herself in closer, pressing in as if there was still any available space to fill between them. She could feel the fabric of the gown shifting against her skin as he held her tight, and she realised that this was how things were always going to go.

She'd laid herself bare in front of him, and he'd taken her in and fostered the barrier between them until it had crumbled and dissipated. Perhaps she would never lose the pain from the love she'd lost with Leo, but the love she had with Ron was different. She was different. And with him, she felt safe. There was no youthful chase, no fear behind the way he had kissed her.

Ron wasn't a part of her soul, he was the one hers was linked to.

The kiss broke after a moment and Valerie pulled him in for a gentle hug, her chuckle echoing in his ear as his chin rested in the crook of her neck.

"Y'know, you could've at least waited for me to get dressed," She teased.

"I didn't know you weren't. But I'll consider it a bonus."

Val laughed and squirmed as she felt one of his hands slip through the gap in her dressing gown and poke at the bare skin of her stomach.

"Stop it," She grinned, yanking his hand away as his lips grazed briefly against her neck.

Her hand reached behind her and found the note he'd written laying on her desk. She took a step backwards and raised it to Ron's eye level. A look of confusion crossed his expression for a moment before he relaxed. He looked slightly embarrassed. It was endearing, actually.

"You researched this stuff?" She asked.

Ron let out a huff, and Val could've sworn she caught him blush. "I did. I found lots of books on it all, the people who used to live here were so rich and-" He cut himself off.

She waited for him to continue for a moment before quirking a brow when he didn't. "You were going to say pretentious, weren't you?"

"I was." He admitted.

Val shrugged. "Fair."

"I just never knew what the fuck you were talking about," Ron confessed, and she tossed her head back with a laugh that made him beam.

He still had a hand rested on her hip, and he let it fall to his side as she turned away from him, floorboards creaking slightly under her as she crossed the room towards the wardrobe, flipping through it until she found something to wear. Despite knowing that the house wasn't hers, that the clothes belonged to another woman, that she'd never before used the soap that now scented her skin, he couldn't help but think of how naturally she slotted in to the luxury and elegance of their surroundings. She looked as if she'd been born to traipse this room, blending seamlessly with the decadence of the house. And then it occurred to him - she had. It wasn't the first time Ron had realised he'd never seen Valerie in her natural state, the one she'd occupied for all those years before they'd met, all those years he'd spent missing her before he'd ever known her.

He wondered what she had been like before the war - if she had been just as excited by every old painting as she was now, or if that elation had stemmed from being cut off from the things she had once had for so long. Had her smile always been slightly lopsided? Had her hair always been that same shade of brown? How many of her habits did she get from her mother, and how many came from her time of assimilation in Paris? Perhaps Ron would never know the full extent of who Valerie had been, and maybe that was fine. But he intended to learn all he could about the Valerie that stood in front of him now.

Her chin was squished into folds of skin as she peered down narrowly at her front, weaving buttons through tiny holes in the front of her blouse. With a glance over towards him, she tilted her head to the side slightly. "Don't you have a job to get to, soldier?"

Ron quirked a smile as he sat down. "I'd prefer to stay here,"

"And I'd prefer to be the Queen of England, get off the chaise lounge," She batted a hand at him in an almost scolding manner that made him laugh.

"Alright, alright, your majesty," He smiled, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to her temple before crossing the room towards the door. "Oh, and Lipton will be back soon, so uh... put some pants on."

Val paused until Ron had left the room, before letting out a snort of a laugh and shaking her head as she plucked a pair of trousers from the closet, the force of his lips on hers leaving an imprint that she could still feel.

-

Valerie jogged lightly up the grand staircase, a notepad and pen in one hand, her shoes producing a repetitive, dull thud against the polished hardwood as she reached the peak. With a hand reached out to lazily swing around the end of the bannister, she veered down the hallway towards her room, letting out a half-shriek as she almost collided head-on with Lipton.

"Lip, Christ!" She huffed, stumbling backwards slightly.

He seemed unperturbed, but she didn't miss the glint in his eye. "I saw Captain Speirs leaving your room an hour ago. Just after I got back."

Val shrugged, feigning ignorance. "We talk, you know we talk,"

"Yeah. Except I've seen his face after you've talked, and he's never looked giddy before. Do you know what it's like seeing Ron giddy? It's unsettling."

She almost smiled then, her mouth tilting upwards at the corner for the briefest of moments before she managed to suppress it. Lip definitely saw it.

"Did you kiss him?" He asked bluntly.

Valerie took a step back, and then silently cursed herself for acting so dramatically at such an accusation. "No! ... He kissed me."

Lipton nodded, smiling in a knowing manner that she wasn't sure she liked. "I knew it."

"How?"

He raised a brow. A beat passed before she caught on.

"Right. I always forget you're married."

"You should really meet Marie, y'know."

"I should," Val nodded. "I'll invite you to Vermont when we get home, make a weekend out of it."

"Speaking of Vermont," He gestured pointedly to the paper and pen still in her hand. "Those wouldn't happen to be for letter-writing purposes, would they?"

She smiled. Lipton had never tried to prod her, not ever. He had always respected all of the reasons why Valerie had kept herself from her parents, and never tried to pressure her into making herself known. But she could tell he had recognised she was ready. "It's time, Lip."

He nodded in understanding, and placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. "You'll be ok."

She took a deep breath. "Yeah."

-

It's not quite a task that can be summed up in words - to write to the ones you love the most, to reveal that you have been alive for all the years they have been mourning your loss, to push yourself back into their lives without warning, and to try to encourage them back into yours. It almost felt disrespectful - like she was barging in on the life they'd built without her, pushing herself in where she wasn't certain she was still needed.

And yet, when the pen hit the paper, the words came almost effortlessly.

Dear Mama and Papa

It's me. It's Valerie. I cannot imagine how much of a shock this must be for you to read, but I assure you it has been no easy feat to write to you after all this time either.

When you called me in Paris and told me to come home, I didn't believe you when you said I was in danger. Because you see, what I hadn't told you at the time was that I had fallen in love. His name was Leo - He was a Jewish man in one of my classes, two years older than me and much poorer too. I was so wrapped up in being in love with him that I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want you to know because I felt that as soon as you did, what I had with him would have become impersonal, like a fact in a book, less so something that I felt in my soul and more so a piece of commodified gossip. It was a mistake. I think if I'd gotten my head out of the clouds and told you then, things would be a lot different than they are now.

Leo didn't want to leave Paris, not even when the Nazis came. I do not want you to be angry with him for that (because I know you will be, Papa), because Paris was his home and his lifeblood, and I know it would take hell to drag us from our home too. But still - he didn't want to leave Paris, and I didn't want to leave him. So we stayed.

I do not wish to write too much about this part of the story, and I do not wish for you to nag me about it whenever we next see each other, for it is so painful to me that it is a struggle even to put it to paper. Leo was murdered. I saw it happen. I was left in Paris on my own, and I fell in with a branch of the French Resistance (which I'm sure you will have heard about by now over the news waves - we were quite impressive). That kept me fighting for a good few years, and I missed you all the while, but really the only reason I'm able to write to you now is because of something that happened to me earlier this year.

I cannot remember exactly when it was, for it was only recently when I became able to keep track of the days as they passed, but I believe it may have been around the beginning of February. I was alone in a small village towards the Western border of France, and some American soldiers found me.

Lewis Nixon is here with them, he says you're familiar with his parents.

Anyway. I was given shelter with them, and I've been travelling with the Company ever since. They gave me a job, too, taking inventory of ammunition and food. You should see me now - I do my own washing and cooking and everything. Grandmama would have been horrified, I think. But I'm happy with them. I am safe, and I am with friends, and I want you to remember that until you are able to see my face again.

We are on the border between Germany and Austria in a little town called Berchtesgaden - It was once Nazi territory, but they are all gone now. The house I'm staying in is very nice. I should hope to bring a few things back for you when I return.

Now that I've gotten to this point in my letter, I've realised there is one very important detail I have forgotten to include. The soldier that found me. His name is Ron. I love him too, I think. He's a real military man - which isn't why I like him, but I know it's why you will, Papa. I feel different with him than I did with Leo - I'm excited to tell you all about him, even as I am writing to you now. But I shall restrain myself, less I make myself seem a giddy schoolgirl with a crush when I am anything but.

When we are finally reunited, I feel it only fair to warn you that I may not always remind you of the daughter you lost. The Valerie that you mourned is dead, in a sense, but the Valerie writing to you now is very much alive. She is safe, and she is happy, and she is very much looking forward to holding you both close again.

I do not know how long it will take for this letter to reach you. I plan to take it to the little army post office they've made up as soon as I find an envelope - but the three of us will know all very well by now that things can get lost in these times.

Nevertheless, I pray that this letter finds you well, and I especially hope it finds you before I see you next, otherwise our encounter shall be very shocking and awkward and difficult for me to explain, for I shall likely forget exactly what I've written down now and probably won't be able to come up with anything quite so eloquent in person. I've never been one for emotional reunions, but I might cry at least a little bit to spare your feelings. (That was a joke. I will definitely cry. A lot.)

I wouldn't advise sending a reply to this, for I do not know where I'll next be and I would hate for your expensive letter paper to get lost somewhere. I shall say hello again whenever I next see you.

Your daughter,

Valerie.

-

When she found herself drained of words and free to put down her pen, it was already dark outside, and Val found patches of the paper damp and wrinkled from where it had become blotched by her tears. She folded it delicately, creases sharp and neat beneath her fingers, handled as if it might shatter as she slipped it into an envelope, carefully inscribing the address of her home on its surface.

It had occurred to her, of course, that after all this time it was possible her parents didn't even live in that house anymore. What if they'd left the town - the state, even - in an attempt to flee the painful memories of their daughter the place might have inspired? No. Val told herself they wouldn't, they couldn't, that they'd been through so much together in that wonderful house that there was no way they would have left. It was a real effort to squash her anxieties - the lingering fear that the home she'd worked so hard to get back to wasn't even hers anymore. But she could feel it deep down somewhere that it would still be waiting for her. Her mother had always been very sentimental anyway.

Val wrapped her coat around her torso as she slipped out of her room, treading lightly as she passed Ron's room. She'd become very practised at being silent, and this was a walk she wanted to make alone. The stair creaked slightly under her foot and she froze, wincing as she hesitantly waited for the sound of a bedroom door opening down the hall. But it didn't come. She made it down the rest of the steps without a hitch, slowly prying the front door open so as not to disturb the noisy hinges.

Berchtesgaden was peaceful at night. Lampposts glowed a warm yellow, casting long, faint shadows along the pavement, and a cool breeze blew down from the mountaintops above, rustling through her hair and almost making her shiver.

The streets were sparsely trafficked, an occasional soldier passing by, keeping to himself with little more than a polite nod. Everyone who was out at this hour was either too exhausted to chat or on some personal business that needn't be interrupted. That was one thing Valerie liked significantly better than the way it had been at home - rich people never minded their goddamn business.

When she reached the makeshift post office the men had set up upon arrival, she entered hesitantly, unsure if it was closed. The attendant stood with his back to the door, the side of his face lit by a single lamp burning on the table, the rest of the room shrouded in dimness. The soldier turned and jumped slightly, startled by her silent intrusion.

"I'm sorry, I have a letter I need to send, I wasn't sure if you were still open," Val spoke cautiously, audibly nervous for the first time in a long time.

He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Have at it, I'm just about to close up. We'll send them out tomorrow."

She nodded. "Thank you."

The letters were piled up in a wooden box on the far end of the counter, and as she stepped towards them she felt her chest tighten, all of the air in her body stored tightly in her lungs as if it were unable to escape. Val's fingers tensed, pressing light creases into the envelope as she reached the box. It was stacked high, almost full, filled to the brim with letters of endearment and good tidings from sons to mothers and fathers. She supposed it made her a little special, being the only daughter in the batch. But she knew none of the men would ever wish to be in her shoes for this.

Val reached up, her hand hovering over the box, the envelope light in her grasp. She could feel the paper slide against the skin of her fingertips, and then it was gone, falling almost in slow motion to land with the softest of thuds atop the rest. She had worried it may have felt anticlimactic, but simply seeing it nestled away like some commodity with all of the other letters made the future seem hopeful - as if she too would someday be normal again.

The attendant nodded to her as she made her way out, taking a sharp inhale of the crisp night air as she stepped out onto the street. There was something bubbling in Val's chest and, with her hands pressed over her mouth, she let out a shrill, girlish giggle, feeling as if it were the only sound she was capable of making. She half crouched in the middle of the street, rocking forwards on the balls of her feet before rising to stand again. Val didn't quite know what to feel - she wanted to scream and laugh and cry and dance and sing.

And she wanted to kiss someone.

Ron had looked up as she entered, almost surprised but not quite. Her coat was still pulled tight around her, buttoned up to her throat, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold air. He was sat on the edge of the bed, one of his boots on the floor as he worked to untie the other. His brow had quirked as she approached him, and he'd opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance.

Val slotted herself between his legs without a word, palms gentle against the curve of his jaw as she tilted her head down to kiss him, her frame firm and stubbornly pressed against his. He had dropped his boot without hesitation, accidentally tugging at her hair as he reached up to cradle her head in his hands. The kiss only lasted a moment, and when she pulled back her forehead pressed against his, their gazes locked in silence for what felt like forever until it finally broke with her words.

"I love you."

[shadeofazmeinya]

No Other Place To Go

Summary: Gavin may be a villain but he hardly considers himself the Bad Guy. Sure he’s stuck spending most of his time fighting latex-suited “heroes” but that doesn’t mean they’re in the right either. Until one day, one of those heroes shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Injured. And asking for his help. 

A/N: For the @rtwritingcommunity ‘s secret sunshine event! Written for @deleriousfromcoffee! This was a fun prompt to write, sorry its a little short but hope it reads well!

The sirens blared, red lights flashing as the building erupted. Shouting and footsteps came from every direction, but it did not stop them. Their heartbeat was in their ears, lungs in their throat, and rage blinding their eyes. They just kept slamming, grabbing, crumbling everything they could. Flames flicked at their heels, curling papers into ash. Eating away at everything it can find. But they paid the fire no mind.They had set it after all. The server room was their mission, after the fires they set ablaze in records, where the whole incident started. Where the truth was no longer hidden, replaced by a fury they’ve never felt before. 

They only needed their fists, punching one server into the other until it was nothing but useless pieces. Then the metal was twisted and wires ripped apart to make sure. The dent in the ground from their kicks opened to the chamber below. Sparks coated the room from the shattered walls, even the beams bent as the room creaked in threat to collapse. 

It wasn’t enough. The whole place needed to be destroyed, needed to be torn apart piece by piece. They would, could, with the energy flooding their veins. But for now, they run. 

Shouting gets closer and then there’s the cracking of guns. The sirens mixed with gunfire as they burst through the wall and out into the darkened city.

There are many things Gavin expects when there’s a knock on his door in the middle of the night, though most of it is not pleasant. Police maybe, though Gavin dreads the idea of having to relocate again. He’s grown to like this apartment, high enough away from traffic, decent neighbors. But he heard no sirens close enough and the police would be shouting already. Or maybe it could be one of those neighbors, though he doubts the elderly woman next to him is wanting sugar at 2 am. Which leaves him to his biggest dread. That one of those idiots in latex suits decided a late night pointless ass kicking was in order. Really he hoped they’d give it up for once. Gavin knows his plans are rarely sounded… bureaucratic but that hardly deserved the fervor they went after him with.

Gavin grabs a taser off his kitchen table -though taser made it sound pathetic, Gavin knows how to properly build his gadgets- and walks on his tiptoes up to the door. He holds his breath, though he’s only half certain it’ll help. The Agency probably manufactured some blokes with x-ray vision at this point, who can watch him through the wall. But there’s another knock, fainter this time and it pushes Gavin closer. He takes a shallow breath before jumping to the peephole, taser gripped tight in his hand. But before he activates it, he freezes, finger hovering over the button. He blinks, staring until he can process what he sees on the other side.

It’s Monster Truck. Or at least, that’s how Gavin knew them. The prize of the Agency, the superhero themself. Strongest being in the world, could lift just about anything, punch straight through steel. And is the biggest pain in Gavin’s ass. But they were here. Alone. And bleeding.

Gavin unbolts and opens the door, yanking his nemesis inside. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Gavin hisses as he tosses them on the couch, pointing the taser at them. As if they couldn’t have ripped him in half by now.

Instead they groan, hand pressed against their side as it does little to stop the blood dripping between their fingers. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“Well, how about the damn Agency to start?” Gavin huffs, stepping back to grab some kitchen towels and tossing them over, all while keeping the taser trained on them.

The other shakes their head, a dark look in their eyes that makes Gavin’s stomach churn. “Can’t fucking trust the Agency. Can’t trust anyone.”

“What? I thought you were their poster child. The one leading us all into a ‘Just and Fair Future’.”

The other scowls. “It’s all a load of crap.”

Gavin narrows his eyes. “I’ve told you that. You didn’t seem the type to listen.”

“Yeah, well,” they hiss through their teeth as they press the towels to their wound. “Learned the hard way.”

Gavin sighs, lowering the taser. There’s something in the way they hang their head, in the look in their eyes that Gavin can tell they are telling the truth. The pain and fury of betrayal is a hard thing to fake. “Just… Stay here. Don’t touch anything. Let me grab my first aid kit.”

They’re passed out by the time Gavin returns. Which is honestly preferable. Gavin pulls up their shirt, grimacing at the look of the wound. It’s a nasty gash, Gavin’s surprised they made it all the way here. Then again, this bloke is clearly half human-made chemicals at this point. They can survive anything.

Gavin works on stitching and wrapping them up. As annoying as the other is, he wasn’t about to let them bleed out on his couch. Like he said. He doesn’t feel like moving.

Gavin patches them up, then strips the towels to tie them to the coffee table. It’s more a gesture than anything else, the other’s strength would pop out of that like it was made of paper. But it’s really the only option he has as he sighs and heads to bed.

--

In the morning, Gavin moves into the living room to find Monster Truck awake and sitting up. Not only were the binds off and in shambles, the coffee table itself was in pieces on the floor. And Gavin could only sigh. “Was that really necessary?” Gavin huffs.

The other has the decency to look sheepish as they glance to the table. “Accident. Forgot where I was.”

“Only in your very kind nemesis’ apartment, who patched you up last night,” Gavin shakes his head. He steps over the broken pieces into the tiny kitchen off to the side. “I only have cereal. So hopefully that’s good enough.”

The other’s face falls into an almost adorable confusion, looking between the box Gavin pulls out and his face. “Are you… making me breakfast?”

Gavin shrugs, pouring it into two bowls. “Unlike your Agency, I like to try to not hurt people any worse than they’ve already been hurt.”

The other falls silent at that, a small sigh and running a hand down their face. Gavin sets the bowl in front of them and then sits in the chair across. “You got a name? Other than Monster Truck, because I am not calling you that.”

The other sighs, taking the bowl, eying for a few moments before taking a few bites. “Jeremy,” they mumble.

“Jeremy,” Gavin hums, smiling. “What a normal name. Well, you can call me Gavin.” 

Jeremy just nods, quiet again as they eat. Gavin lets it pass for a bit, but he can’t take the quiet long. “Alright. Talk. You came here for a reason. And you’re their favorite agent for many things but it’s not for lying. I can tell you’re honest. I can tell you’re hurt. And have a lot of questions that I assume you think I have the answers to since you came here. So talk. While I decide if I’m still not going to shoot you with a freeze ray and drop you off in the middle of the woods.”

Jeremy gives a humorless laugh, sitting back, rubbing over the wound. “I… got into their archives. Read up a lot. A whole lot. The last mission I was on… It was off. It didn’t make any sense, they told us we were going after some new villain. But then they gave us guns. I’ve never… We’ve never needed guns before. And then the supposed villain didn’t fight back. Not with powers or high tech or anything. It was just… some guy. Some normal guy the normal police could have dealt with. But they labeled him a very dangerous villain for some reason. So I… looked into it.”

“Let me guess,” Gavin drawls, sarcasm dripping like venom. “A revolutionary? Someone opposing their system they’ve worked so hard to put in place by pointing out the obvious flaws? Truly some normal guy trying to do the right thing but your bloody Agency doesn’t take kindly to that?”

“Yeah. I mean…” Jeremy sighs. “Basically, yeah. And then I looked at the other villains. Everyone’s profile. Some I think really were bad, the early ones that hurt others. But then… others just didn’t have control over their powers, it was accidental. Some just didn’t want to join the Agency,” their eyes flick over at Gavin before looking down. “They’ve been lying to me. About almost every mission, who I was fighting and why. And I fucking believed them. I thought I was helping but-”

“I did try to warn you,” Gavin hums, crossing his legs and sitting back. “But you were so bloody brainwashed I thought I’d never get through to you. And this still all could be bullshit coming out of your mouth. But you did seem to manage to really piss someone off judging by that gash on your side.”

They brush along the bandages and snort. “Yeah. I might have… Burned all their records. And broke all the servers. And destroyed their facility a little.”

“You went full supervillain then?” Gavin burst into laughter. “Wish I could’ve seen that, I bet it was badass.”

“Why are you so fucking happy?” they huff.

“Bit ironic, innit?” Gavin says between gasps of laughter. “Their favorite hero turned villain.”

“I’m not a fucking villain,” they glare.

“Let’s see, you destroyed their top secret facility,” Gavin says, listing on his fingers. “You were injured by them so they’re clearly out to hurt you. You now hate them or at least understand that they’re not actually the good guys. Sounds like a villain to me.”

“I’m definitely labeled as a villain at this point,” they sigh, sinking back into the couch. “Fuck. What the hell do I do now?”

Gavin studies them for a long moment. They really were a good person, at least that’s what Gavin has surmised. And powers like those weren’t easy to hide. Not with how popular they are, their face plastered on every Agency ad and billboard. A face that Gavin can’t help but want to use against the Agency. A smile curls on his face, the idea sparking of some proper revenge. “Cmon,” Gavin says, standing up. “I have just the place for you to go. And a lot of folks for you to meet. You’ll need help laying low, escaping the Agency. You could do it on your own, but you came to me instead of doing that, so I think I know that you want help. So, come with me. And I think we can make the Agency pay for all that it’s lied to you.”

Jeremy is silent, lips pursed in thought but then slowly looks to him. They nod and push themself up. “Yeah. Show me where to go.”

--

They drive up to what looks like any other abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. Boards on all the windows, graffiti on the sides. Liter scatters across the sidewalk as Jeremy hesitantly slips out of the car. Gavin doesn’t stop a moment though, going up to the door where Jeremy raises an eyebrow to see a lock. It takes a moment before it's off and the door cracks open. Gavin glances back to Jeremy, eyes crinkled in mirth as he pushes in and motions for them to come over. Jeremy does so, stepping onto an old concrete floor, papers and cans discarded all over the place. But in the back, another door, which pushes opens to a staircase. “Watch your head,” Gavin chuckles as he slips down into darkness. Jeremy swallows as they follow. Hands holding the walls as they step down.

The voices hit them first, people chatting and laughing. Or maybe arguing, it’s hard to tell but it was loud either way. At the bottom sat a heavy metal door, barely illuminated under a faint light. A keypad sat there, along with a retinal scanner that Gavin does with practiced ease.There’s a loud click and the voices turn silent as the door opens. “I have a guest,” Gavin announces as he steps inside. “And you have to promise not to kill them.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” a voice growls as Jeremy shakily steps in.

They’re met with confused and surprised faces as they all look to them. Faces Jeremy recognizes from files, from debriefings, from fights. One steps forward, with piercing blue eyes and arms bright with tattoos. Jeremy swallows, remembering his face from the ‘Extremely Dangerous’ files at the Agency. But the man makes no aggressive moves, eyes boring into them as he looks them up and down. “What are you here to do?” his voice comes out cold and a chill runs down Jeremy’s spine.

“Here to help I guess… I uh, learned what the Agency really does. What I really did. And I want to fix it.”

Jeremy swears the man’s eyes flash, the blue turning brighter as they feel a pressure build on their head. It’s painful but they hold themself up straight, refusing to cower. In the intense stare, a memory floats in back of their mind of what this man’s powers were. Empath, mind reader. But most of all, could always tell if someone was stating the truth.

The pain and pressure relieves as a smirk curls onto the tattooed man’s face. “Welcome to the supervillain club. Let us get you a drink.”

[zoopzopp]

A post for some BAMF Izuku fics <3 (more of these will be added and the list will be updated as i read them)

Fics i've read:

The Secret Ingredient is Crime- Izuku only had a whole month to further prove himself worthy of Yuuei's golden acceptance, and he was going to do whatever it took to make it in. Yuuei would never truly know what hit them until it was too late. (The secret crime AU in it entirety is fucking amazing and what wouldn't i give to read more stuff with it)

Deku the Villain Hunter: Support Hero - We all know the story: After being told he couldn't be a Hero by All Might, Midoriya Izuku still wandered over to a supervillain attack where he could save Bakugou Katsuki. But what if he had made the other turn? The answer is a butterfly effect that would lead him on a path to paving his own future. A path of revenge, finding his own moral compass, and doing the impossible. (OKAY MANY THOUGHTS. Very cool story and aspects. I binged it overnight and lost a bit of sleep the next night as well.)

The Story of How Midoriya Izuku Asserted His Dominance (And Traumatized Japan) - The Sports Festival was supposed to be a break from stress. Shouta should have known there is no such thing as a break with his class.

making it right (for real this time) - - Izuku is a support course student at UA, and Katsuki's neighbor, best friend, and former bullying victim. After Izuku's performance at the sports festival, Katsuki realizes something. He has to make things right. -

Hero Fall (UA Civil War Exercise) - It's now the end of the first year of UA for our students. Nedzu had decided to bring back the annual Heroes vs Villain fight. The fight shall last 5 days and the villain leader is Izuku Midoriya, with the commanding officer of the hero team being Katsuki Bakugo. But, what happens when Izuku is left alone?

Hero Class Civil Warfare - Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

"I Didn't Know You Had It In You." - Midoriya goes feral rage mode in his fight against Overhaul. The beat down still happens, but with Eri no longer at his back, he gets more violent. One For All reacts in an interesting way and Midoriya commits a terrible and unheroic act - the cold blooded murder and maiming of Chisaki Kai. Shigaraki is there to watch it all unfold.

Plan C meets Plan A - Even if All Might is right and Izuku can't be a hero, Izuku refuses to be useless. So Izuku uses his analysis skills to develop Plan C: Consulting in order to help the heroes. Eraserhead is impressed by this mysterious new consultant but alarm bells in Deku's behaviour quickly have Aizawa recruiting help for Plan A: Adoption.

Q. A. B. - One month after @hawks_unofficial's initial viral post, the blog titled "Quirk Analysis Blog for the Future", otherwise known as "Q. A. B.", has gone from an average of 10 views per post to an average of 20,000 views per post. Midoriya Izuku does not know how to view the impressions analysis for his suddenly popular blog, and only notices that sometimes, people actually comment on his posts now. He does not google himself or his moniker and thus does not see the rise in online articles and speculation. He is unaware that the "kyuu-ei-bee" he begins to hear about in passing refers to his own blog. He does not have a Twitter account. At the time, Midoriya Izuku is 15 years old.

How to murder your father - It's dangerous to be a bad father when you have a life insurance. Just saying.

Negation - Passive Quirks are a bitch. Izuku is reasonably done with the situation.

Thanks For Your Support - Izuku has the talent and the intellect to be the first Quirkless pro hero, and everyone at UA knows it. Unfortunately, his desire to become a hero has long since been buried thanks to the words of his childhood friend and childhood hero.

Policed To Meet You - Izuku takes All Might's advice and becomes a cop.

Vigilante Work And Other After School Activities - Izuku is a vigilante, Aizawa likes cats and therefore kids who help cats, and sometimes breaks must be forced upon overachieving teenagers.

When the Commission Lost Total Control - The hero polls have a small part where one can suggest their own hero. This is done just because of the amount of heroes is to great to name them all. This creates a little problem for the commission because a vigilante is assumed to be a brand new hero by the public- and ranks pretty high. Because of that, this vigilante now is too popular to hide and they can't come out with their mistake either! Think of the chaos that would bring.

Izuku being Badass but like in not that grand of a way but still tearing-people-down-in-some-way kind of way

He Was Quirkless - Midoriya get's sick of discrimination against the quirkless and decides to do something about it. It leads to some interesting situations. A trilogy.

bloody, but unbowed- It's Advocacy Week for Yuuei's hero students and it gives Midoriya Izuku a lot to think about about what kind of hero he wants Deku to be.

Called Out - When Izuku is hit by a quirk that will cause him to call out the first person to be rude to him on the way to school with every mistake they've made in the affected persons presence or have otherwise effected said affected person, Aizawa is in for a rough ride. In other words, with some help from a quirk, Izuku rakes Aizawa over the hot coals until he gives out. (a great fic but i've got mixed feelings on this one because on one hand, izuku is badass but on the other its Aizawa bashing and really like him skhdskdb so yea! Read it as per your tastes!!)

The time when everyone learned that izuku respects Bakugo more than all might. - I didn't like how Bakugo was tied up during the sports festival and so izuku didn't. Badass izuku roasted all might and midnight.

Villainous Sunshine - After an innocent question, Class 1-A learns just how terrifying Izuku's analysis is. Nedzu's along for the ride.

Never understand ( and you can't ) - Midoriya is sick and tried of his classmates bias and prejudice against the quirkless community and finally breaks

Mastermind: Strategist For Hire - Izuku Midoriya never got the chance to save Bakugo from the sludge villain and impress All Might. With his dream crushed, Izuku becomes bitter and angry. It also doesn't help that he faces discrimination at every turn. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated, so when the villains are the ones to recognize his talents rather than the heroes, well, Izuku just can't resist. He might as well help those who actually want him around. Mistakes were made, and now society must face a villain of their own making: Mastermind.

Malignance - Deku is far scarier than anyone gives him credit for.

Fics in my to read list which has/probably has BAMF izuku

Young Midoriya - Izuku Midoriya couldn't help himself when he saw someone in trouble. Even at 12 years old, his instincts drive him to help those in need. So when he sees Kacchan and his goons about to ambush another student, he has to step in, right? It's not like this hasn't happened before. What is different this time though, is that he's never had an audience that consisted of the Number One Hero.

Heroics and Other Things That Don't Require Superpowers - Izuku doesn't have a quirk. That's the long and short of it. After being told his whole life he can't be a hero, General Education at UA is the best he can hope for, right? Wrong. Dead Wrong. So super wrong that his best friend from Gen Ed, all of Class 1A and a whole mess of Pro Heroes are going to prove to him how wrong he is. Izuku has the makings of a hero, and his lack of a quirk only throws those qualities into starker relief. After all, who wants to be as strong as All Might when you can be the cleverest hero in the business?

Cases of More Than - Izuku is known as Deku online. He's an analyst of quirks, sometimes even working with the local detective, Tsukauchi, on a case. He meets new friends, builds a few relationships, and slowly crushes on his best friend. But then he's thrown into the General Studies Course at U.A. It doesn't help that All for One is showing an interest in him at all.

No Regret - In this world there is no hard set villain or hero. No victim and aggressor. Everyone is at fault for something and Izuku, with his own villain group, will make everyone pay. Even the bystanders who did nothing. This is what society gets for abandoning it's people. Deku will manipulate everyone and be the greatest villain, all so the world can be a better a place. With the stakes so high there is no time for regret.

We Are a Different Kind - Mirio doesn’t think he can be a hero anymore now that he’s quirkless, Izuku calls bullshit.

Live a Hero - "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Or, you're raised a villain, rebel when you're nine, and fight against the odds to become a hero anyway. That's how it is in Izuku's case.

Prodigal - After being convinced to give One for All to Mirio, Midoriya Izuku must rebuild his shattered dreams with bloody hands.

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Vigilante - Izuku is orphaned at the age of four and is sent into the Japanese Foster Care System. After multiple failed attempts at finding a forever home and some unfortunate circumstance, he ends up on the streets. Eventually, the vigilante, Deku appears. Eraserhead must gain his trust to bring Deku back to the right side of the law. If he he does, however, the untrustful but pure-hearted boy may just be a bit more than Aizawa Shota can handle.

From Muddy Waters - - but the sleeve of his tracksuit was bulging, tearing and ripping and a mass of twisted flesh, nearly as big as the boy himself and nauseatingly familiar (the arm of the man that had torn a hole in his side with a grin and left him a frail shadow of himself) swung forward and slammed into the flat face of the giant robot. Izuku wants to be a hero more than anything.

Pieces are easily sacrificed when they're nameless - Nobody ever thought quirkless, weak, weird Midoriya Izuku was dangerous. This perception carried over to his first year high school class, because really despite the super strength Midoriya didn't have it in him to be dangerous. That was their first mistake. And the one that would see them fall.

Not exactly BAMF izuku but i just wanted to rec these fics <3

In the shade of a sunflower - Being biologically quirkless came more with an extra pinkie joint in the toes and a stunning lack of vestiges mutations. It came with smaller things, like extra teeth that did virtually nothing, exploding organs, and weird exposed nerves that weren't designed to feel pain.

Throat Punch - In which Aizawa attempts to teach Izuku how to use various battle tactics and it goes just about as well as you'd expect. At least Shinsou is there with his fantastic commentary. (just a fun lil thing where izuku is really stronk and trains with shinsou and aizawa)

So Be It - He could still do good. Midoriya could show them all what a hero without powers looked like. If he had to break a few rules to do it, so be it. So be it… (as stated not exactly BAMF but its a vigilante izuku so ye-)

Never Enter a Drinking Game with Bakugo or Izuku - Izuku walks in on Kirishima and Kaminari having a drinking competition (no alcohol involved). And it reminds him of an old story.

5 Times Midoriya Taught Class 1A about Memes and 1 Time they Found a Villain that Understood Them - After being diagnosed as quirkless, Midoriya gets into pre-guirk media and finds memes. He shares them with Class 1A. Aizawa doesn't get paid enough for this. (THIS FIC???? FUCKING AWESOME. LITERALLY WHAT I WANTED TO SEE)

Midoriya: JD Version - Nedzu has decided that a play should be put on so that the students can learn how to "go undercover", an idea which Aizawa thinks is utter bullshit. They're putting on Heathers and when Nedzu chooses to cast Midoriya for JD, everyone objects. Midoriya is a much better actor than they thought.

that is a lot!! I hope you have fun reading it!!!

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

I've been rewatching all the Loki content to get ready for the new show and I have thought of A Phineas and Ferb AU™ for your viewing pleasure (and if anyone wants to turn any part of this into an actual fanfic I would owe you my life)

this post was brought to you in partnership with @dumbausfromdanville

You know how the first Thor movie ends with Loki yeeting himself off the Bifrost and falling to earth? What if, instead of going after the Tesseract, he falls straight to the Tri-State area?

Jane, Darcy, and Selvig all seemed to be on vacation, right? So Thor presumably took place during the summer — say, perhaps, ending on June 3? So he falls right onto Phineas and Ferb's rollercoaster just before it goes down that ♫ three-mile drop straight down ♪. He has no idea wtf is happening so it's not like he gets the chance to sit down and put on a seatbelt, so he's stuck holding on for dear life for the entire rollercoaster ride which Phineas and Ferb find weird but they're not really concerned bc they're chill lil dudes and tbh this isn't too far off a normal day for them.

Phineas and Loki strike up a none-too-pleasant conversation (not that Phineas notices Loki's bad mood; he's too Him to realize not everyone is rainbows and sunshine all day, every day), and our favorite lil disoriented demigod has to figure out where the fuck he is now ("You there. What realm is this?" "Danville 🙂" "Wut da fuk?") and what the fuck he's supposed to do now that he's here.

Phineas ends up inviting him to hang out for the afternoon, and Loki is about to turn him down but then he smells the pie. He's never had doonkleberry pie before so obviously he has to try it. Then, when Loki's no longer hangry, they can hold an actual conversation. It's lowkey more Loki wallowing in his own self-pity than anything else, but Ferb recognizes Asgard when Loki mentions it so he and Phineas piece together that he's a god pretty quickly.

More importantly, though, they figure out that he's completely alone, and because Loki never mentions trying to, you know, murder his brother and lowkey overthrow the monarchy, they just kinda assume Loki's family sucks (Ferb is completely prepared to start the anti-Thor club but Phineas stops him because he doesn't want his brother to get struck by lightning) and adopt him (without his consent, but it's not like he has anywhere else to be -- and he did like that pie).

Loki has no desire to build anything with the boys He thinks the idea of a backyard beach they make the next morning is stupid — even more stupid than a regular beach, and that's saying something. But over time, he gets more involved -- not just with the boys, but with the entire family. He helps the boys build their inventions. He talks about human history with Lawrence and corrects much of his knowledge on mythology. He lets Linda teach him how to bake seriously, her pies are so good. He even suffers through Candace's mall trips as long as he gets to go to that fro-yo place on the second floor (though he draws the line at any conversation involving romance).

He's still a little skeptical of the platypus (and he feels like the platypus is a little skeptical of him, too) but Phineas insists that he's "just a platypus" and he "doesn't do much." Loki doesn't realize that Perry's keeping an eye on him for OWCA, nor does he know that Monogram has absolutely no idea what to make of the dude so he hasn't actually told any of his superiors about him. As far as the government is concerned, after the fiasco in New Mexico, Loki just disappeared.

This makes it fucking hilarious when the boys accidentally steal the superheroes' powers in Mission: Marvel and the superheroes show up at the Flynn-Fletchers' front door only to see fucking Loki. Loki just shuts the door in their faces without a word because what the fuck?, but eventually Phineas and Ferb go check the door and they agree to help the heroes (much to Loki's chagrin), which, of course, isn't complete with Candace fangirling over them (also much to Loki's chagrin; she never fangirled over him). At first the Avengers are fully convinced that Loki is responsible for stealing their powers, and Loki never actually denies it because he's a little shit but Phineas, Ferb, and their friends are very insistent that Loki didn't do anything (except a little bit of manual labor putting together the satellites because they're 10 and he's a whole-ass demigod).

At some point, Thor and Loki have a very heated discussion about the events of Thor, and it's pretty much all news to the Flynn-Fletchers and their friends. They're not really sure what to make of it so they basically glue their mouths shut and watch it all play out. I'd like to think it goes something like it does in The Avengers and that a) Thor is pissed because what the fuck have you been up to Loki you fucking dumbass, b) Thor has been in mourning since Loki yeeted himself into the abyss and he wants to make sure the guy knows it, and c) Loki does not take it seriously at all he's being antagonistic the entire time because he is so sick of Mr. High-And-Mighty's shit. In the end, Loki storms out of the SHEDquarters and Phineas doesn't even think to try to stop him until he's halfway out the door and it's too late.

He shows up again when Phineas, Ferb, and the Avengers try to fight the bad guys in the mall with the wrong powers and he basically singlehandedly saves their asses until superhero Perry shows up. As everyone's favorite shapeshifter, he has absolutely no problem figuring out that this beaver duck dude is the Flynn-Fletchers' platypus. He has no idea what to do with that information, but it sure is information that he now has apparently. (At this point, poor Loki has a very warped sense of what earth is supposed to be like lmao).

Phineas tries to get Loki to come back with them after superhero Perry grabs them and carries them home. Instead, Loki cuts himself loose and falls like 30 feet straight down (and tbh after falling from the Bifrost, that's nothing to him) and peaces the fuck out.

Loki ends up accidentally bonding with Candace and Isabella over feeling useless and unwanted (and he absolutely gets his own verse in Only Trying to Help because it's what he deserves), but unlike the two girls who are hell-bent on changing that, Loki is content wallowing in his own self-pity. He's tried this whole "being important" thing before and he ended up in self-exile for it. He's not putting himself through it again because he really doesn't expect it to end well. But then the powerless heroes decide to face the villains again, and with Candace and Isabella in space and Perry nowhere to be seen, he realizes it is once again up to him to keep the tri-state area safe (which he knows is a stupid priority but he's gotten kind of attached to these stupid little humans and he wants to keep them safe).

Then the heroes get their powers back and they join Loki (and Perry and the mysterious waffle gun in the sky) and beat the shit out of the villains. Thor and Loki work together in the heat of the battle which serves as a Great Bonding Moment™, and once the villains are gone, they have a nice lil heart-to-heart where they both apologize for their past. Thor remarks that Loki seems to have grown a lot over the last couple of months and tries to bring Loki home with him, but Loki refuses. He'll never be welcome back into Asgard, no matter what Thor may say.

But he is welcome with the Flynn-Fletchers, who are completely over the fact that he tried to ruin Thor's life and take his not-so-rightful place on the throne (except Candace who's very skeptical about having him back but it's not like Linda will believe her if she tries to tell her what Thor and Loki talked about so her opinion is unfortunately as irrelevant as it usually is on the show).

And early the next morning, before anyone else is awake, Perry gets an alert that he's needed in his headquarters (presumably to talk to or about Fury). He quietly sneaks off, only to find Loki waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him. They have a very nice "conversation" (not that Perry speaks) about the superhero Ducky Momo they saw the day before, and Loki assures him that his secret is safe, thus starting a much-needed bromance between Loki and Perry because it's what my babies, goddammit!

Anyways yeah if anyone wants to write a fanfic about Loki hanging out with Phineas and Ferb during his self-exile I would give you a socially distant high-five because I want to read it but I have too many other fanfics on my plate to start this one for at least a few months. It doesn't have to follow this prompt literally at all (I swear I wasn't trying to get this in-depth with it but this is what I do apparently) or it can follow this prompt exactly idc i just want a PnF/Loki fanfic 🥺