#i just needed to put this in to the universe again

[smurphette98]

So, I did this not with a villain, but with an NPC from a D&D campaign I’m running on a day where the group didn’t meet. It’s under the cut if you wanna give it a read!

(CW: discussion of death, resurrection, the afterlife, and murder)

Subreddit: r/relationshipadvice

Title: I haven’t seen my husband in 5 years (because I was dead) and I just found out that he left our daughter with his mother for that whole time.

Posted by u/Lovemordian

Apologies in advance if my Common isn’t great; it isn’t my first language.

I (21F) was recently resurrected by a party member of my husband’s (now 26M) after dying in his arms five years ago. Admittedly, the experience was wonderful, since I had always hoped that magic was real and not just the stuff of children’s stories, and I am not upset at living once more. The afterlife is…well, it’s beyond what I need to discuss here.

The issue I am having is this: while I was dead, I was comforted in the knowledge that our daughter (now 8F) was not going to grow up completely parentless even if I could not be with her. However, when I saw her again after returning to life, she mentioned that her grandmother, my husband’s mother, had been caring for her this whole time. She did not grow up with her father, and the one thought that had kept me sane while wandering the fields of the waiting became a lie.

He says that he left her behind with his parents to ensure that no one would use her to pressure him, that the Flesh Collectors wouldn’t use her as bait to get to him. Though I understand the logic of this, I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. It feels like he’s trying to be the man he was 5 years ago, but I know he’s gone through much in my absence and I wish he would just be honest with me about it. Does anyone have any advice for how to talk to him about this? In some ways, it does feel a bit as if I’m approaching him as a stranger once more.

Update: Thank you to all who replied with your advices and your recommendations. I do want to answer a few of the questions I saw most frequently:

1) Apparently, he tried to avenge my murder after the judge had been paid off, stealing a highly advanced prototypical weapon designed by a classmate of ours (27 NB) to do it. This is why the Flesh Collectors were after him and why he apparently joined a guild for thieves and assassins that, if I understood him right, was run by a staff member at the university? I don’t know; he seems more comfortable speaking Common than Lamordian, so I may be misunderstanding things.

2) Flesh Collectors are sort of like a police force, but more than anything they are scavengers who harvest body parts that scientists need for their work. The “ethical�� ones wait until a body is dead to harvest. The majority of them are not ethical.

Now, onto the update: I had the open conversation with my husband that so many of you recommended. I just asked him to tell me what kinds of things had happened while I was dead, and he was honest with me, just as I always remember him being.

While he was on the run for his vengeance, he fell in with the guild I mentioned and did “less than honorable things” to put aside money for our daughter’s future. At first, I thought he was implying that he had sold intimate favors, but he clarified that it was killing people. He did put aside quite a bit, over 10,000 gp, so I do think it was well-meant. And our daughter seems to hold no resentment toward him, so I don’t suppose I should either. For anyone out there who has been resurrected after a while, is this distance I’m feeling just a symptom of that, or is it something I should be concerned about? Perhaps I should speak to my mother-in-law, as she has always been a source of wisdom in my life. I don’t think I will need to update further, but if more developments happen, I will be sure to let you all know.

if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.

[babejinxy]

In love with you - part 4

Pairing: Powder x fem!reader

Warnings: friends to lovers, SMUT, kissing, fluff

Synopsis: Powder had been your best friend for years, the two of you met when she was running from the cops when she and her brothers broke into and blew up an apartment in Piltover and you helped them escape. What you never imagined, is that the love of your life was always right there in front of you…

A/N: This is a fic about Powder from the alternate universe, it has nothing to do with Jinx.

🌟 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

💙 @brocoliisscared @bbybubbles @cattjull

Gert was about to call you to a quieter, more private place when you both heard Vender's voice calling her from the bar. "Gert, I need you here, now," he said. She huffed and looked back at you, "It seems like I was missed, I'll see you later tonight? Even if it's late, Zaun never sleeps." You laughed, "Of course, I'll be here." She approached you and kissed your cheek, "See you later, beautiful."

You had barely gotten away from Gert when another guy came up to you and put his hand on your shoulder. “I thought I’d never see you again, princess.” He was very blond and slender, you had no idea who he was. He noticed your look of confusion and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Deckard, the guy who sent you the note the other day.” So it was him, he was actually kind of cute, just like you thought, but it wasn't like you were interested in him. “You didn’t show up, I was thinking that maybe your friend hadn’t given you my note.” He said as he approached you, he seemed to be already drunk.

“I was just leaving,” you took a step back to get away from him. “Oh, I understand. I’m lucky to find you here today. Can we talk?” he said, pulling you by the waist. “I thought you wanted to talk,” you said, pushing him away from you. “Oh, come on? Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, getting closer again. You rolled your eyes and moved away from him again, “No, I don’t.” “Then what’s the problem love?”. Before you could answer, you heard Powder’s voice behind him.

“The problem is, she’s not interested right now,” she said, her hands on her hips, and you felt relieved to see her. He turned his head to look at her, “You’re the one who vouches for her, sweetheart?” he scoffed. “No, I’m the one who vouches for myself, and she’s right, I’m not interested.” He pursed his lips, “Alright, alright,” he held his hands up in surrender, “We can take this slow, how about I buy you a drink first, baby doll?”

Once again Powder butted in, this time she stopped beside you. “How about this, you go enjoy the party and spend your money on yourself, before you get kicked out of the bar.” He frowned and laughed, “And who’s going to kick me out, you? Is the bar yours by any chance?”, he said mocking her once more. “Something like that since my father owns the bar.” He wiped the arrogant smile from his lips, “Vender?!”, he said swallowing hard. “That’s it, are you going to leave her alone or will I have to call him to sort this out with you?” Once again he raised his hands in surrender, “kay, sorry to bother you,” he told you before disappearing from sight.

You looked at her, “hey,” you smiled. “Hey you,” she said, smiling awkwardly. “Thanks for that, Pow Pow.” She shrugged, “I couldn’t let him bother you”. “Good thing you showed up then, my savior,” you said laughing. “The guys here aren’t like the guys you’re used to, you have to know how to deal with them”. “It seems like you’ve learned well”. She shrugged, “I had to get by.”

Vender was keeping an eye on the two of you and decided to help out. He changed the upbeat song that was playing to a slower one and Powder looked at him. He smiled at her and made a sign to invite you to dance. Something in his gaze always comforted and encouraged her.

“Dance with me?” she asked suddenly, without thinking much otherwise she would lose her courage. You smiled and took her hand that was extended to you. She held your waist and you wrapped your arms around her neck and she led you to the music. Powder's heart was pounding inside her, she was nervous, this was much more than a dance with a best friend and the tension between the two of you proved it.

“He’s still staring at you,” she said, referring to Deckard. “Ignore him,” you said quietly. “No way,” she said, staring at him. “Why not?”. “Well, why…” she hesitated for a moment and then you interrupted her, laughing a little, “he’s the guy from the note.” She twisted her lips, “seriously?! So he’s nothing like you expected?”, she asked curiously. “Actually, I wasn’t expecting anything, but he’s disgusting.” The wind blew, making your perfume spread, she closed her eyes to smell you and then asked, “what about Gert?”.“Oh, she… well, she… she’s nice, she’s pretty, but…” you hesitated. “But?…”, Powder asked, stopping moving with you.

“But she’s not for me,” you closed your eyes and bit your lower lip, trying to hold back the tears, “all this life… all these people, this coming and going of loves in my life and I never wanted to admit that none of these people were my person, and I’m afraid of never… never finding the right person for me, that’s why I always gave myself so easily to anyone who came along and was never valued as I deserved.” Your eyes were watery, but you swallowed your tears. You took your arms off her neck and placed your hands on either side of her collarbone.

Powder brought her right hand to your face while she kept her other hand on your waist, where she pressed a little. “Y/n look at me”, she whispered in a hoarse voice. She was going to kiss you, she was finally going to taste your cherry lip gloss straight from your lips, like she always dreamed. You raised your gaze to her and in that moment looking into her eyes, with her breath mixing with yours, was the moment when everything came to the surface. Your feeling for her - that you had repressed for years - the love beyond friendship that you felt for her. In that moment you remembered that you had always been in love with her, but it was much easier to block that feeling than to live it. It was her, Powder was your person, the one you loved and would always love.

You started to feel your heart racing inside your chest, you were having trouble breathing, you were starting to have an anxiety attack. “Oh no! Powder I need… sorry, I need to get out of here.” You pulled away from her and ran away from everything.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

You stopped in a dark alley away from The Last Drop and leaned against a wall to catch your breath and try to calm down from your anxiety attack. You began to cry frantically, sliding down the wall to the floor, where you buried your face in your hands. You knew it was too dangerous for someone like you to be in a dark alley alone in Zaun. But you were too panicked to be afraid of that.

You loved your best friend, in the romantic sense of the word. You realized this a few years ago, but you kept this feeling so bottled up inside you that you forgot about it. Then you realized, your fear wasn't of ending up alone, you just wanted to transfer everything you felt for Powder to someone else, that's why you had an endless list of boyfriends and girlfriends that didn't work out. It's amazing what our subconscious is capable of, isn't it?

You gradually calmed down and after the adrenaline and anxiety attack had passed, you began to notice how the night was getting colder and darker and you realized that you were in a dark alley alone in Zaun. As much as Vender had managed to control the bandits in the underground city, it was still dangerous for a Piltie like you to be there alone.

You pulled yourself together and thought it would be best to apologize to Powder for running away like that. You weren't ready to tell her how you felt about her, so you would make up an excuse for your behavior and everything would be resolved.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

You went back to the bar and looked for her, but apparently she wasn’t there anymore. You bumped into Gert - who was walking with a tray of drinks in her hand - by accident as you walked through the dancing and singing crowd. “I’m sorry,” you said before realizing it was her. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just me,” she said winking at you, she leaned close to your ear, “just a few more hours and I’ll be free, you can make it up to me,” she kissed your cheek before going back to serving drinks. “Sorry Gert, not today,” you said to yourself.

You were trying to get out of the crowd when you felt someone pull you by the arm and grab your waist, you were relieved when you realized that this time it was Mylo. ​​“Hey, I looked for you everywhere, where’s Powder?”, he asked dancing with you. “I’d like to know too”, you said trying to get away from him. He spun you around and laid you down, holding your hand with one hand and the other on your back. You stood up and tried to get away from him, “Not now Mylo”, you said but he pulled you again and spun you around again. “See how great a partner I am, very attractive too”, he said boasting and then pouted to kiss you.

“I’m sure someone thinks so,” you said, turning your face away from him. “There’s not a girl at this party who wouldn’t want to be with me,” he boasted again, “but I only have my eyes on one,” he showed his teeth in a smile and raised an eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips and before you could try to move away from him again, Claggor appeared and put his arm around Mylo shoulders.

You took the opportunity and got out of Mylo's hands. "What's up Y/n? Is Mylo embarrassing himself again?" You held back a laugh, "no, he's a great dancer, but a terrible flirt." He crossed his arms and said, "she's just playing hard to get," he said convinced of it and you laughed, he was so ridiculous that it was almost funny, although Powder found it annoying. "Do you know where Powder is?" you asked finally. “She’s not here, I thought she was with you… have you tried checking her workshop?” Claggor replied. “I’ll stop by, thanks boys”.

“Hey, Y/n,” Mylo yelled behind you and you turned to look at him. “You can thank me in another way if you want, I wouldn’t mind if…”, he put his index finger to his lips and you understood what he wanted, you just rolled your eyes and went to look for Powder. You couldn’t see when Claggor slapped Mylo on the head, “oh, what the fuck is this you animal?!”, he said raising his arms. “Stop being an idiot,” Claggor replied. “Man… I don’t understand how you let a girl like Y/n climb out of your fingers,” he said massaging his head. “Powder is in love with her, you would realize if you weren’t such an asshole,” Claggor replied. Mylo curled his lips, “Powder? Seriously?”.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁

You entered Powder's workshop silently, she didn't notice you. She was sitting on the couch, with her knees to her chest and her head down. She was feeling terrible and embarrassed. You probably would have realized that she loved you beyond friendship and that's why you ran away. You didn't love her that way and it scared you. Now she had ruined everything and that would shake the friendship between you.

“Pow Pow?” you said, standing behind her. The sweet sound of your voice brought her out of her dark thoughts. She lifted her head and looked at you. Your eyes were still red from crying, you smiled at her, but she was too nervous to smile back. Although your smile could fix anything.

You approached her and sat next to her. “Look, I’m sorry I left like that, it was hard for me… to admit those things,” you said with a sigh. As she looked at you and felt your scent again so close to her, you right there in front of her made her remember Vender’s voice saying, “Isn’t she worth the risk?” Then she readjusted herself on the couch, turning to face you and gathering all the courage she had inside her.

“I think it’s time for me to admit some things to you too,” her heart could explode at any moment, just like yours. “The truth is, I always wished that all those people you were with could be me… I asked myself every day, “why not me?”, but then I remembered that you love me like a friend or even a sister, and it hurt, but…”. Your heart skipped a beat with each of her words, “Powder I…”, you interrupted her, but she interrupted you back, “wait please, let me talk… it hurts knowing that I’ll never be able to have you in any other way than as a friend, but I don’t care, having you in my life in any way is already worth it. I always watch you, when you're putting on makeup or reading or studying or even when you're not doing anything because... you're beautiful and perfect and it's good to just stop and look at you... I'm sorry I kept this in for all these years, it's just that I've always been afraid of ruining what we have, I couldn't bear to be without you around because the truth is that you're the love of my life, I..."

“... love you,” you both said the words in unison. She stopped for a moment and looked at you with her beautiful, bright blue eyes. “W-what?” she asked, her voice breaking. You smiled with your eyes watering, “I love you too Pow Pow, I held back that feeling because I thought it would be easier that way… I gave my heart to so many people when I should have given it only to you, to whom it always truly belonged, now I know that.”

She smiled and laughed a little, “How stupid we are… I could have had you from the beginning”, she whispered, bringing her face closer to yours, while looking from your lips to your eyes. “I think things have their right time to happen”, you whispered back. “But we make it so complicated”, she placed her hands on each side of your face and rested her forehead against yours. You held her wrists, “well, we don’t have to do this anymore”.

“I had a dream where I kissed you, I’ve had that dream a million times,” she whispered, looking at your lips. “You can kiss me now,” you said and at the same moment her lips kissed yours and she gasped as she finally felt the cherry taste of your lip gloss on your soft lips. You two smiled into the kiss and you wrapped your arms around her neck while her hands traveled to your waist.

She squeezed you a little and settled herself on the couch, making you understand what she wanted. Still with your lips on hers, you sat on her lap and at that moment, she deepened the kiss. Powder pulled your lower lip between her teeth and then slammed her tongue into yours, taking full control of the situation and swirling your tongue around hers and then biting your lip again. You never thought she could be so dominant, but you loved it.

She put her hands under your blouse and felt your hot, goosebumps-filled skin. She squeezed your waist again and you gasped into her mouth. It was your turn to pull her lower lip between your teeth and she squeezed your sides again at the sensation. Powder held the hem of your blouse and you only stopped kissing for her to take it off your body. Before she kissed you again, she ran her eyes over your round, perfect breasts, still covered by your white lace bra.

You both smiled and you went back to crashing your lips into hers and she soon dominated it again. Her hands went up from your waist to your breasts and she placed them there, just feeling the exposed skin of your breasts. She stopped the kiss and looked at her hands on your breast, her thumb drawing circles on the top of them slowly. You bit your lower lip and she - still with her hands on your breasts - went back to devouring your already red and swollen lips.

She laid you down on the couch, getting on top of you, her tongue still exploring every corner of your mouth. She stopped the kiss and nuzzled her nose your neck, feeling your goosebumps and your scent that she loved. She nuzzled her nose slowly down to the valley of your breasts still covered by your bra and returned to your neck where she finally began to plant hot kisses on your skin, you closed your eyes at the sensation as you moaned softly and sweetly…

So, part 5?

[minnietrys]

Determination

◯ Cho Hyun-ju x Fem! Reader

△ Alt!Universe— Setting her determination as first she manages to call in hopes of your promise

▢ just a cute phone call :p (give me date ideas)

Cherish

⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯ ⎯

Thank you for all the support on cherish so here is the longer await part two ^^

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Deep breath, you’ve got this. Hyunju thought as she stared at your phone number, she can call you she can definitely do it. But what stopping her? Is it the thought you of not answering? Or what if you’re busy and she calls at the wrong time? What if you think she is a scam caller and block her?

Groaning in frustration she buries in face into her hands rethinking the wonderful moment you shared yesterday. Bringing a smile to her face she peeks though her fingers and get one more good look at your number but while scanning the paper her eyes land on the heart again.

Blushing and biting back her smile she sighs in delight. This is a good thing your finally coming out of your shell she thought to herself while she reaches out for her phone yet again.

Pushing in your digits she decides to put her determination first. Her determination of cherishing you. Her determination of finally and hopefully being happy.

Press call…it’s ringing…

“Hello?” A tried but delicate voice answers. It’s the voice she remembers from the coffee shop that said she was going to keep her sugar hostage if she didn’t text.

Trying to form words she lets the most embarrassing thing come out.. “Your sugar right?.”

“Huh?!?!” Hyunju immediately slaps herself on the forehead upon hearing your shock…what did she just say..?How can she mix up your name with sugar? How do you feel? Because basically someone you probably don’t remember just called you sugar…

“Umm…did you maybe get my phone number from a hooker called sugar?” She could hear your giggles but she won’t steep that low to get a hooker’s number.

“I’m so sorry..it just you told me to text you if not your going to keep the sugar hostage but then I asked if I can call you and you yes if I did I can buy you coffee but then the sugar stayed in my mind so I called you sugar.. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean that.” Hyunju rapping that out of mouth with a cry of embarrassment in her voice. She wanted to bury herself six feet under right now.

“Ohh Hyunju Unnie!” You said with excitement and relief wait did she just say she didn’t mean it…

You hear a hum on the other line but you quickly cut it off “So I’m not sugar..?” You asked in a teasing tone in hopes of getting the reaction you want.

“Yes ofc your sweet and kind like sugar but It’s just that I didn’t—” you can hear her panicking over the other line but she stops once she hears you laughing… smacking her lips she asks “are you teasing me?” You could almost hear her expression drop.

“Oh of couseee NOT! “ she can basically she your nose grow like Pinocchio though the call, though she may not know much about you. You’re not a good liar, you’re by far one of the worst and that makes her happy. Because everything that went down yesterday seems to not be a lie.

“Hmm if you say so, but say your the best kind of sugar” Hyunju couldn’t help but bite her lip as she tested the water with that tho you couldn’t help but smile and giggle “You are way more flirtatious than I thought” you had to admit.

“So you been thinking about me?” She couldn’t help but smile while holding but a small screech.

“Oh…I guess it’s my turn to be embarrassed.” you couldn’t help but feel the blood rush to your cheek but continued “Though your one of my best thoughts I do have to say.”

It’s was now Hyunju turn to feel the blood rush to her cheeks and she just froze meanwhile you screamed into your pillow scaring your roommate.

“Y/N! What happened” youngmi came running in with a broom looking like she was go attack if needed but she just saw you yelling into your pillow about admitting something.

Trying to catch your breath “I just admitted to someone very very pretty that’s she my best thought” you whined out “isn’t that a good thing?” She questioned while her face scrunched up. “I don’t know maybe! I mean I just met her a few days ago.. and I don’t wanna be pushy you know?” she saw your lip trembling again so she just threw the broom at you tried of your shit and snatching your phone.

“Hello, I’m so sorry my roommate y/n is stupid when it comes to people her type. Though I should mention please take her away, you can keep her.” wait ‘her type’ does that mean Hyunju is your type? Is that why you’re thinking about her?

Trying her hardest to not overreact Hyunju thinks fast for a reply “Um I can’t promise you that? What if she doesn’t want to?” Like come on Hyunju just can’t keep you because someone told her though she won’t mind. What is it that you want I mean if you want her to keep you she will.

“Oh trust me, she does…” youngmi says while side eyeing your overreaction. “You would be supporting a great cause!”

“What cause?” Hyunju said with curiosity like what in the world can that benefit. “The youngmi stress free cause!” She said out loud aimed at you to hear but all that happened was more screaming from you.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of that cause but I can for sure take her out for coffee, lunch, or dinner.” She might have been too scared to mention “date” cause who knows if it’s too early for that word.

“YOU HEARD THAT STUPID YOU GOT A DATE!” Well so much for too early. But what Hyunju heard next bought a big smile to her face.

“What!! Really?!?! All that manifesting work!”

“Hey stupid, guess what” youngmi said with an evil smirk causing your smile to drop.

“Is this another joke..?”

“Nope, you still on call with your soon to be girlfriend and you yelled all that” youngmi couldn’t contain her laughter anymore and passed you back your phone as she left your room.

“So um..about that date? This weekend?” You asked with hope of her not canceling after that whole ordeal. But all you heard was a beautiful giggle “you’re so cute, but yea this weekend.”

You both spent the next few hours getting to know each other bit better before your big date but when it was time to say goodbye the only thing you both could do was pout and promise to text each other till the weekend once you see each other again.

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Pass me those date ideas >.< did I proof read no… so if you saw any mistakes I’m not sorry I was enjoying watching hyunju edits

[chrisbesitos]

⌗ warnings: alcohol; cursing; fluff.

"my brothers have a party this weekend." chris says. he's sitting on the table, watching you work. you look at him for a couple seconds before stare at the laptop screen again.

"and you want to go, hun?" you hum. chris' lips lean into a pout, shaking his shoulders.

"don't know, 'm not a big fan of parties." he says, now walking around, he's clearly bored. you close your laptop huffing, resting your back in the chair, you cross your arms and stare at chris. "you think i should go?"

"i think you should do what you want, chris." you say. "i'm not your mother."

"but the other day in your room–" he murmurs playful, you give him a deadpan and he stops, giving you an embarrassed smile. "i might wanna go, think i need to do something fun."

"you don't need my permission, if it is what you want to hear."

"it's okay for you?" he asks, sounding a bit insecure. you roll your eyes grinning, you call chris with your finger. chris walks towards you, he grabs the hand you extend to him and shyly sits on your thighs.

"honey, i'm not your girlfriend. you're free to do anything you want." you say, offering a soft smile. chris nods, resting his one hand in your chest and the other in your cheek, you put your hand above his. "go to this party, have some fun, maybe drink a bit. you deserve this, hun."

"fine, but y'know what's so much fun than this party?" he says, lips curling into a soft smile. you shake your head, grinning at him. "you. please, can we do something fun now?" he asks, embracing your shoulders. you nod, rolling your eyes.

"fine, angel boy."

you blink your eyes staring at the laptop screen, rubbing your temple tiredly. stuck in the office, you huff feeling the exhaustion from working the whole day nonstop, but since you're the boss, you have to take care of everything. you rem your glasses, resting them in the table when you hear your phone, your lips lean into a weak smile when you saw chris' face in the screen. he's at the party he said a couple days, you're happy that he's having fun with people same age as him. chris' always shy and introvert, is good for him socialize.

"hi, hun." you say, after answering the call.

"angel! hey, angel!" he says, sounding excited, more than usual. 'he probably had a drink', you think. you giggle over his excitement, chris babble something you can't understand, even more because of the loud music.

"guess you're having fun, kid. glad you're happy." you say, you hear him humming, you smile softly.

"i had some colorful drinks, they're good! don't taste like alcohol."

"hun, be careful. this drinks makes you get drunk easily." you explain, feeling a bit concerned about chris. he doesn't drink alcohol usually, of course he'll be drunk easily. "you're alone, kid?"

"hmm, no? i guess, i don't see my brothers anywhere." he babbles, laughing at something you don't know. you huff angrily, chris' drunk for the first time and his brothers can't even look for him. "angel? i feel a bit weird." he hums.

"oh, chris. can you send me your location?" you ask, holding the phone between the ear and the shoulder, pushing the office chair and looking for the purse quickly. of course you worry about chris, even more when he's alone and drunk. "kid, need your location." you say impatiently.

"are you coming to see me?"

"yes, honey. just send me your location, right?" you sigh, leaving your office. chris sends you his location, your groan just by the thought of being in a frat house. you want to hit and slap his brothers, idiots who left chris alone.

you drive to the frat house, chris keeps sending you pics of him, the ceiling, his feet and the ground, you sigh feeling the relief of knowing his not passed out. you park the car and jump out the vehicle, you stop in front of the house, seeing a lot of drunk university students, you huff and walk until the front door. once you enter the house, you feel eyes staring at you, clearly noticing that you're not one of them, you ignore the stares and keep looking for chris. by the pictures he sent, he's in a couch, you sigh when your eyes finally catch the boy in the corner of the couch. you quickly walk towards him, kneeling down to slap his face gently.

"chris? hun, wake up." you say, biting the inside of your cheek when chris didn't respond. you slap his face again, putting a hit of strength this time. chris slowly opens his eyes, blinking a couple times before realizing you're here. "thank god." you groan.

"am i dead and seeing an angel?" chris says, trying to touch your face to know if you're real. you laugh rolling eyes, holding chris' hands and helping him to sit, holding chris by the arm when he almost loses the balance. "hi, angel."

"hi, hun. 'm gonna take you home, alright?" you say softly, caressing his cheek. chris looks zoned out, but nods his head slowly, you hold him by the arm and help to stand. holding him by the waist now, you walk with him in the way the door. "move." you say to a random kid, standing in your way.

with chris in your car, you buckle the belt and drive back home. he babbles random words you don't care to understand, your eyes changing from the highway to chris to certify the boy is okay. when you get home, park and help chris to get out of the car, you think about check if his brothers are home, but they left chris alone and deserve a bit of concern and guilty. you change the way to your home, holding chris by the waist while you open the door. you put your finger in front of chris' mouth, asking for silence since miles' babysitter are home.

you check if moon is around, probably in the living room watching tv after putting your son in bed. you take chris to your room, almost falling with him in the stairs because chris' losing his balance. you push the door, stepping in and gently laying the boy in the mattress, rubbing his hair with your nails. chris opens a lazy smile, still feeling the drunkenness running on his blood.

"i'll be right back, alright? be quiet." you murmur, giving chris a kiss in the forehead. "if you feel sick, use the bathroom. 'm not kidding, kid."

stepping out of the room, you close the door and walk downstairs, you know the sound of the high heels denounce you're home. moon is laying on the couch, eyes glued on her phone, she realizes you're coming and shifts on the couch and sits properly.

"i'm late today, 'm so sorry, moon!" you say entering the living room, the blue haired girl shakes her hair lifting from the couch. "i'll pay you an extra, right? is everything okay with miles?" you ask, guiding the girl to the door.

"yes, he's fine! he made a draw for you, is in the fridge." she says softly, you smile proudly. miles' such a lovely boy, you're gonna check his draw later. "have a good night, miss y/l/n!"

"thank you, sweetie. see you on monday!" you say, waving at the girl, closing the door then. you walk towards the kitchen, your lips curling into a smile when you see miles' draw, you grab a glass of water and walk upstairs again.

you push the door, hearing chris soft snores, you rest the glass in the nightstand, stepping to the closet and looking for a chris yellow hoodie. you tug the high heels out, rolling up the shirt sleeves, you throw the hoodie on the bed and touch chris' chin. you shake his face a bit, watching he opens his sleepy eyes.

"sorry for waking you, hun. take off this clothes, right?" you say softly, chris blinks before nods his head slowly, he sits on the mattress with your help. you tug his polo shirt, handing the yellow hoodie, chris wears it. you tug his shoes out, throwing on the ground, the boy unbuckles his jeans and tugs out.

"you look pretty tonight, angel." chris says, giggling a bit. he tries to touch your face, but you shake your head, stepping to the nightstand and grabbing the water glass. "i have fun at the party tonight."

"really, kid? that's good." you offer a gentle smile, handing him the glass. "drink a bit of water, honey. careful, you're gonna gag." you say concerned, your hand resting on his thigh. you grab the glass, resting it on the nightstand, chris covers his mouth when he feels his stomach churn. you glance at him. "you sure you're fine, kid?"

"i guess i am." he murmurs, you nod slowly, obviously concerned about him.

"lay down, 'kay?" you offer a gentle smile, helping chris to lay down on the mattress, you cover his body with the blanket and give him a kiss on the forehead. "i'll be right back, alright?" you whisper, chris nods closing his sleepy eyes, the alcohol making him fall asleep faster. you give him a last look, just to certify he's okay, knowing the real problem is gonna be when he wakes up in the morning.

chris groans when the sunlight hits his face, he can't open his eyes properly and has a pounding headache. when he finally blinks his eyes, he asks himself where he's and how he ended up there, he relaxes when realize he's in your room. chris shifts on the mattress, looking for you in the bed, but he's alone, he groans frustrated. he supports his body on the elbows, hearing the door open, he tries to smile at you, but looks more like a grimace.

"fuckin' headache." he groans, voice sounding deep and rasp from sleeping. you raise your eyebrows and grin at him, stepping towards the bed, you sit on the corner, reaching for his cheek to give a gentle rub.

"your first hangover, how's it feeling?" you ask, giggling at him. he groans in response, laying his head back in the pillow and covering his eyes with the forearm.

"like horse shit." he murmurs, you raise your eyebrows giggling, chris don't curse normally, so you're surprised. you move your hand to his hair, scratching his scalp the way he likes. "why didn't you tell me how bad the hangovers are?"

"because the funny way to find out is having one." you hums playful, chris gives you a deadpan, your lips lean into a smile. "sorry, hun. i know you feel like horse shit."

"can i have a tylenol? my head hurts so bad." he asks, looking at you with his blue eyes. you give him a head movement, denying it with a playful smile. "why not? angel, i really need it now."

"you need to eat first, 'm gonna make breakfast and then you can have one." you explain, his face contorts in a grimace, shaking his head vehemently.

"god, no. if i eat, i might throw up." he groans.

"no, you're not. you'll feel better once you eat, trust me, hun."

you left chris sleep more while you make breakfast, miles are not awake yet, so you can cook without looking for him. order food is way easier than cook, but you always think homemade food is better for hangovers, this and a lot of cuddles. chris just need to rest more, he'll be okay after his first terrible hangover. you return to the room, grabbing a plate and a glass in your hands, opening the door with your elbow, you ask chris to sits up and put the plate on his lap and the glass on the nightstand.

"i'm still not hungry." he says.

"you're still gonna eat." you respond. "i'm being serious, kid, eat that food."

"fine, mommy." he mockes.

"be careful with your words, kid." you point your finger at him, sounding more serious, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head. chris sighs and just nods, deciding to not argue with you. after a while, you wake miles and give him breakfast, letting him watch cartoons in the living room. you go to your room to check on chris.

"you were right, i feel better now." he murmurs, making you smile.

"of course i was right, kid." you say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. you walk towards the bathroom and return with the tylenol, you give it to chris and he swallows with the juice. "can't stay with you here, hun, but you can join us in the living room." chris' face turn into a grimace, he's still feeling the pounding headache, but agrees just to be by your side.

you give him the jeans he was wearing last night, you two go downstairs to be in the living room with miles. your toddler knows chris and knows you're friends, so it is not a problem.

"hi, chris!" miles says, hugging chris' legs. he smiles softly, patting the toddler's head.

"hi, bud."

you and chris sit on the couch, miles playing with his toys on the rug. you grab chris' shoulders and lay his head on your lap, massaging his hair with your nails to help with his headache, chris snuggles on your thighs. he's almost falling asleep again when he widens his eyes remembering his brothers have no idea where he's.

"my brothers are probably looking for me, i didn't talk with them." he says, trying to sit up, but you shake your head and lay him down on your legs again. "y/n, they probably worried."

"don't worry about them, hun." you say, smiling softly. chris frowns his eyebrows, but eventually lets go. if you say everything is fine, then you're right. you always are.

"you look like shit, y'know?" moon says to matt, resting her chin on the boy's shoulder. matt groans and shakes his shoulders, making the blue haired girl move giggling.

"thank you, moon. i really appreciate it." he says ironically.

"don't have to thank me, i know i'm the best girlfriend." she says, now hugging matt's back. "saw your brother last night."

"i thought you were babysitting last night." he responds grumpy.

"yes, silly. i saw chris and he was waaasted"

"wait, really? where? we missed him and nate said he left with a girl."

"a girl? love, she's a woman. 'm pretty sure i saw him at her house last night, she tried to hide, but didn't work." moon says, matt frowns his eyebrows and tilts his head, he's genuinely not understanding. "i thought you know her, i mean, she's your neighbor."

"y/n?!"

⌗ author's note: guess chris' brothers know about milf!reader now 🤭🤭🤭 and chris 'n milf!reader relationship is so cute.

⌗ taglist; @lizzymacdonald06 @lushjunkie @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @stvrnzcherries @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2 @sturnsmia @sofieeeeex @ifwdominicfike @jetaimevous @leclecwifey16 @mattswifeyx @voqueflms @pepsicola-pussy @sturnobsessedwh0re @chrissturnioloswifeee @sturniolossss @imonlyhereformattfluff @sturniolosluttt @st4rsturns @sturn777

[jun-was-taken]

There's no gaming experience that's been able to match it. It's one of those rare experiences where it just so thoroughly hits your resonate frequency your brain starts vibrating.

The game's systems and story are so singular in their theme and thesis. Everything you do reinforces the idea that human connection can overcome even the most fucked up dire situations.

One of the mechanics in this game is you can setup bits of infrastructure that people can see and use in their own worlds. You'll see a conveniently placed ladder here, a perfect save-your-ass-I-don't-have-shit-on-me rope there. Someone was looking out for you. You sauce them as many likes as you can. While you're helping the characters in-universe, you're also the guardian angels for other porters that are literally following in your footsteps.

It starts off small. You pack an extra ladder when you know you don't really need it, just so you can go off the beaten track and bridge a gap. Just for the simple pleasure of maybe it'll help someone. Oh man, that cliff was a real pain in the ass to go around. I'm ganna go back and put the rope I wish was there. The next thing you know, you're loading up your truck with literal tons of raw materials to complete out sections of highway.

You've cleared out everyone's stash of metals and ceramics. You stuff your truck, all 28 XL containers of assorted raw materials, beautifully stacked in the back. You're cruising down the freshly paved highway you just helped create. You have a podcast on and you're swerving spooky ghost creatures. One section done. Then two. Then three. The truck bed is lookin a lot lighter. You get to the last section of highway you planned to finish for that route. Time to cash in those last few containers. It'll be a job well done, clean op, time to dust your hands off. You did the math wrong. Ahh shit. You eye the last few containers rolling around in the back. You look around and spot an old rusted bridge. It's well traveled and loved, but it's seen better days. It's a good distance away but you could repair it with what you have in the back. Your truck is rusted and sparking from all the timefall. But the old girl has no quit in her. She'll always take you to where you need to go. You give that bridge a new lease on life, ready for the next set of muddy boots. Then you head back to the DC, planning your next route all the way to do it all over again. But first, a much needed break for the truck and for Sam.

This game is full little stories like this. I've setup a zipline network which involves braving the sketchiest parts of the world. Fighting through literal nightmare hell zones just to set it up. I booted up the game a few months later. I came back to see that multiple porters not only braved the same hell zone, but they schlepped their own materials to not only make sure it didn't rust away, but even upgraded. They had tons strapped to their backs, fighting like hell just so that the safe passage remains open. It makes my heart swell even as I type this out.

Every playthrough will be unique and deeply personal. Acts of service is the love language that ties every porter together. A simple thumbs up means everything. While I get that it's not a game everyone will enjoy, if anything that I wrote interests you, I hope that you give it a try. It's very special to me.

I highly recommend playing Death Stranding if you got a system to play it on

it’s set in this post apocalyptic world where everyone turns into a nuclear explosion ghost after death and the rain makes you and everything else old and for 30-40 years no one’s been able to do anything to combat it except bunker down underground and incinerate the dead. People are isolated because, wouldn’t you be if your neighbour dying meant your city turned into a crater?

but in spite of this all there’s hope that we can connect people again. The NPCs are relentlessly optimistic that we can manage the explosion ghosts if we work together. So much of it is just, building up small contributions and having them pile up and before you know it, you got something big going on. You’re the big damn hero (a guy with insane core strength who doesn’t die) tackling the (literally) heavy stuff but the NPCs are all eager to contribute whatever they can. Here’s some custom boots. A protoype engine. A non-lethal ranged weapon. A place to stay. A bridge to cross a river. A parcel of materials to build with. A generator just as your truck battery is dying. A good luck charm. A remote operated surgical table. A sign that says Keep On Keeping On.

I think it’s important to remember that the small stuff matters. It helped me a lot during the pandemic. The world is heavy and not everyone can lift 100kg, but we can all do something even if it’s just some words to remind people we’re in it together.

Also, Trump canonically died in a ghost explosion and was utterly annihilated down to the atoms.

[mulderscully]

can i be honest? i feel like people need to get realistic about the timeline for the rwrb sequel. they announced the sequel really early because they already had plans to make one while filming and because people kept asking, and there was no press tour for the first movie. that was the press tour. it wasn't a promise that there would be another movie immediately. both matthew and casey said that they last thing they want to do is put out a rushed project and this is a good thing. sequels have a reputation of being bad, they need to get it right. as of now (jan 2025) all that we know is that they said recently that they are almost done writing the script. the scripts then need to be revised and edited, then the movie goes into pre-production. matthew is also set to direct a remake of the body guard which still hasn't been cast. casey is writing another book. nick may or may not (both are fine) want to de-bulk after masters of the universe to look in character as henry. taylor has said he has projects in the works he can't talk about yet. the rest of the casts schedule also has to be taken into consideration, not just nick and/or taylor. they probably are not going to film in 2025, and if they do it'll be late in the year. after filming (which takes 2/3 months) they will then go into post production and THEN we'll eventually get a release date. i would not be suprised if we don't see this movie until late 2026 or even 2027. and that's okay. remember, once it starts it's the beginning of the end again. enjoy this anticipatory phase and knowing there is more to come, read fic and support creators in the fandom. the time will pass anyway.

[brynn-lear]

Put Another "X" On The Calendar [Yandere Angel of Death!Sunday/Reader]

Unreliable Synopsis: To be rejected by the angel of death himself… you must be heaven's favorite chew toy if he won’t let you die as intended. But this year will be the last time you'd play with his games. [5.6k words]

CW/Tags: gn reader, explicit and detailed suicidal themes, alcohol, very soft yandere angel!Sunday, dead dove: do not eat. Please prioritize your mental health first; you matter more than you think. This is first and foremost an expression/vent of real struggles, not a romanticization of the tags mentioned nor does it promote it as a solution.

𝟒𝟑,𝟖𝟐𝟒 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄. Nostalgia has grown unfamiliar for the past days— you can’t even fathom having the same bitter acknowledgement you had years prior. Someone once said a person shall always remain a stranger to themselves, and you dearly wish you still recall who that was so you could ask if it is in the same degree you feel now. Too often does the mind ask the necessity to get up every morning, until mornings become noons— and finally, evenings. Minimizing your waking hours as much as possible to avoid confronting the state of your own mind and body.

Today is Saturday. Or was it Sunday? You can’t remember. You only remember dates when there’s a deadline. And here you are, with another late submission.

Barely dressed for the snow, you leaned against the cold door.

“You’re here again? Why do I keep finding you here?”

The man turned around.

𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗨𝗠𝗕𝗜𝗔 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗢𝗖𝗢𝗟 (𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠)

I have read and understood this consent form, and I consent to the processing of my personal data. I agree to the inclusion of my anonymized data in research publications and understand I can withdraw my consent at any time. I acknowledge that confidentiality may be breached in cases of high self-harm or suicide risk to ensure my safety, which may involve sharing information with relevant professionals. I also understand that my consent does not affect other lawful grounds for data processing or waive my rights under the Data Privacy Act of ████ and applicable laws.

Client ID: ████████████

1) In the past month, have you wished you were dead or wished you could go to sleep and not wake up?

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

It’s him again. The man that keeps hanging around your university’s Architecture Building rooftop. 

He smiled softly. “I could say the same to you.”

Despite the coldness of December, you came here with nothing to shield from it but the blazer your mom bought years ago for her office presentation. This stranger was almost as terrible as you were, in an opposing sense. He was draped all over, but his style seemed almost more overprepared for fall when it’s winter.

You let out a soft noise. 

Sometimes, you look forward to seeing this stranger on the rooftop. 

Trudging towards him, you asked plainly. “Who are you even waiting for?”

“I usually tell people that it’s my sister.”

You decided to ignore his strange phrasing.

“Can’t you two meet elsewhere?” You spat, unable to hide the disdain. Your voice made you cringe. More than anyone, you know how vile and cynical you truly are, but to let it be known now is counterintuitive. “I’m sure there are better meeting spots. Dreamjolt Cafe’s just around the corner.”

The stranger looked down, his eyes almost fluttering shut with a tense gulp. “I suppose there are more convenient locations. But…”

“But?”

He stared at you. His bright golden eyes that many complimented in your view looked as dull as the snow. No doubt he’s beyond human. This handsome stranger has no right to exist. He only serves to remind you how much you lacked while also blocking the sweet release you’ve been chasing.

Sometimes, you wish he was as lonely as you.

“But to leave is to take away far more than just promise,” he whispered but no breath painted the air. “To leave is to let someone down. Somehow, I feel as though I do not need to explain this to you.”

“You don’t have to.” You said out of disinterest.

“Other than that, I enjoy coming here and staring at the sky. The sight here reminds me of my purpose.” He stared at you intensely. “There's always a paradise that needs to be built. That vow is like the sun in the sky— perhaps I'll melt and fall before reaching it... But some hardships I must endure."

He took off his scarf and reached it out to you.

You blinked, raising a hand in protest. “No need.”

“I need it the least. Take it. You’re cold.”

Most days, you wish you could make him as lonely as you. 

“I don’t feel anything and I don’t like owing anyone anything.” The words slip out of you easily.

You don’t want to extend your time here for a random stranger.

“I know.” He muttered. “But still, take it. If I’m not careful, it may just be the only physical thing I can leave behind.”

For a moment, the sun and earth were silenced. You took the scarf, circling the soft fabric with your fingers. It was azure with speckled star patterns, ranging from complex to the most simple X-s and dots. You didn’t say another word. It was understood from then on that you both might’ve come here for the same reason. The rooftop was the haven for when the physical conditions that existence brings are met with crushing defeat. If he asked you the same question you had moments prior, you’d have but one reply:

It’s the tallest building on campus; I came here for the view.

With dissipating reluctance, he approached you and wrapped the scarf around your neck. His gloved fingers were shaking, but you made no comment. As you stare up, you’re greeted with the sight of his flushed cheeks and pursed lips. Yet, you’ve no motivation to return the scarf. 

Maybe the frostbite makes him feel a little more alive too.

As if to affirm your suspicions, he took off his own gloves. The act made the skin he hid with the long sleeves of his jacket visible. It was not your intent to be nosy, yet you saw the bandages wrapped around him. Gauze pads in places you’d expect it to be. The sight must’ve distracted you long enough, since the moment you looked at your own hands— it wore the black gloves he donned.

You’re wearing his scarf and gloves— he has nothing. No fur, no anything. Just him and a black coat, white shirt, and pants. Yet his limbs did not tremble. The temperature had no effect on him.

Finally, he gave you his name. 

“You can call me… Sunday. And you?”

Sunday.

You blinked. “Like the day after Saturday?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Exactly like the day after Saturday.”

With that, you decided you do not like him.

Call it competitiveness, call it frustration— name the emotion for whatever is convenient— but there’s no pleasant note to describe him. Objectively and instinctively, Sunday is predictably a good man. But the maggots that crawl inside you scream just how much he has no place in your life. They writhe behind your eyelids, burning with an unspoken illness that wanted him miserable.

“(Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n).” You answered. “Realbrook Dorms. Room 404.”

To die beautifully and meaningfully. You don’t have that privilege.

Sunday’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you tell me that?”

The dorm may just be the only physical thing you can leave behind.

“I don’t know.” You laughed, averting your gaze.

“Just in case you want your scarf back, I suppose.”

And you know what?

You’re sure he knows that you’re broken, too.

2) In the past month, have you actually had any thoughts about killing yourself?

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

3) Have you been thinking about how you might do this?

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧— but the higher beings routing out pest control. Entering the classroom filled with those bright and beautiful, those who were born to be who their program says they are, has patted you with the crown of envy.

No amount of pomodoros, no higher statistic in your Focus Plant app, can make you even a fraction of their genius. Depressing, but true. 

How can you even compete with a room of intellectual gatekeepers?

You’d ask a question, hoping to learn, and all they hand out is a vague response. Not an explanation, but enough for them to say “oh, but I replied, haven’t I?”

These Penaconian Science High School graduates surely are the cream of the crop, and they won’t spare other people’s hopes and dreams to get what they want. 

It’s fine, you tell yourself. This is a highly competitive university. You expected this. It has a name. Your tuition is free. Everyone is a scholar. You just have to hold your breath and live through this. For the future you promised your loved ones.

Of course, assuming you can exhale after 3 more years. Assuming you still have a beating heart inside.

You bought another notebook today after you lost your previous one. The old one’s probably hidden under your “organized mess”. 

But at least you can force yourself to write good things again.

𝟷𝟸.𝟶𝟿.𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺

𝙸 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊 𝟼𝚔 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔.

Walking, not running or jogging, is the only healthy hobby you have. Writing consumes you while art reminds you of your worthlessness. It’s a short sentence, but that’s fine. That’s why you bought a pocket sized notebook in the first place. 

Having that as a first entry is 3 miles better than a detailed plan of which sea you’ll last disappear to.

4) Have you had these thoughts and had some intention of acting on them?

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲. You opened your dorm room. Thankfully, as it was the only stroke of luck you had that day, none of your roommates were around. You let your bag slid from your shoulders down with a loud thud.

For a few minutes, you squandered it salting the hard boiled eggs you bought with your own tears.On the floor no one was industrious enough to sweep, you sat. You had no energy to climb up your bed. It was just you and awkward silence. 

It’s Christmas season.

You have no good memories of it. You barely left your room.

Maybe you should’ve known that every December would compete for which year was the worst. The best December had to be the year when you’d receive terrible exchange gift presents like cheap junk food while you and your mother chipped in to buy a great gun toy. Then the worst was your first christmas without that family member you were closest to. When you’re reminded how deeply grief can cut through while everyone’s in good cheer.

There’s a knock on your door. 

Quickly, you put your jacket back on and wiped your nose. You twisted the doorknob open, already feeling terrible for the housekeepers. They often report to your parents when they decide to visit. So you’ll just slip in your excuse in the middle of the conversation.

“Hi, sorry Miss Rena, I’m sick right now— cold, really. Did I accidentally leave my water bottle on the study hall again—”

“Good evening, (Y/n). May I trouble you for a moment?”

You flinched at the familiar but oddly placed sound.

“Sunday?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “How did you— oh, right, I did tell you what my dorm was.”

Here he was again. You had half the mind to think he would only spawn on the rooftop, but you were wrong.

“It’s rather reckless of you, and I hope you will refrain from doing that to other men.” 

There was a dark tilt in his tone and his gaze matched it perfectly. Years ago, that could’ve put shivers down your spine. But you no longer care for most things.

You can only mimic a nervous laugh. Mimicking what you would’ve sounded if you still cared for your own safety.

Sunday offered you a small smile.

“How many times do you walk per day this month?”

“Huh?”

What a strange question.

He looked at the window. “Let’s walk outside. You haven't done ten thousand steps in a day for quite a while now.”

“What a rude assumption.” You scoffed.

“Was I wrong?” He asked, but the innocent tone made you second guess the teasing nature of his words.

If you two were close, your roommate’s unsuspecting pillows would’ve hit him square on the face. Sunday opened your wardrobe and grabbed the scarf you gave him.

…Why does he know where you kept it?

He opened the door wider.

“Come on,” he replied. “Let’s take a walk.”

You don’t know why, but your guard is always down when you’re with him.

Maybe you no longer have any sense of self-preservation. Which makes sense, given your real goal. However, unlike most, you do not love being loved. Being cared for ultimately turns into a debt to be repaid in your eyes. Yet, you couldn’t stop Sunday when he wrapped the scarf snugly around your neck. 

The two of you walked around the area. Sometimes, he’d talk about the people, animals, and objects of nature that piqued both your interest. Despite being nearly strangers, he was oddly calming to be around. 

Sunday held your hand as you both walked, like it was a matter of time till it crumbled. His eyes had this persistent pleading you refused to acknowledge. Even in silence, it was asking you the worst request.

To stay alive.

“Why did I cross your mind?” You asked him. “Why did you suddenly visit my dorm?”

He stopped walking.

“... Instinct.”

“Instinct?”

“Just a feeling, that something might…” He muttered a word nearly inaudible. “If I was away. Humans are not perfect individuals. Quite the contrary, their hearts are filled with contradictions at every moment.”

Sunday’s gaze softened, hurt.

“Which is why, even if you tell me you are doing fine, I am inclined to believe that the opposite is the case.”

“...I see.”

You subtly tried to get out of his hold, but he didn’t let you go.

“Why do you care?” You continued walking, and he resumed too. He always matched your walking speed. That in itself felt nice. That someone would adjust for you, that is. 

“I believe it’s… human nature to care.” Sunday hummed. “Listening has always been my job.”

You laughed. “I guess so.”

Quietly, you took note of that.

“Here.” Sunday pointed at the benches.”Let’s take a rest.”

The university nearby— not yours— just installed more carved wooden benches. When he sat down, it felt like it was made for him. Quietly, you sat down beside him. He sits up straight, unlike you. You’re hunched back, fiddling with your hands as though there was an invisible toy that stole your attention.

Sunday sighed softly. "The evening light does tend to settle the heart, does it not? A quiet reminder that even the longest days must come to their end."

You looked at the sky.

"I guess. The day ends, but what comes after doesn’t feel much different.” You chuckled. “Same old suffering.”

“Perhaps there is something in the simple act of continuing. Something... precious in that.” He said. “We all walk our own paths. Though it may be lonely, as long as we keep moving forward, we won't forget each other.”

"Sure, if you're feeling masochistic enough in waiting for something that never comes." You huffed. "I've grown past that phase. Multiple times."

“Life has a way of leading humans in circles, only to place us where they are meant to be, even if they cannot yet see it."

“And spoiler alert, I’m not meant much for anything.” You looked up to meet his gaze. 

“But thank you, anyway. It’s nice to have a brief respite, even if it comes from the man I keep spotting on the rooftop.”

“And I’ll continue to materialize there if you refuse to have a truce with yourself.” He half-chided, half-teased. “I am the only one who truly understands you, who knows the depth of your heart, even when you can’t bear to look at it yourself. And until you no longer go to the roof to see the view from up there, I’ll continue to linger.”

There’s a blank expression on your face. An expression no human should be able to read.

But he can.

“(Y/n), if you need anything. I’ll be there. As I always have.” Sunday looked back at the winter sky. 

“And I’ll remind you of that everyday if I have to. Because that is what I choose to do. If I’m forced to take you, I—” Sunday closed his eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

You’re not smart, but you understood what this was about.

You’re his.

You may not "know" him, but you’re his reason. His only reason.

And wishing for death threatens all his plans.

5) Have you started to work out or worked out the details of how to kill yourself? Did you intend to carry out this plan?

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 just as you were making weak attempts to tug the sleep you’ve been missing for 5 years. There’s supposed to be an Engineering BINGO event today. You skipped it and thanked the campus for once that there’s no classes. Your rough, useless hand frantically attempted to hang up as if it’s no different from snoozing an alarm. But it was Hailee. The only person who ever regularly talks to you.

You answered, voice groggy at 3 PM.

“Heyyy (Y/n), where are you?”

“Hail—” you muttered. “Just sleeping.”

“You’re not coming? Cocona just won an IPad!”

“Good for her, good for her.” You didn’t really register what she said. “Since there’s no class I figured I’d just sleep in, you know?”

“Ah, yeah, I get that. I lowkey wanna go home too, but Max is having fun.”

“Yeah.” You yawned. 

“Hey, kinda random, but I just passed by Madeleine earlier.”

“Yeah well she’s always everywhere all at once.”

“Sure, but she was at the registrar.” Hailee paused. “She’s getting a transcript of records, I think.”

“What for?”

“I think she wants to transfer.”

You sat up.

“Really? Well, shit. I want in, too.”

“Yeah, same.” Hailee’s tone turned serious. “I want out of this hellhole too.”

“Hey Hailee?”

“Yuh?”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Oh, okay, sur—”

You messaged Madeleine.

You paused.

Why are you telling her this.

You and her barely talked.

You and Madeleine messaged each other more for a while. Each notif was a half-hearted argument against going through both plans. Words of how neither of you should go through it leaning as a suggestion rather than a real conviction. You'd agree, but you both know it’s just words. 

She didn’t mention her reasons outside academics, and you didn’t mention yours.

The hesitation lingers, but you both danced around it, sending stickers of people hugging, pretending you'll back out, even though you know you both know you won’t. Neither of you is truly convinced, and yet, the conversation went on a seemingly positive note.

It’s fine.

At least now, you know, that you aren’t the only one who tried their hardest with nothing to return to.

But there’s a voice in your head telling you no. 

It doesn’t belong to you. It is not your voice.

Yet it begged and begged.

Please, don’t do it.

And for now, you’ll pretend you’ll listen to him too.

6) Have you engaged in, attempted, or planned any actions with the intention of ending your life? Examples: Taking pills, attempting to shoot yourself, self-harm (e.g., cutting), attempting hanging, taking pills but not swallowing, holding a gun but changing your mind or having it taken away, going to a high place but not jumping, gathering pills, acquiring a weapon, giving away belongings, writing a will or suicide note, etc.

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠. No one asked you to draw, but you figured since the man on the chair heavily recommended you get back to your old hobbies, you’d draw the people who consider you as a friend. So, you strayed from sketching topics that lead the mind wandering. 

You stared at the screen blankly.

Genuinely, you were caught off guard.

Careful. Don’t fool yourself that a small “thank you” means they would be there for you. You’ve been here before. Don’t be a pushover.

You closed your eyes.

No, thank you, Monica.

“Just a few more.” You muttered. “Just a few more portraits. Just one more holiday greeting. Just one more late video animatic birthday gift for Alex that I didn’t give weeks ago. And then—”

You can finally pardon yourself with the right to die.

Don’t.

Please don’t.

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…

Your messenger app crashed.

…

You turned off your phone.

7) If yes, was this within the past 3 months?

🟥 YES

⬛ NO

You blinked.

A hand. A hand reaching out that isn’t “Sunday”?

Really?

You laughed.

You laughed so loudly, you’d be glad if you remembered the fact that no one was around. 

It just feels so inhumane.

It is inhumane. 

So inhumane, that you felt offended for the last shred of humanity you thought you no longer had.

You cackled, feeling a drop on the back of your wrist.

The one time someone actually noticed you did not feel well. 

And they worry about someone else. 

You are such a fucking joke.

Your body shook, laughing at this unintentional cruelty. Air-like bile rises up your throat— your eyes burning. A few more laughter escaped your turtle lipped mouth. You couldn’t tear your pained gaze away from the screen. You wiped your eyes.

The funniest bit?

Crying won’t change a damn thing.

It’s nearly 2025, and no good thought crossed your mind.

Just like your father said: everything is evil, it’s only a question of how much you’ll let the devil consume you.

Today is Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? The man doesn't care to remember. He only remembers dates when there’s a deadline. And here he was, arriving at 11:59 pm. Just in time to stop another would-be tragedy. 

Barely dressed for the snow, “Sunday” leaned against the cold door, almost out of breath.

“You're here. Why must I keep finding you here…”

His purpose turned around.

It’s you. His ward that keeps hanging around the university’s Architecture Building rooftop… Now standing on top of your parents’ roof. 

You frowned deeply, tipping your weight slightly. “I could say the same to you.”

Before Sunday could utter a word, your phone buzzed. 

You grimaced as you saw the alarm. “Won't you look at thaaaat?! It's already 2 am. I'm so fucking stupid. I must've thought I set an alarm for 12 instead of 2.”

“Yes… Happy New Year, (Y/n). I hope your 2025 will be blessed.” Sunday spoke softly. His heart raced as he made slow movements to approach you. The man hoped he'd be close enough to pull you away from the edge.

“How much did you drink?”

You cackled.

“Weren't you already supposed to know the answer to that,” you slurred. “Septimus? THE Bronze Melodia?”

That was the exact moment… when your former guardian angel learned what it felt like for blood to run cold.

Once a guardian angel alongside his sister, Septimus was a protector of humanity, driven by a belief that he alone could heal the world’s ills. His perceived purpose blinded him of what was humanity’s true will, until the heavens cast him out for overstepping. Stripped of his former glory, he became the Angel of Death, his once-bright feathers now hidden in bandages. With each soul he reaped, the haunting melody of his fall lingers, a reminder of a savior who couldn't save himself.

And so, he only hoped that he could save you.

His one and lonely human.

Stirred awake were your memories when you first saw him on that rooftop. Even then, you knew who he was. It was the same fledgeling who kept you company in your silent home. The boy who listened to you talk for hours while everyone else “felt” a ghost. 

No matter how much he tried to look like the image of comfort, he would never be the character you used to love, in the same vein you can never return to the bright cheer you used to have.

“(Y/n), please…” Sunday begged. “Get off the roof.”

“My parents are asleep.” You hummed. “It’s 2 am. I’m on liquid courage. This is the only chance I won’t chicken out.”

“H-How did you know?” He asked. “Who I am?”

“I’m smart when it comes to things that don’t matter,” you cackled. “But ask me how to draw up a diagram for a unit process and I got absolutely nothing.”

You took a step back, which made Sunday take one harsh step forward. “DON’T.”

“Septimus, is it true?” You laughed again. “That you’re an angel of death?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“Yes.”

“Why haven’t you taken me yet? Does God have other plans?”

“T… Truth is, you should’ve died long ago.”

You’re not surprised.

“When I tried to open my guts with scissors, or when I tried to hang myself?” You huffed.

“Longer than that. I had to always snatch you away from your fate so you could have the chance to live on.” The angel spoke, voice weary. “I want to see you live another day. It’s what stripped me out of your guardianship in the first place.”

Once again, you’re not surprised.

“So it’s you…”

The anger in your voice was almost tangible. 

“So you’re the reason why I’m alive.” Your eyes twitched. “It’s you who kept stopping me.”

Sunday raised a hand. “I-I just, I want you to live long enough to see that a paradise can still be built—”

“My paradise is the ocean I want to drown myself in.” You spat. “Don’t talk about paradise when you know I can’t reach it.”

Sunday’s eyebrows furrowed. “That is not true—”

“Who else?”

“Who… else?” 

He’s taking ragged breaths. 

You knew it. Your hypothesis was right.

Keeping you alive is turning the angel of death human.

Many say angels do not have free will.

But this is what he chose to do.

Suddenly, his words on the roof made sense. Why he desperately wanted you to keep his scarf. Maybe there’s truth to it. Angels do not lie. Perhaps if he failed, he would’ve turned into ash and not human. 

Most days, you wished you could make him as lonely as you. 

Looks like in the end, you got what you wanted.

“Who else wants (Y/n) (L/n) to live to see another day?” You asked.

“Plen— some.” Septimus corrected his lie. “Some will want you to keep pushing forward.”

“Will, not would. Will is too late for anything.”

“Will because you don’t give them a chance to show they care.” He argued.

“They’d rather see me in a coffin than put in any real effort.”

“Why,” his voice croaked. “Why do you only assume the worst in people?”

“You know why. You know every ‘why’ there is.”

He inhaled sharply. They say to translate your thoughts and dreams into a creativity worth plagiarizing. Yet, when you’re one foot on the roof and one foot out the metaphorical door, you didn’t give a shit on becoming artistically verbose.

“No wonder I’ve never broken a bone.” You laughed. “And damn, I’d rather take a broken bone than whatever hell you’re putting me through.”

Sunday was close enough to touch you.

“Because despite everything, you are still you.” Sunday cooed, trapping you in his arms. “And as the being who loves you more than anyone—- who knows you when you are a stranger to your own self— I would know this.”

He pulled you closer by tugging your scarf. The same scarf he gave you.

And pushed you until you’re away from the edge.

“There is no sufficient reason enough for you to take your life.”

Sinfully, Sunday leaned your faces closer to once another. You smelled like wine. Sleep deprivation has made a lightweight out of you.

You shook, your voice taking a tone unfamiliar to you. Raw. Loud. There was frustration in it, which was the most harrowing emotion of all. 

“And so what? My problems aren’t bad enough— that I’m just a fucking loser who can’t get their shit together like EVERYONE ELSE? THAT MY OWN BODY GIVES UP ON ME?! TO THE POINT I FIND MYSELF PASSED OUT SLEEPING ON THE DIRTY FLOOR OF OUR UNIVERSITY’S FUCKING DRAWING ROOM?!”

“I—”

“I know what you’re thinking, it’s either one of two things. If you’re anyone else, you think I’ve matured too early, too fast, and if you’re just like my father, then I haven’t matured fast enough for you— isn’t that right?! I know what the FUCK that look is!”

You grabbed the collar of his shirt. 

“No one— NO ONE— fucking truly cares for me. No one PRAYS for me. You know the only people that I talk to nowadays?! Pixels. Fucking. PIXELS!!! So called people with faces I’ve never seen, just texts I have to imagine— just voices I have to convince myself are real. A human connection but not quite. And you know the amount of fucks they actually give?!”

It’s only then that you noticed your hands shaking, but that awareness only tightened your hold. 

“I can paint them a portrait as many as they want. I can greet them, make them laugh a bunch, but at the end of the day I’m hanging out where I don’t b-belong.” White knuckles. Short breaths. “I can listen, I can give people the time of day, but if you ask them what I’m going through, they don’t know jack shit. And there's my campus life, or lack thereof. Where do I even begin with that?!”

“I’ve sacrificed…” Your grip loosened. “I’ve sacrificed true friends, I’ve sacrificed time with family, sacrificed the remaining time I could’ve spent next to a dying loved one. I sacrificed my time, my literal blood, sweat, tears, and most importantly time— for a dream I was never meant to reach. Every morning I could’ve slept, every 6 hours I should’ve rested, there’s nothing. Nothing for a program I shouldn't have taken. And now they’re gone. One is even six feet under.”

You dropped your hold on him.

43,826 system hours.

“Let me through.”

Sunday breathed in shakily. “No.”

“Let me fucking through, Septimus.”

“Do you remember what I told you when we first had a proper conversion?” He retorted, breathless. “To leave is to let someone down, and I meant it literally. I shall not allow this. (Y/n), you just need someone to talk to.”

“And it’s not going to be you!” You laughed at his face. “Or anyone! There is NO ONE who can reach me, Septimus, there’s nothing that can fix THIS anymore.”

“Please, just hold on to me.” Sunday knew you were no longer hearing him. He knew there was nothing to be done. But he clung to your clothes— clawed your back— rested his face on your shoulder. “I have nothing to offer you but myself.”

“Let me destroy myself.” Palms clamming up. Heart racing. “Let me end this.”

“Please, just… █████ █.” He leaned in to a degree you can’t feel anything but inches of his skin. “Just give me till █████ █ to prove to you that each day is worth living. Don’t take your life away for me.”

Sunday cried. His tears were warm, normal. 

“I-I would much rather be human than an angel of death, so I could take care of you.” He wept, holding you closer— back in his embrace. “For I love you with all I have. No other had made me feel this way.”

…

…

…

You fell silent.

“Until █████ █?”

With closed eyes and thin lips, he nodded reluctantly. 

“Until █████ █.”

Your shoulders relaxed, and with a heavy chest, you felt like you regained the ability to cry again.

Thud… Thud… Thud...

Faint, but even faint is enough.

“(Y/n).” Sunday— Septimus called out with a voice that finally reached you. With trembling lips, he cupped your cheeks. His golden eyes blocked the shade of the dullest moon. In that moment, he was the only light you cling to, and it will remain so until the date he has given. “Let me be your north star, your steady hand. Let me take care of you if you cannot take care of yourself.”

Wonderful, if true. But the maggots gnaw deep in your skin. Whatever affection he has for you must be unreal and unfounded. A dove catching a worm underneath its pointed claws when it was to crawl to the nearest cliff. There’s a glimmer so conflicted in his eyes. A lucid thought running in a path that circles both his ego and conscience. A truth he doesn’t speak aloud.

He’s selfish.

Sunday doesn’t want you alive for the sake of living. The still surface of the water should’ve moved if so. There would’ve been another angel— another song singing praises of life to lift you up. But it was only him. Always him. 

He wants you to live for him.

He wants (Y/n) (L/n) to live for the angel of Death. 

Selfish.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

But Sunday— Septimus— whatever this foul beast was— he knew that he’s wrong. He knows that what he has done has crossed another heavenly line. He knew that you were past your date. He knew he takes too much pleasure in seeing you alive because he allowed it.

Yet the heavens would rather see you suffer than have you take your life again. 

(Y/n)...

He loves you. More than everyone in the world.

But even he doesn't PRAY for you.

You laughed again.

“█████ █.”

You leaned against his chest.

“You've set the date, and I'll patiently wait.” You replied. “By █████ █, you'll do the work, that was your promise. Septimus, I'm tired of taking my own life, so do your job.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry…” Sunday mumbled. His shaky breath was more human than you could ever be. “I won't prolong your suffering anymore. I'm sorry. I’ll hold your breath, just as the heavens intended.”

“It's fine.” 

You've had your solace. The answer you've been looking for since you were young.

43,826 system hours.

And just 1,512 bit more.

“Cause every X on the calendar would make me feel a bit more okay.”

Hotline

[lucygraysboy]

“yeah, grilled eel. i know, right? you need to have very sophisticated tastebuds to handle that,” he muses with a laugh, struggling to refrain from mirroring lucy gray’s grimace of disgust. he takes a sip of his overly sweet coffee to wash away the memory of that dish. dates with blair won’t be missed. “oh, you’re not? really? you sound just like a new yorker!” he teases, knowing she sounds nothing like someone who’s spent their whole life up north. “so… where you come from, do people always offer their seats to the elderly? such strange customs.” he plays along, pretending they didn’t grow up together in the same small town. “no, yeah, i definitely agree with you, sweet bird. respect should be a universal thing. too bad it’s not.” a heavy sigh escapes him, head turning around when the train comes to yet another stop, trying to see the name of the station. seems like they’re halfway there. “new mexico, alaska… i’m adding these to our bucket list. we’re going to put this theory to the test, see if we really can make any place fun.” he almost slips up and instead of saying bucket list says potential honeymoon destinations. now that would have been awkward, he thinks to himself, cheering up again at the mere sound of her laugh. “yeah, yeah… it is insane. i don’t know what would have to happen for me to just… you know, poop into a trash can, on the corner of 5th avenue at that. but yeah, of course,” he chuckles, fibbing in hopes of amusing her, “i always carry a few packs of toilet paper on me in case someone decides to go number two in my presence. if truth be told, i think she just pulled up her pants and went on about her day, babe.”

"grilled EEL?" grimacing at the sound of it, she didn't even know that was legal. "that doesn't sound appetizin' at all..." that actually, sounds down right disgusting. but she won't say that out loud. "well, i'm not a new yorker. i'm a north carolinian and a tennessean at heart, we do things a lil differently down those parts." saying amusingly, not like he doesn't know that and didn't grow up there too, "respect for the elderly should be universal, though." a smile curls her lips upwards at the kiss she gets to her head and feeling pretty special when he says she makes things fun. that's a good feeling when someone tells you that. "you make it interestin' too, dino. we could go to cold alaska and you could make it fun." she banters back, giggling at him before features scrunch in disbelief yet again. "billy, that's insane. let's not pretend it's not. did you least try to offer her some toilet paper?" lucy gray quips, trying to keep a serious face even if it's kind of just sad.

[graveyardgremlins]

WIP ALERT WIP ALERT

What makes death so special that everyone seems so scared to talk about it? It is not as if, in this universe, it’s the end of the line. Not really. If anything, it felt more like the beginning of something.

Now, routine feels like the end of it all. Even when you’re a vigilante and everyday is a surprise, it still feels like slowly withering away. Like, if you stop moving you’re going to start rotting on the spot. But for some reason, people love routine and hate death.

Dick, for example, constantly looks terrified. It’s not obvious, as no feeling in our faces is ever obvious, but I can tell it’s there. He once said, mournfully, that we would bury Bruce like he is now, with jet black hair. The thought upset him, but I still don’t understand why. It’s not as if Bruce cares. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to speed up the process.

And sure, it would suck not to be able to see someone you care about ever again. But if Dick truly is so scared of missing Bruce, he can go knocking on Constantine’s door — or Zatanna’s, or Madame Xanadu’s, or Doctor Fate’s, or Jason Blood’s, or… you get my point — and ask for a seance. Besides, it’s not as if you can say the guy wasted his life. No one on this Earth has more accomplishments under his belt than Batman himself.

So why the long face?

Like, sure I get why they look weird every time I bring up my past death. I was a kid and all that. But they seriously need to stop looking at me like I’m planning to kill myself everytime I bring up my future death. I’m not planning to die any time soon, but what if I do? Are they going to lose their shit again?

I mean, Tim literally cloned his best friend as a manner to bring him back from the dead because he couldn’t cope with him being gone. Not to say I’m terribly worried about the Imposter missing me so much as to clone me, but still. What if I die? Are they going to try to bring me back? Because I don’t think I want that.

Death was easy, you know? It was awful up until the point where it wasn’t. I don’t remember much, but I remember being warm and embraced. And then someone dragged me back screaming and kicking. Then I woke up boiling alive, with the skin falling off my bones in the middle of the Assassin’s League Headquarters.

I’m not particularly excited about being boiled alive again.

No one in this family knows how to let go and Bruce is the worst one. I used to be so mad that his grief wasn’t enough to make him kill the Joker. I wanted him to prove that he loved me like he said he did. But I was a recently deceased and resurrected teenager. I firmly believe that the only reason Jesus reacted better to being murdered is because he was already thirty three. Now, as an adult, I’m less mad.

Bruce deals with grief like this: he doesn’t. He lets it eat him away. I think he likes it, the feeling of rotting from the inside out. Maybe that’s why he likes routine too. I think he has a lot of love inside of him that, instead of showing it, he reschedules it. Like he thinks “tomorrow I’ll show it” and then never does. And when I died, maybe he didn’t have anywhere to put that love anymore. There wouldn’t be any more “tomorrows.” So he just rotted.

It’s why I try not to be jealous about how endlessly patient and affectionate he is with Damian. Or how careful he is with Tim. Or how much interest he takes in everything Duke does. Or how he always listens when Steph talks. Or how he always comes when Cass calls him. At least, I served to teach him a lesson. 

So, yeah, when I got an invitation to a Ghost Ball, I didn’t tell anyone. Because they don’t understand why I linger in the cemetery. They don’t understand why I kill, when they believe I should be the first one to be against death. They don’t understand why I keep talking about dying over and over and over. They just don’t get it.

Also, they would totally ruin this moment for me. I’m sure of it.

How many times do you get invited to a ball? Not those shitass galas the Waynes always go to. A real authentic 1800’s ball. With the lettering cursive invitation, sprayed with some kind of perfume, sealed with a gold wax coat of arms. Not only that! To what was an official celebration to the Ghost King’s 21th birthday.

I didn’t even know there was a Ghost King!

Sure, it’s probably a trap. This kind of thing is always a trap. But they had addressed the invitation to “The Red Knight of Gotham, Avenger of the Damned, Cursebreaker, Three Times Born, Wielder of the All-Blades, the Darkest Star” and, if I am to be honest, flattery will get you everywhere with me.

I’m not entirely sure what the “Darkest Star” was in reference to, but it’s the least of my concern. The theme of the ball was Black, White and Neon Green, which completely fucks up my aesthetic. The last time I wore green I was a Robin and I’m particularly inclined to never wear it again. I’m also not wearing a tuxedo. Maybe a black suit over the armor instead of the usual jacket and a neon green handkerchief.

Now the problem is getting fitted for a suit like that. Every rich motherfucker knows that just sending your measurements to a tailor that never met you in person before is the recipe for a disaster. And sure as hell there is not a single tailor in the Crime Alley. Not that I know of. And there is no way in hell, or heaven or wherever the flying fuck the Infinity Realms were, I’m showing up to a real ball looking anything short of dreamy.

So, I did the reasonable thing and texted Alfred.

If you could come by the Manor, Master Jason, I will see what can be done. He texted back.

There is a theory going around the midst of superheroes that says that the one thing all of the bats have in common is how stubborn we are. It’s true, but I don’t think we learned that from Bruce. I’m pretty sure that’s just the Pennyworth in all of us. That man clearly only still works as a butler at 65 and calls us all “master”, “miss”, “mister” and “ma’am” out of pure stubbornness. I have no evidence of this, but I’m working on the theory that someone at some point betted that he would crack eventually, which is why he hasn’t. That I know of.

So, I showed up at the Manor like he asked me to.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tim asked.

“I live here,” I answered.

“No, you don’t.”

“Unless someone touched my room, which I doubt, then yes, I do.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Last week. I dropped by to move all your furniture 1 inch to the left counterclockwise.”

“I knew it! I knew someone was touching my stuff! Steph said I was crazy!”

“You are, but I touched your stuff. Like all of it. Including your Monster collection. You should really clean that, by the way. It’s disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

Someone cleaned their throat and we both turned around to see Alfred standing in the hallway, looking less than impressed. I’m pretty sure we learned that from him too.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Tim said.

Alfred sighed and then turned his frown towards me.

“What? I didn’t curse.”

He raised one pointed eyebrow and that’s all it took.

“Sorry for touching your stuff, Timberlake,” I said and turned to Alfred again. “Happy?”

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Yeah, fine,” Tim agreed and moved out of the way to let me in. “Just never do it again.”

“Oh, I’m definitely doing it again.”

“Why?!”

“Dick told me to stop whining and start getting on that, and I quote, ‘big brother grind’, so you and the Demon brat are going to have to endure it.”

“Why not Duke?”

“He is obviously my favorite.”

Tim just groaned and followed us to one of the upstairs closet.

“What are we doing anyway?”

“We are doing nothing. You weren’t invited.”

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit,” Alfred said, ignoring me.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“What are you? A Toddler? Why do you think?”

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to the galas—”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“And you’re definitely not going on a date—”

“Wait, why?”

“Because.”

I turned around to fully face him. “What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Just because,” Tim made a vague gesture with his hand. “You know.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t know.”

“You know,” He gestured again. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“You’re chronically single.”

“What?!”

Tim threw himself on one of the sofas that was turned towards the closet and sank into it. “Chronically single. Chronically, meaning in a persistent and recurring—”

“I know what chronically single means!”

“Then you know.”

“I’m not chronically single!”

“How long ago was your last relationship and how long did it last?”

“That does not mean I’m chronically single! I get bitches all the time!”

“Perhaps, Master Jason, refraining from referring to your partners in a demeaning manner might be the first step to improving your romantic aptitudes.”

“I don’t– I’m not– Ugh!”

“Try this suit on. I think it will be the closest to your current measurements.”

I took the suit from his hand and closed the closet door behind me.

“So,” Tim said, “If you’re not going to a gala, you’re not going to a date, then where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s not a birthday, because I’m pretty sure none of your friends is an Aquarius–”

He kept talking and I tuned him out. The pants were a bit too tight around the knees, so they would have to fix that, and the jacket sleeves were a little too short. Besides that, I liked the red lining inside, as well as the flower pattern that almost disappeared into the black. It wasn’t very on the theme, and I would risk looking a bit christmassy, but it would be worth it. I did need a neon green handkerchief, though.

“It can’t be Two-Face, because he is still in Arkham and also not your usual target. Black Mask has been quiet, so maybe him,” Tim was, somehow, still talking.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, opening the closet door to let Alfred take a look.

“People you might be planning to make a move against in a place where a suit might be necessary.”

“Maybe I just want a suit, ever thought of that?”

“You’re fitting it over armor,” Tim pointed out.

“Touché.”

“Tt, it’s too tight around your knees,” Alfred commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Oh, Alfred? Do you by any chance have a neon green handkerchief?”

Alfred made a face. “I do not own any monstrosity of that sort, Master Jason. Why do you ask?”

“Because the theme is Black, White and Neon Green.”

“Wait, you’re actually crashing a party?”

Alfred sighed and made another disgusted face. “In that case… This suit won’t do.”

“Sorry, Alfred. I didn’t write the dress code.”

“Of course not, Master Jason. I would expect that you would have a better sense for fashion than that.”

“And for your information, I’m not crashing a party. I was invited. Not that you know what that’s like, Stalker.”

“Who would invite you to anything?!”

“Not telling.”

“C’mon!”

“Perhaps the Zegna will look less… clown-like with a neon green handkerchief than the Armani,” Alfred said, mostly to himself.

“Did I hear, Armani?” Selina’s honey-dripping voice came from the corridor, and she poked her head inside the room. “What are you boys doing hiding here?”

“I’m getting fitted for a suit.”

“He is going to a party and I’m trying to figure out which one,” Tim answered at the same time as me.

“Oh! That sounds fun! Do you need help, Alfred?” She asked and slid into the sofa next to Tim.

“I’m afraid I am at a loss, Miss Kyle. The theme of the evening is Black, White and, ugh, Neon Green.”

She made a face very much like Alfred’s own. “Where are you going, Kit Kat? The Riddler’s birthday isn’t until July.”

“Not telling you, either.”

She pouted and pulled Tim’s face near her own, he understood what she was doing a minute later and pouted too. “Please?” They said, like children.

“Nope. Not happening.”

Selina shrugged it off, not particularly bothered, but Tim seemed to still be fixated on the issue. 

“Have you tried that Slim-fit Hugo Boss brown suit, Alfred? I think it will make him look distinguished amongst the neon green aberration,” she said.

“Is it a winter party of some kind?” Tim asked.

“Not giving you any tips, Timmy.”

“Actually, Master Jason, that could help us find a better suit.”

I sighed. “I don’t think it is specifically a winter party. I think it's just a coincidence.”

“So it is a celebration of some kind!”

“I’m. Not. Telling. You.”

“No need. I will find out eventually.”

Alfred brought out the Hugo Boss brown suit and held it up for Selina to see. 

“I think it will clash, Miss Kyle,” he said.

“I think you’re right, Alfred,” She tapped one manicured finger to her lips. “This party is not of someone we know. Is it, Kit Kat?”

I shrugged.

“Why do you say that, Selina?” Tim asked.

“Motherly instincts.”

The door behind them opened again, this time to reveal a mildly disgruntled looking Bruce. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a sweater and sweatpants. He was definitely sick.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you sick, old man?”

He sniffed. “Seasonal allergies.”

“Jason is getting fitted for a suit,” Selina answered.

“Oh?”

“And I’m trying to find out why.”

“Oh.”

“You guys are nosy,” I said.

Alfred brought out another slim-fit suit and both Selina and Bruce made a face. “Yes, I imagined so,” Alfred said, disappointed.

“What kind of party is it, chum?”

“Not telling.”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green,” Selina said, and both her, Alfred and Bruce grimaced.

“Jason, please tell me you’re not going to the Riddler’s birthday party.”

“Of course, he isn’t, silly. The Riddler’s birthday is July 21st.”

“Oh! Should I send a present?”

“It would be very polite,” Alfred said and Selina agreed.

“If this party is of someone we don’t know then it must be someone you met recently or a very long time ago. But if it was from someone you used to know, you probably wouldn’t be using an expensive suit, and if it was someone new we would have heard of it already,” Tim said.

“What makes you think it is someone we don’t know?” Bruce asked.

Selina raised her hand with a cheeky smile. “If we knew them already, little Kit Kat wouldn’t be so worried about imprrrressing them. We would have embarrassed him already.”

“I’m not worried about impressing anyone.”

“You’re getting fitted for a suit,” she pointed out.

“Yes, because I outgrew all my other suits and I can’t wear them with the armor. It’s not as if I’m buying a new one,” I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re wearing your armor are you worried about being attacked?” Bruce asked.

“Is it a mission then?” Tim asked. “Otherwise, why would you be going to a place where you might be attacked?”

“Good point, champ.”

“I’m not answering any of those questions.”

Bruce pondered for a second. “Have you tried the gray Kiton wool suit? It might null a bit of the neon green.”

“Ooh. Good idea, love.”

“Let’s see if you’re correct, Master Bruce.”

“I’m texting Dick to see if he knows anything.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Father, have you seen Alfred Jr?” Damian’s voice rang from the corridor.

“Not really, Dami.”

“He is probably in that warm spot in the library where the sun hits just right,” Selina said and stretched as if she could feel the warmth from here.

“Thank you, miss Kyle,” Damian poked his head inside. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome, Damian.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?” Bruce asked.

“Do you?” Damian asked, fully walking into the room.

You see? This is why I can’t tell them anything about this ball. Or else they will want to come with, they are nosy like that, I’d have to explain to every cute person I meet why I brought my entire family with me when the invitation didn’t even have ‘plus one’ on it.

Jesus, maybe Selina was right.

“Master Jason is getting fitted for a new suit, Master Damian,” Alfred said and held the gray wool suit.

“Yeah, that doesn’t do it either,” Selina said.

“What is wrong with the suit?”

“The theme is Black, White and Neon Green.” Everyone grimaced at that. They really needed to stop repeating the same thing over and over.

“What is the occasion?”

“Kit Kat won’t tell us.”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Dick!” Tim announced. “He has no idea who could be, but his best guest is someone Jason met with the Outlaws! So I’m going to text Cass, so she can text Artemis and see if she was invited to anything.”

Damian sat on the opposite arm of the sofa and pondered.

“How much have you narrowed it down?”

“Someone we don’t know, someone dangerous, possibly on a mission, not a winter party,” Bruce said.

“Birthday?”

“No gift.”

“Maybe it’s someone I don’t know enough to buy a gift to,” I said, just to throw them off.

The three of them narrowed their eyes at me.

“Yup, talked to Artemis. She doesn’t know anything,” Tim said. “Also Dick is calling.”

He put it on speaker so everyone could suffer together.

“Hey, guys!”

“Hey, chum.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, birdie.”

“Sup?”

“Jesus Christ,” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a migraine coming up.

“Jason! The man, the myth, the legend! Will you tell your big bro where exactly you’re going? I promise to keep it a secret.”

“Not even on your deathbed.”

Alfred brought out another suit. It was also gray and it still did not match neon green.

“C’mon, Little Wing! Don’t be like that! It can be that bad for us to know.”

“It’s out of principle.”

“That reminds me,” Tim said. “Dick, go screw yourself.”

Alfred made a face at that, but didn’t comment anything.

“Wait, why? What did I do?”

“Why did you tell Jason to ‘act like a big brother’? He touched all of my stuff!”

“I’m sure he didn’t touch all of it.”

“Oh, I didn’t look under the bed, but besides that? It will be very funny when you start finding the glitter.”

“What?!”

“Ah, is that why Jon found a lot of superboy merch I did not buy in my closet?” Damian asked. “Well, I must say that is not a good prank. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m my best friend’s biggest fan. Though, he did cry.”

“You say that now, because you haven’t found the bees.”

“What bees?”

I simply smiled. This wouldn’t work on most of my siblings, but Damian was small enough to be fooled and once he believed it, the others would follow.

“I swear to God, Jason. If I find glitter on my clothes I’m putting a skunk inside your house,” Tim said.

There was also no glitter, but now he would check everything first. Forever.

“Why would you do that to a poor innocent animal?” I said, to be contrary.

“Yeah, Tim. Leave the animals alone! It’s not their fault Little Wing started a prank war.”

“Yes, Drake. I’m disappointed you’d even think about this.”

Alfred brought out a deep blue suit. Selina sighed and slumped down the sofa and Bruce shook his head.

“Hey, Dick,” I asked. “Do you have any suits that might fit me and that will look good with neon green?”

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me Poison Ivy is your plus one.”

“Alright, I won’t.”

“Poison Ivy is light green, not neon,” Tim said.

“And Ivy is too old for you,” Bruce said, pointedly. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t think I’d have anything either way.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone considered, perhaps the color neon green or perhaps Poison Ivy.

“I figured it out!” Damian shouted suddenly. Selina flinched from the noise, and he apologized quickly. “Sorry. But I have figured it out.”

“What?” Everyone asked. I wasn’t particularly worried, it’s very hard for the little brat to have known about a King I wasn’t even aware of. Though, maybe Ra’s did know it before me.

“Regular-fit Dark Grey Virgin Wool Serge from Hugo Boss,” Damian said profoundly.

“What?” Tim asked.

“The suit that will go with neon green.”

Alfred, Selina and Bruce thought it out. “Yes, I believe that might work, Master Damian.”

“Good job, son,” Bruce said, making my insides twist painfully.

Selina simply raised her hand over Tim’s head so Damian could high five her.

“That still doesn’t answer where he is going!”

“Who would do a Neon Green party? Besides the Riddler, his birthday isn’t until July.”

“How do you even– No, actually, I don’t want to know. Thanks for the help, Demon Brat.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell us where you’re going.”

Fair enough. “To a birthday party,”

“Goddammit! It was the first thing I crossed off!”

“Of whom?”

“None of your business, old man.”

“C’mon, tell us Little Wing.”

“What are we trying to find out?” Duke asked, walking into the room. “And why is everyone here?”

“Jason is going to a birthday party and he won’t tell us who's is jt,” Tim said.

“Oh?”

“And I’m getting a suit fitted.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll tell you whose birthday it is later.”

“Hey!”

“Wait, why?”

“Yes, why him?”

“Oh, Duke is my favorite.”

Duke smiled innocently at all the people in the room and did a little twirl.

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey, this is your fault. You told me to be an older sibling.”

“Older siblings don’t pick favorites!”

“Of course they do. Damian is your favorite, I’m Cass’ favorite, Duke is my favorite, and Tim is no one’s favorite.”

“Screw you!”

“Don’t worry. When Bruce adopts another one you can be their favorite.”

“I’m not adopting anyone.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow at that — yet another thing they got from Alfred — and Selina patted his hand. “Whatever you say, love.”

Alfred fitted the suit perfectly, to the point where that one guy on twitter that talks about male clothing would applaud. And he did find a neon green handkerchief, though he would only buy it if I promised to burn it afterwards, which I swiftly agreed to. I considered bringing a present, but something I learned from the filthy rich is that it’s always better to look like an asshole rather than a fool.

And so the suit saga ends and the ball saga begins.

One would think that an interdimensional being called the Ghost King would think of better ways to direct his guests towards his party than a set of coordinates and another number, which I quickly realized to be the hour in military time. Of course, one would be wrong. So me, my bike, my beautiful suit and my weapons directed ourselves to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, literally in the middle of Nevada's desert.

God, I am going to arrive at this party covered in sand.

[alewritesfics]

Bridging Realities

ℑ𝔙. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤..... 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter

⏮️                ⏸️                  ⏭️

The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Featherington estate, casting a golden glow over the lively preparations for the day ahead. You were seated at your vanity, Varley fussing over your hair with more vigor than necessary, muttering about how even a race required proper presentation. You nodded absently, your mind far from the conversation—or even the impending event.

You were dressed already, the soft, pastel blue gown fitting you comfortably as you stood and moved toward the window. You still wonder how on earth you got port- mama, to agree to buy new dresses and with different colors this time, although you think it mostly has to do with the arrival of the new featherington lord and how it meant that they no longer needed to worry about money much.

The bustle of the household faded as you leaned against the frame, gazing out at the beautiful house across the street, in which you could swear you see movement in.

It should’ve been a simple day—a moment to enjoy the festivities, the thrill of the race, and the chatter of the crowd. And yet, the weight of your thoughts anchored you in place.

The question swirled relentlessly in your mind. What do you do next?

The story you knew so well—the love story of Kate and Anthony—was already beginning to take shape. You’d seen the tension between them last night, the sharp glances, the lingering stares. You knew the moments that were meant to happen next.

But at what cost? Edwina’s heartbreak? Anthony’s stubbornness that was the whole reason people got hurt in the first place? Was it even your place to intervene? A few days ago you didn’t even exist in this world, so how could you?

Your gaze drifted to the bright sky, searching for clarity. And yet, another thought began to creep in, unbidden but persistent.

What if you didn’t step aside?

What if you let yourself want something—long for someone—for once? Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a name on a page, or a face in a show anymore. He was a man, flesh and blood, with flaws and feelings. And you… you weren’t just a bystander that dreamed to be in a love story like his. Not anymore.

Your fingers tightened on the windowsill as your heart warred with itself. To let the story unfold as it always had or to take a leap into the unknown, to risk selfishness for the chance at something real.

And then again, maybe you were meant to change things? Why on earth would the universe transport you into the world you’ve always dreamed of if you weren’t meant to?

“Miss Y/N?” Varley’s voice broke through your reverie, startling you. “The carriage will be ready soon. We mustn’t keep the others waiting.”

You straightened, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you turned back to the room. “Of course, Varley,” you said, your tone steady even as your thoughts churned.

As you left the room, you resolved one thing: Today, at the races, you would make a choice. Whether to follow the script you knew so well or to write a story of your own.

“Why did I have to accompany you?” you asked as you walked behind Penelope as she entered the drawing room of the Bridgerton house

She ignored your words, approaching Eloise from behind “Is that a copy of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope asked

“It is” Eloise answered, putting down the paper

“I thought we were done with her” Penelope said

“Do not discourage her, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said “If she has taken an interest in Lady Whistledown again, perhaps it means she’s interested in what she has to say about the season’s available gentlemen too” She turned towards her daughter

You chuckled, swallowing down your nerves as you approached her mother “If Eloise has anything to say about it, Lady Bridgerton, then no” You said

“See, even Y/n gets me” Eloise huffed, turning to face Penelope

You smiled, looking at what you hope will be your future mother in law “Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted

She stopped her embroidery, looking up at you with a smile “Y/n, dear, it has been a long time since you’ve visited” Violet said

You blinked before you realized that perhaps you had or well, the past Y/n Featherington had visited the Bridgerton home before with Penelope.

“Yes, it has been” you nodded before sitting on the chair next to her “artist Bridgerton brother,” you greeted Benedict with a smile

He chuckled “still calling me by that, poet Featherington sister?” He teased back

You looked at him lost “Poet?” you said confused

“yeah,” he brought down his sketchbook “Don’t you remember when you recited on and on about the color of Anthony’s hair, his mesmerizing eyes?”

What?

“Oh, yes, I remember that as well” Lady Bridgerton chuckled “It was sweet seeing how enamored you were with Anthony when you were little, of course, it never went far as you were only three and ten years old when you decided you wanted to marry Anthony and he was well off into adulthood”

Your face froze as Lady Beidgerton’s words sank in, your heart skipping a beat. What?! You laughed nervously, trying to mask your shock. “I—well, I suppose teenage girls are prone to fanciful ideas, are they not?”

“Fanciful indeed,” Violet said, smiling warmly. “Though, I must admit, it was endearing. You followed him about during those visits, asking the most peculiar questions about the responsibilities of a viscount. You were so earnest, poor Anthony didn’t know what to do with you!”

Benedict smirked. “Oh, he certainly knew what to do—run off to the study and hide.”

“Benedict!” Violet scolded lightly, though her tone was still amused.

You felt your cheeks heat, and for a moment, you were lost for words. Of course, the past you would have been a lovestruck teenager, completely unaware of what that might mean for your interactions now.

You cleared your throat, your mind racing as you tried to compose yourself. “I assure you, I’ve outgrown such girlish infatuations. Besides, Anthony and I have hardly spoken more than a few words to each other recently.”

“Oh, but that could change,” Violet said, her tone light but laden with meaning. “Anthony needs a steady hand, someone with wit and charm to keep him grounded.”

Benedict leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at you knowingly. “And who better to manage his chaos than someone who once planned her entire future around him?”

You shot him a pointed look, though your lips twitched upward in a small, reluctant smile. “I believe we’re getting far ahead of ourselves.”

“Perhaps,” Violet said with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, “but it’s always nice to see old friends rekindle a connection.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of their playful remarks mingling with your own uncertainty. You had come here prepared to make a choice, but now it seemed as though fate—or the Bridgertons—was nudging you toward one particular path.

“I believe we were never friends, Lady Bridgerton, it was just a childish infatuation on my part,” you say “I believe Anthony has his eyes set elsewhere right now”

Violet raised an eyebrow at your comment, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps, but you’d be surprised how easily one’s eyes can be redirected when the right person is in view.”

Benedict chuckled, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Oh, this is far more entertaining than I anticipated. Please, do carry on.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was beating faster than ever. “I assure you, Benedict, there is nothing to carry on about. Anthony and I barely speak, and whatever childish notions I had are long gone.”

“C-colin!” you heard Penelope exclaim, You stood up as the rest of the bridgertons embraced the newly arrived Colin, watching with a smile as they greeted him

“And where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount?” Colin asked looking around his family

“He is-“ Anthony stepped into view as Lady Bridgerton spoke “back from courting already”

“Colin, you are back, even better” Anthony said as he saw Colin “Family, I would like you all to-“ his eyes met yours, making him go silent

“Y/n…” he spoke “i-I did not know you were here”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes leaving yours “i-I would like you all to ready yourselves for the races today, we will be attending united as one” He finished saying to his family

You stayed next to him as his family went off to get ready “I’ll be there in a bit” you say to Pen as she looked at you expecting to leave, she nodded before she left the room

Your eyes flickered back towards Anthony, finding him looking at you, you smirked “You’ll escort me to the races, won’t you?” you say boldly, having decided to not step aside and instead make your own choices.

Anthony’s eyebrows furrowed at your boldness, his usual composed demeanor slipping ever so slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly weighing his response.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched thin, and you could see the flicker of hesitation in his dark eyes. His gaze shifted briefly toward the door, as though calculating his options.

“I… had intended to accompany my family today as a united front,” he said carefully, his voice measured. “There are certain… expectations that must be upheld.”

You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Expectations?” you repeated. “Anthony, are you saying that escorting me would somehow disrupt your plans?”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his reluctance palpable. “Not disrupt,” he clarified, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “It’s simply that…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Ah. So this was about Edwina. You felt the pieces fall into place with startling clarity. Kate’s refusal to let him court her sister must have spurred Anthony into finding another way to gain the Sharma family’s favor—an approach steeped in duty and strategy, as expected of a viscount.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Especially not after what you had decided and you’d be damned if you were losing without a fight.

“Anthony,” you said, stepping closer so that he couldn’t avoid your gaze. “If your goal is to show yourself as a responsible, family-oriented man, what better way than to escort an old family friend?” You let your tone turn teasing, though your eyes stayed sharp.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned back to you. “You do have a way of making things sound entirely reasonable,” he admitted, though his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You smiled triumphantly, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. “Then it’s settled,” you said brightly. “We’ll make quite the impression, won’t we?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering briefly toward the door again, as though still calculating his options. But then, he nodded, his movements stiff but resigned. “It would seem so,” he said finally.

As you walked together toward the carriages, you could feel the weight of his hesitation lingering between you. Anthony Bridgerton was a man bound by duty and logic, but there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a conflict he hadn’t yet resolved.

But that was fine. You weren’t looking for perfection. You were looking for an opportunity to remind him that life didn’t always need to be dictated by duty and expectations. If you were rewriting this story, you weren’t afraid to challenge the characters along the way.

Even if one of those characters was the man you’d been dreaming of for years.

You smiled, satisfied with his answer—for now. Today was only the beginning, after all. If you were going to rewrite the story, you intended to do so on your own terms. And Anthony Bridgerton? Well, he would simply have to keep up.

You looked around the field filled with people with a smile, the sound of horses galloping resounding nearby. Your eyes searched for any familiar face nearby but hard to see with so many people around.

You turned back to look at the man beside you, his eyes searching as well. You held back a scoff as you knew why, “Whatever plan you had for today, it would have only ended up hurting people” You stated, looking back at the field.

Anthony turned to look at you, your arm intertwined between his “What do you mean?” he feigned innocence

You looked at him once again “You mean to tell me you didn’t plan on elaborating a grand scheme so the eldest Sharma would leave you alone with Miss Edwina?”

Anthony’s gaze narrowed slightly, though there was no malice in it. “And what, pray tell, do you think I’m planning?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” you said, glancing toward the arriving carriages. “You intend to use today to make a grand show of your family’s unity and charm, all to prove to the Sharmas that you’re the perfect match for Edwina. Am I close?” You didn’t want to mention his plan to get Thomas Dorset to woo Kate.

His silence was answer enough.

You sighed, releasing his arm as you turned to face him fully. “Anthony, I know you mean well, but this… performance? It’s not going to end the way you hope it will.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re not being honest with yourself,” you said simply. “About what you want.”

His expression darkened, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I am entirely aware of what I want,” he said stiffly.

“Are you?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it seems to me you’re more concerned with what you think you should want. There’s a difference, Anthony, and if you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to hurt a lot of people—including yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the air between you, his gaze locked on yours as if trying to decipher your meaning. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, dismiss you like he did everyone who dared to question him.

But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly.

“It’s not,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “But it’s worth it.”

Anthony’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. Then, with a subtle nod, he extended his arm to you once more. “Shall we?”

You smiled, slipping your arm back into his. “Lead the way, Lord Bridgerton.”

As you walked toward the crowd, the weight of your words seemed to settle on him, though he said nothing more. But you could feel it in the way he held himself, in the quiet moments of hesitation that punctuated his otherwise confident demeanor.

“You should let things flow the way they’re supposed to,” you pat his arm “If there are things impeding you to court Miss Edwina…..perhaps you should give up” you say selfishly

Anthony glanced at you, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. “Give up?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You would have me surrender so easily?”

You met his gaze steadily, though your heart raced at your boldness. “Not easily, Anthony. But if you’re only pursuing her because you think it’s the right thing to do, rather than what you truly want, then yes. Why waste your time—and hers—on something that isn’t real?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, the tension in his features softening ever so slightly. “You speak as though you know my heart better than I do.”

“Perhaps I do,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Or perhaps I just see things more clearly because I’m not the one caught in the middle of it.”

Anthony didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting to the lively crowd ahead of you. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional cheer for a victorious horse filled the air. You could see his family mingling in the distance, their bright smiles a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation between you.

“And what about you?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now. “You speak of honesty, yet you remain shrouded in mystery. What is it that you truly want?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. How could you explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had brought you to this point? How could you tell him that you weren’t just another Featherington, but someone who had seen his story unfold in ways he couldn’t possibly understand?

“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I want to live a life that feels real. Not one dictated by expectations or duty, but one where I can make my own choices. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Anthony studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint smile, he shook his head. “You’re a peculiar woman, Y/N Featherington.”

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with relief. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You looked at him “Besides…. I’m already fighting for what I want” there was something unreadable in your eyes as you looked at him

Anthony’s smile faltered ever so slightly as your words hung in the air, their weight settling between you like an unspoken challenge. His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something—clarity, perhaps, or reassurance—but all he found was a quiet determination that seemed to unnerve him.

“Fighting for what you want?” he repeated, his voice careful, measured. “And what is it, exactly, that you want, Miss Featherington?”

You tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk gracing your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The teasing lilt in your voice did little to ease the tension that had crept into the conversation. Anthony’s hand shifted subtly where it rested on yours, as though he were considering letting go. His usual air of control seemed to waver, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression—unease, perhaps, or uncertainty.

“Miss Featherington,” he began, his tone carrying the weight of a man accustomed to steering conversations in his favor, “it is not often I find myself at a loss for words, but you seem intent on ensuring I remain so today.”

You chuckled softly, though your gaze remained steady on his. “Perhaps that’s because you’re not used to being challenged, my lord.”

Anthony’s brows furrowed, and he looked away briefly, his gaze scanning the crowd as if seeking an escape. When he looked back at you, his composure was intact once more, though there was a faint crease in his brow that betrayed his lingering nervousness.

“You speak with remarkable confidence,” he said, his voice cooler now, as though attempting to regain the upper hand. “But confidence can be a dangerous thing when wielded carelessly.”

“Only to those unprepared to face it,” you countered smoothly, the edge in your tone softened by a smile. “But don’t worry, Lord Bridgerton. I have no intention of unsettling you—too much, at least.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground before meeting yours again. “You have an uncanny ability to make a man question himself,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wonder if that is your intention.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “And if it were?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions neither of you dared to name. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.

“Then I suppose I must brace myself,” he said, his tone laced with reluctant amusement.

You smiled, your grip on his arm tightening ever so slightly. “Good. You’ll need it.” You say “Just like you’ll need it when I say that High Flyer will be the winner today and the horse you bet on, Nectar, will not” you smirk

Anthony stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look at you with an expression of mild disbelief. His brows arched, and for a moment, his usual composed demeanor gave way to something closer to exasperation.

“You’re challenging my judgment on horses now?” he asked, his tone laced with incredulity.

“Perhaps,” you replied breezily, your smirk widening. “High Flyer has a higher chance to win, the track is soft and hot thus Nectar will have a great disadvantage as he’s not as swifter and lighter as High Flyer. A rather unfortunate trait for a racehorse, wouldn’t you agree?” you use your knowledge of this episode

Anthony blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as he processed your words. “You’ve been studying the horses?”

“Is that so surprising?” you teased, tilting your head. “I’m merely preparing for the inevitable moment when you’ll have to admit I was right.”

His gaze narrowed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “You’re rather confident for someone who has yet to see the race.”

“Confidence, as you’ve pointed out, can be a dangerous thing,” you said, echoing his earlier words with a mischievous glint in your eye. “But I’m willing to take my chances.”

Anthony shook his head, though he couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Miss Featherington. If you’re so certain of your prediction, perhaps we should make this more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you proposing a wager, Lord Bridgerton?”

“I am,” he said, his voice gaining a touch of his usual commanding confidence. “If High Flyer wins, I will publicly admit my error—and you may choose a forfeit for me, within reason.”

“And if Nectar wins?” you asked, folding your arms as you regarded him with playful suspicion.

He looked in thought for a minute “Then you will meet me tomorrow morning when you come to my home with your sister” he said smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “Just the two of us. No Penelope. No excuses.”

The boldness of his proposal took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, feeling your breath catch in your throat. But then you smiled, the thrill of the challenge sparking in your chest.

“Very well, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, extending your hand to him. “You have yourself a wager.”

He clasped your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Then may the best horse—and the best gambler—win.”

As the two of you continued toward the racetrack, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. This wasn’t just a wager; it was a game, a dance, a challenge—and neither of you intended to back down.

“You were saying?” you turned to look at the viscount smug as High Flyer won first place in the race

Anthony’s expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on the racetrack where High Flyer had just thundered across the finish line. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the Viscount’s focus remained solely on you.

“I believe I was saying something about confidence,” he murmured, though there was a faint edge of resignation in his voice. His eyes flicked back to yours, narrowing slightly at the smug smile that curved your lips.

“You were,” you said, tilting your head. “Something about it being dangerous, wasn’t it? It seems my confidence wasn’t misplaced after all.”

Anthony exhaled sharply, though you couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh of defeat. “It seems not,” he conceded, his tone reluctant. “I suppose I owe you my public admission of error.”

“Oh, there’s no need for dramatics, my lord,” you said, feigning modesty. “A simple acknowledgment that I was right will suffice.”

He arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting a smile. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Miss Featherington, you were right. High Flyer was indeed the better horse today.”

Your grin widened, your victory made all the sweeter by his reluctant but good-natured capitulation. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering so that only you could hear. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief. “But don’t forget—this means you’ll have to endure my chosen forfeit.”

Anthony’s smile finally broke free, a rare and genuine thing that made your heart skip a beat. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “And I’ll face it with as much grace as I can muster.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the lively crowd around you fading into the background. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, a sense that this was more than just a game.

“Well then,” you said, breaking the spell. “I look forward to seeing how well you handle it, my lord.”

Anthony chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “And I, Miss Featherington, look forward to our morning meeting—when Nectar’s loss will no longer matter.”

His words left you breathless, your retort caught in your throat as he offered you his arm once more. “Uh, you lost, how is the meeting still in place when I won?” you asked

Anthony smirked, his expression that of a man who had been waiting for this exact question. “Ah,” he said, his tone deceptively casual, “but the terms of our wager never explicitly stated that the meeting would be void if High Flyer won. I simply said I would admit my error. And I did.”

Your eyes narrowed, your hand tightening slightly on his arm. “That’s not how wagers work, Lord Bridgerton,” you countered, though there was a flicker of amusement in your tone. “You can’t twist the terms to suit your convenience.”

“Twisting?” he echoed, his smirk growing. “Not at all. I am merely exercising the same cleverness you demonstrated in predicting the race. Surely, you wouldn’t begrudge me that?”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the urge to smile.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to yours with a glint of challenge.

You let out a soft huff, trying to suppress the fluttering sensation in your chest. “Fine,” you relented. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for losing.”

Anthony chuckled, his voice low and warm. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Featherington. I’ll accept whatever forfeit you impose. But I do hope you’ll keep it… reasonable.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said with mock seriousness, pretending to consider all the humiliating possibilities.

As you walked together, the playful banter between you was laced with an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You might have won the wager, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Anthony had been the winner in the end.

⏮️                ⏸️                  ⏭️

Taglist:

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@imafangirlofeverything

@stopeatread

@smartiepants217

@magical-spit

@ifilwtmfc

@kitkat27

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(last minute tag. Hope you'll enjoy!) @ericityyy

[ender-cloud]

NEW UPDATE!!! God I love Lanyon so much im so hyped to dive into this

Tgs spoilers under cut

Something ive noticed with many characters in TGS is their persistence to keep everyone to have this view of them. Jekyll, of course, wants to be seen as the perfect, put together, leader of the society, while Hyde wants to be seen as someone who doesn’t really care about stuff, someone who’s tough and carefree.

In this case Lanyon seems to be closer to Hyde than Jekyll on this front. He wants to keep his “i dont care about anything” appearance, it shows how he presents himself in studies as well as playing the guys in his university. Even now Lanyon sometimes acts as if he doesn’t care about Jekyll or his issues but in reality, Lanyon cares a lot for very certain things.

By trying to act as though he doesn’t care makes it so he cares more, and Jekyll is reasonably confused by this.

I like how Jekyll more approaches Lanyon being confused and just wanting to understand why than a more judgmental approach. Jekyll just doesn’t understand, I dont think he’s Judging Lanyon as much as he just wants to know why.

He has a different goal to prove himself to people so he wants to know why Lanyon can prove himself but chooses not to.

To bring back what i said last week; Lanyon is smart, he knows things, but he acts like he doesn’t as a way of defying his father. But now that im looking at it, it’s s once again an example of reputation and how trying to keep it up can hold you back on many fronts.

Lanyon was quick to change the subject, he doesn’t want Jekyll, or anyone around them, to figure out the truth but the seeds had already been planted in Jekylls mind and now he’s connecting some dots he hasn’t thought of before.

“The second you put your mind to anything, you take to it like a duck in water” Lanyon puts his mind to a lot of things but I think he truly only gets into them if he actually wants to.

For example; when he was trying to not Care about jekyll during the society fair thing (i need to reread so bad I just dont have the time) he wasnt able to, it was like he was trying to force himself not to care like his university days but whenever he saw Jekyll he had to remind himself over and over again to push that care down.

Lanyon might’ve not needed to force himself to care as much during university but it might’ve taken a bit to get to this point of being able to do it easily. But if its something he truly cares about he has a hard time pretending that he doesn’t or is very determined to keep it like his reputation.

Ngl, if I was Lanyon and someone looked at me like that I would break in a second.

Lanyon can tell that Jekyll is close to figuring him out and its both scary in this moment aswell as surprised. No one has been able to put this together, no one else has seemed to care this much before or has gotten so close to him to see multiple signs

Lanyon is stronger than me and did not break but I would’ve been in shambles.

Lanyon Always says that he doesn’t care when Jekyll catches him? I think that shows how much he does care if he has to constantly remind that he doesn’t means that he must show that he does at some points, and it also indicates that Jekyll asked more in the future, just because of Lanyon saying he said it whenever he was caught of guard.

I genuinely love Lanyon so much, there’s so much to his character and its so interesting to me, he definitely is up as one of my favorite characters of all time. He just as so much depth to him, how much he doesn’t care yet does care, I like characters with a lot of depth more than just what you can see on the surface.

Whenever we get to see his thoughts it can give us more explanation and more of an understanding than what Jekyll had seen.

I want to know why Lanyon brought this up, the only thing I can think of is trying to lure Jekyll out but it’s still interesting,

[cjsmalley]

Chat Blanc:

A/N I go back to school 1/13. Updates will become sporadic again as this time I face down math class. But the story is not abandoned!

Sam sat up abruptly, struggling out of her twisted bedsheets she nearly went face first into the floor as she tripped because of her tangled ankle. Dressed only in her nightgown and nothing else, she flat-out ran to the room where she kept her own personal portal to the Realms.

As she ran she pulled out her phone and dialed for Danny, “Paris. Now.”

Instantly, he knew she didn’t mean their Paris, “Okay.”

“Mom?” Danielle came from her room, rubbing her eyes.

“Think something happened to Adrien,” Sam didn’t slow down but Danielle gasped, lifted off, and followed her.

They kept the Manson Portal, an upgraded version of the Fenton one built by Danny and Clockwork, in the deepest basement of the mansion, behind all sorts of security measures both mundane and magical.

“Samantha? Danielle?” Pamela came from the room she shared with Jeremy.

“Bad dream,” Sam shouted as she moved, “gotta get to Adrien!”

Down into the deepest basement they went and Sam only paused long enough to deactivate the security measures as they went before she dove into the swirling vortex of the portal to the Palace.

Sam didn’t even slow down as she exited the Portal to find Danny and Adrien waiting with Clockwork; she slammed into her son, grabbing him tightly to her.

He clung back.

“What happened?” she demanded, pushing him to arms’ length to check him over with an eye trained for hidden injuries and other problems.

“I had a…dream,” Adrien whined lowly, “I was…Mama, I never would but…”

“Chat Blanc,” she murmured, again hugging him, remembering that awful, awful dream that still plagued her.

Clockwork made a coughing sound and spoke, “My Lieges, Your Highnesses—”

“Not Queen yet,” Sam murmured a token protest.

“It was…hm…” Clockwork thought over his words, before settling on something; he remained an old man as he spoke, tired and ancient, “Timelines are not straight things, running in parallel…at least not always. Some will overlap. Even just proximity can cause…Bleed Throughs.”

“Explain,” Danielle demanded, having taken up a defensive stance in front of her mother and brother.

Clockwork became frustrated, “I am attempting to, Your Highness. It is difficult to put to words something I understand so instinctually. Especially since no one here has even the barest notion of the lowest concepts needed to understand completely.”

“Do your best, Clockwork,” Danny soothed everyone present, “please, dumb it down for us. I’m only a C+ student after all.”

Clockwork flashed the young king a disapproving look but began, “Bleed Throughs are when one timeline receives echoes of another. These Bleed Throughs can manifest in many ways. Most commonly visions or dreams…the dreams suffered by the Royal family this night are Bleed Throughs of a horrid timeline where His Highness was taken by the villainous Hawkmoth, twisted into a villain in his own right. Thus the Balance of that universe was destroyed as Creation battled her opposite and equal, Destruction. I do not know the particulars of these Kwami creatures but I do know that the paired Ladybug and Black Cat must always be active at the same time and be on the same side—”

“I killed so many,” Adrien whimpered, “All of Paris, all of Earth…My Lady—” he gasped and opened a portal with Clockwork’s help to Marinette’s room.

She came flying through, eyes red-rimmed and tears on her cheeks, on her nightshirt, and into his arms.

Adrien began frantically purring, hoping to calm her and himself down, even as he spoke lowly, “My Lady, my Marinette—”

“It was so real!” she cried into his shoulder, her arms and legs wrapped around him, “Chaton, Adrien, please…”

He crooned a purr as he took her by the thighs and lifted her slightly, so that he could walk, and moved both of them to a couch. As soon as they were sitting, her in his lap, still crying and holding him with a near strangling grip, Adrien explained what Clockwork had said.

The Parisian teens slowly calmed, basking in each other, the fact that they were both there, together, and of their own free will.

It was this incident that got Marinette into therapy for her blossoming PTSD; Adrien had already been diagnosed with it due to literally dying several times.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

[thenickgirl]

What would Nick do if he got a call from the hospital saying that Jalen got into a bad car wreck from a drunk driver? I would love love love love love it if u could make it into one of those quick, short and sweet little paragraph thingy❤️

The black Kia sped along the highway, swerving in and out of lanes trying to get to the nearest hospital as fast as possible.

“Matt, please hurry,” Nick pleaded in the passenger seat, he was pale and shaking. His leg bounced up and down from anxiety, he had no idea whether his boyfriend would be dead, or alive when arrived. The thought that some stupid drunk could’ve taken Jalen away from him made him angry for a moment, but fear overpowered it, and he was back to worrying.

“I didn’t tell him I love him when I last saw him. I-I should’ve told him. What if I n-never see him again?” Nick’s lip quivered, as he started to sob. He couldn’t handle the idea of losing Jalen like this. He couldn’t imagine spending his life without him. Jalen meant the world to him, he was his comfort, his home, his baby.

“Nick, c’mon, he knows you love him, and i’m sure he’s gonna be fine.” Matt says softly, as he glances between Nick and the road.

From behind, Chris grabs Nick’s shaky hand, giving it a squeeze, “It’s going to be okay. He’s tough,” he said, masking his own worry with a smile to comfort his older brother. Jalen’s was his best friend, so he was just as anxious.

“Have you called Jade? What did she say?” Matt asks, as he drives like a bat out of hell.

“No, she’s not answering. I don’t know if she was with him, or not. Oh my god, what if they’re both dead?” Nick says, frantic.

“Nick, stop. Don’t say that!” Chris yelled, he hated when people said things like that, putting negative thoughts out into the universe has never done anyone any good.

The vehicle finally swerved into the emergency room lot, and before Matt could even put it in park, Nick ran out of the car to the sliding doors ahead of him. He could hear Chris and Matt in the distance yelling for him to wait, but he couldn’t. How could he when the love of his love could be hurt or worse? Jalen needed him. His family needed him.

When he approached the front desk he was panting, and the receptionist was startled at first. “May I help you?” She asks politely.

“I-Yes, uh, my boyfriend he, um, someone called me, and I-“

“Jalen Brooks, please.” Chris says, once he and Matt finally caught up to Nick.

The older woman nodded, before putting on her cheetah print glasses, as she checked her computer for Jalen’s information. “Room 303. You can all go up, but only one visitor in the room at a time, please.” She informs.

The trio thanked her, as they made their way to nearest elevator, going up to the third floor. Once they arrive, they sped down the halls looking for his room. “Right here!” Chris exclaimed, and they all stood outside the door.

“I-What if he-“ Nick stuttered, scared of what he might be walking into. He couldn’t bear the thought of this potentially being the last time he saw the man he loved.

“It’s okay, kid, just go. We’ll be right out here if you need us.” Matt says, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before gently pushing him towards the door.

Nick knocks weakly, but it was clearly heard as he hears a faint ‘come in’ from the other side. He gulps before pushing on the handle and stepping inside.

“BABY!” Jalen exclaims once he sees the brunette, he had a cast around his foot and ankle, and Nick let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, as he saw the dread headed boy smiling back at him.

“J! Oh my god, you idiot! I thought you were dead, I’m gonna kill you,” Nick says, while rushing over to hug Jalen.

“Ow ow ow,” Jalen winced, and Nick pulled back instantly, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Oh my god, I can’t believe this,” Nick rambles as he sits on the bed, looking at Jalen’s condition.

“A little beat up, but I’ll be alright. They’re keeping me until they check my x-ray, I may have a broken rib, but it’s likely just a bruise.” Jalen says nonchalant, trying to ease the worry he knew Nick was feeling.

Nick nodded, sighing, as he looked around the room. “Where is everyone? Your parents? Jade? There’s no one in the waiting area beside my brothers.”

“Oh, they left not long before you came. They went to grab dinner, the food here is ass.” Jalen gags, and Nick smiles. “Jade’s phone died too, so they’re picking up her charger. You know she’s got that 15. ‘Oh I can only use a C charger’ head ass.” Jalen says, mocking his little sister, and they both laugh. That was one thing Nick loved about Jalen, no matter what was happening, he always had a positive spirit, something he hoped to learn from him.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Nick confessed, as he leans over to hug Jalen again, a lot gentler this time.

“Stop worrying, baby, I’m fine. I’ll be out of here soon, and everything can go back to normal.” Jalen reassures him as he caresses his back.

“I love you so much” Nick mumbles into Jalen’s chest, as he exhales all the worry and anxiety he had. The feeling of being in Jalen’s arms again was all the comfort that he needed.

Jalen kissed his loving boyfriend head sweetly, “I love you too, peach.”

[sallysellsseashellssundays]

I've previously seen people making fun of Mickey in the Rise of the Cybermen episode when he says "Go on, then. There's no choice, is there? You can only chase after one of us. It's never going to be me, is it?"

And, yeah I get it, it's a little bit funny because duh between Rose and anyone else the Doctor is literally always going to be pick Rose especially in that scene

But I feel like it was an intentional callback to Boomtown where Mickey tells Rose this: "Oh, go on then, run! It's him again, isn't it? It's the Doctor! It's always the Doctor! It's always going to be the Doctor. It's never me!"

Mickey's character arc is perhaps a bit more subtle than the Doctor and Rose's given that he's not a main character and we don't see him as often but I feel like a big part of those quotes is him becoming his own person and realizing his own worth and that he decides his own path if that makes sense?

I feel like it's him realizing he keeps waiting around and putting his life on pause for his childhood friend/on-and-off girlfriend while she's off living her life and changing as a person

Him realizing that in any universe Rose picks the Doctor and the Doctor picks Rose and maybe he needs to finally let go and find someone who picks him for once

And I love that the first time in Boomtown he says it bitterly and angrily and in a way that implies he's blaming her and the Doctor versus the second time it's maybe slightly annoyed but resigned and later when he's saying goodbye he very maturely leads with "It's just you and him, isn't it. We had something a long time ago, but not anymore."

There's no blame, no resentment, just facts. Granted they only had about five minutes to say goodbye, and couldn't pour their hearts out, but it's just a perfect set of two sentences that encapsulates his entire arc up until that point and how it relates to the Doctor and Rose

And in the end it hits me so hard that he decides not only to stay in a different universe but to stay behind to help defend it from the Cyberman. He'd helped them with alien stuff before but what a massive leap from computer/techy stuff to fighting for freedom and risking his life

Anyways I woke up to say that I love Mickey and how RTD's first era is filled with so much heart and incredible arcs for so many characters

[star-suh]

Happy-ly Ever After: The Spa

Ricky Shen x Male Reader

an: last part of the happy spa trilogy, also i became lazier so i won't be writing content warnings anymore 😭

—

yn hasn’t had sex for a long time due to university assignments so when the opportunity appears, he takes it but first he has to get ready for the occasion. he decides to visit a famous spa that is said to have the most pretty and gorgeous people in the world. “i have to make sure if that’s true” he mutters while locking the front door.

the bell on the door rings, alerting the receptionist that someone just arrived, “hey hello, my name is matthew, how can i help you today?”. “hello, i want a massage and some uhmm… depilation.. y-you know where” yn says embarrassed. matthew lets out an almost quiet laugh, “sure buddy, let me guide you to the locker rooms so you can change your clothes and then go to this room” he hands him a card with a number on it, “enjoy” he smiles at yn.

yn nervously awaits for the person who’s gonna service him when the door creaks open, revealing a tall and handsome guy. “good afternoon, my name is ricky and i’m gonna be in charge of you for the rest of the day” he confidently says, “so a massage and a depilation.. wax?” his question being responded with a little yeah from the client.

the massage started, ricky made sure to put enough body oil so the movements of his hands were smooth, pressing the right pressure spots, relieving yn from the stress.

“how are you feeling mr. ln?” the masseur’s hands kneading the skin as if it were bread dough, moans coming out of his mouth “it feels so good mr.” he praises “the best feeling. i feel as if i’m on top of a fluffy cloud”. yn completely relaxes on the mattress, his body glistening with the yellow and white lights around the room. “okay, time for waxing” unexpectedly ricky slaps yn’s ass making him gasp in surprise, “what?” he says looking around. “you asked for it, ricky pulls out the card matthew gave yn before, a massage and a depilation you know where” ricky hides the card on his pant’s pocket, “the wax is ready man, so sit on all fours or whatever position your comfortable, what matters is that your ass is wide open for me to do a good job”. ‘why’s he smiling like that? yn thought, ‘he seems like he enjoys this type of work’. yn obeys but he just sits with his legs on each side of his body, near the mattress edge, his ass wide open and hole visible for ricky who makes a wow with his mouth and bit his lower lip.

he starts spreading the wax with a device that leaves a thin film of it on yn’s ass, ricky just needs to peel it and ta-dah the hair is gone. he continues repeating the process all over yn’s ass until it’s completely smooth, “something special for tonight?” ricky asks, sensing the reason for the waxing. but yn was too embarrassed to answer, after all he has his ass in front of an unknown’s face. “tough crowd huh” ricky murmurs, continuing doing his job. yn hears when ricky puts the device on a table near them and think he can go already but ricky’s hand grips his left ass cheek hard stopping him from stepping outside the massage bed, “i’m not done with you mr., it’s the turn of your hole to be waxed” despite his smile yn could sense ricky was getting annoyed by his actions. ‘don’t worry yn this is just the last part’ he says in his mind and as if ricky had read his thoughts he mutters an ‘it’s not the last part’.

yn’s hole clenches on air while being smeared on the wax, this time ricky was using his hands, with gloves of course, he then peels the film of wax in little chunks until it’s gone completely, once again repeating the process until all is clean and smooth. at this point yn has given up, he was now face down ass up, his hole clenching right in front of ricky’s face, “look who’s being cute all of a sudden” ricky pours some cream on his hand and smears it on yn’s ass, he starts to pretend as if the hole was yn’s face, talking to it. sometimes his hand slips right above the pulsating hole disguised as accidental touches, “sorry” he mutters everytime it happens. yn was getting aroused, the same as ricky, who’s bulge started to appear on his silky pants. yn’s dick gets hard, the mere thought of someone as hot as ricky doing those types of things to his hole clouds his mind. ricky blows air from his mouth directly to yn’s hole, it clenches on it. as if he was being hypnotized ricky slowly moves his face closer against the other, whispering sweet nothings to it, his mouth opens, it was watering, eager to taste that ring of muscles. finally his wet tongue mets with it, he licks a strip from his balls to his hole, “fuck” he couldn’t hold it anymore, latching his lips on the needy hole, draggin’ his tongue around and inside it, ravaging it completely. “mr. rickyyy” yn tried to push his head away from him but to no avail, ricky just replied with a moan indicating that he wasn’t planning to stop. the masseur’s hand grabs yn’s dick and closes around it, moving it up and down, “look at you, already dripping” ricky mentions when he touches yn’s wet tip, precum dripping of it, he use it to slick the shaft and make it more pleasurable for yn.

yn leaned on his back and holded his legs, knees near his chest so ricky could keep doing wonders with his tongue, “why are y-you doing this?” yn asked, curiosity getting the best out of him but ricky responded with a simple “it’s my job, i have to make sure i did it well. not a single hair so i think i did a good one” he winked and resumed his rimjob.

minutes passed and ricky has still his face buried on yn’s ass but this time he was jerking off too, pulling his pants and underwear down enough to pull his dick out. “just put it in already, please” yn begged, he wanted to feel something bigger and thicker, ricky’s tongue was not enough for him. “what about your date from later at night?. thought you were doing this for them?”, ricky rubs the puckered hole with two fingers then introduces them and moves them in a scissors motion to open it more, “i don’t care just do it” tears threatening to spill, overwhelming feelings taking over him. “say less”.

ricky’s thick cock pummels its way, its big head opening his walls so deliciously that yn moaned loudly, asking for more, the veins around the cock scrapping yn’s walls so damn good. “ufff tonight’s situation gonna eat good” ricky jokes, positioning his hands on yn’s shoulders to pound harder. the bed moved in a rhythmic pace, squeaking caused by every thrust. “you fuck so good” yn praises, driving ricky even wilder. he discards hispants completely, his bottom half completely naked. he lies down on the bed too and position yn on his side, slapping his shaft on the other’s back entrance, “ready?” he asks, “yeah” yn responds quickly. “i’m not gonna hold back” ricky adds, “i don’t give a fuck”.

his balls slapped against the other while still shoving his dick, “i’m not gonna stop until your ass remembers the shape of my dick and would only accept mine, no one else's. sorry for your situationship”. ricky bites yn’s ear and then lick the back of his neck. yn manages to be on top this time to ride his masseur, with his hands on each side of his hips, guiding him, “you like it mr. ricky?” he sits hard “am i your best client yet” yn says pouting, with doe like eyes that immediately rolled back when ricky hit on his sweet spot, his tip scraping around it, the pleasure expanding throughout his whole body. ricky likes how feisty yn tried to be, “yes mr. ln you’re the best cockwhore i’ve ever had”. yn stops the riding session, he just sits with ricky’s dick still inside, he starts to move his hips and hump on him with all the strength left on him, this caused his hole and therefore insides to contract so tight that ricky came instantly. yn’s inside being flooded by ricky’s sticky spooge, the liquid went down ricky’s shaft and balls, dripping on the mattress, ricky gasped for air, still holding yn’s hips while riding his high, “fuck this was indeed the best fuck. i’ve never had someone to make me cum so easy” ricky praises, he stands up to clean himself and then yn.

“thank you for today, hope you enjoyed it fully” ricky thanked yn while waving goodbye, “hope i can have you here some time soon”, yn turns around and smirks at him. trust, this is not gonna be yn’s last visit to the spa, the happy ending spa.

[vikkirosko]

Imagine a Error x reader x ink cause i Can't stop imagining this

What kind of girl do you prefer

Error:my Wife [aka Reader] i love her and she is a Nice girl

What kind of girl do you prefer

Ink:uuuuuh Error wife

**Error Stares at Ink**

It beautiful. I've reread your request several times, but it's still great. Thanks for the request that made me smile

🪡 Error x fem!Reader x Ink Oneshot What kind of girl do you prefer 🖌

Anti-void was a personal realm that belonged to Error. There was only room for him and for you. You were probably the only one he loved, even though it took him a long time to get there. Much longer than he was willing to admit.

He called you his wife, even though it was just words, but you never corrected him. He knew that he loved you and that you loved him, otherwise you would not have remained so calm in such an empty space, next to him, whose emotional state was constantly out of control, with him, who never once in all your time did not touch you physically and only used his threads if there was a need. necessity. But you continued to love him and stay by his side.

But your peace and privacy were destroyed when Ink appeared. He came, it would seem, specifically to annoy Error and used every opportunity for this. But what angered him the most was that Ink started paying quite a lot of attention to you. He came to you, chatted with you about everything in the world, ignoring the indignation and abuse from Error. Ink offered you to leave with him several times, but you refused, continuing to smile at him in a friendly way and saying that you were not going to leave your love. Your words made Error grin with satisfaction, but Ink didn't get upset and kept coming back over and over again.

At some point, Ink's presence in your lives became something common, and even though Error continued to keep him at a distance from himself and from you, you still chatted with him in a friendly way, you listened to his stories about other universes where you had never been, he brought you gifts, saying that you should be it's very boring without anything at all, you even painted together. As long as Ink did not cross the boundaries of what was allowed, Error was ready to treat him with more patience than usual, at least for your sake. He was really busy and couldn't always be with you, but this way you had at least some entertainment.

But when Killer passed through your anti-void, he looked at how Ink behaved almost like at home and periodically looked at you, who was sitting away from them and reading a book that Error had brought for you, the gears in Killer's head began to spin faster and his grin became wider.

"Hey, Error, have a question"

Error made an exasperated grunt. He hated being bothered, but in the situation that arose, he couldn't refuse Nightmare, which meant he had to put up with Killer.

"What kind of girl do you prefer?"

His question caused Error to be even more annoyed.

"What kind of dumb question is that? Of course my wife, I love her, she's a nice girl"

Error was sure that Killer would finally leave, but he heard his almost humming voice.

"Ink~"

At that moment, they both looked at KIller, who was smiling like a cat that had secretly eaten a canary.

"What kind of girl do you prefer?"

There was silence. This silence was stressful and Error didn't like Ink's continued silence. Finally, he chuckled and answered the question.

"Uh... Error's wife"

Killer couldn't help but laugh, which you noticed as you stared uncomprehendingly at the way Killer hurriedly left. Error stared intently at Ink, and it would seem that if looks could kill, Ink would have been dead a long time ago. You got up and went to them.

"What's going on?.."

Your voice was like the sound of a gunshot for both of them. Ink hurried to dive into his portal, giving you a quick goodbye and barely avoiding the threads that almost grabbed him. Error was furious and wasn't going to stand for this. He wasn't going to let Ink even get close to you, especially now that he'd made it sound like he liked you. Even if it was just a joke to annoy Error, he wasn't going to risk losing you to someone like Ink.

You didn't quite understand what had happened, but you planned to find out later, from one of the three participants in this situation. In the meantime, you wanted to focus your attention on Error, who was much more angry than usual. You just couldn't leave him like this.