#i think i’ll put it on ao3

[cb-writes-stuff]

I should get back to writing Too Many Hats.

[stellewriites]

A Helping Hand

throwing my hat in for @the-californicationist’s nameless challenge!

600+ words, sfw, gn!reader, no content warnings it’s all fluff. don’t forget to guess who you think it’s about 🤭

you first met in uni.

it was a couple of weeks in, so you were settled into your classes and confident with the subject matter so far. you’d made friends with your roommates and had checked out the area of the new city you were in. it was all going well.

your current class was in a lecture hall, though the discussion was nothing too important; just going over the reading syllabus for the year. they’d already emailed it out during the summer so you pretended to take notes on your laptop while pulling up wordle.

one of your new roommates had gotten you addicted, it had become a light-hearted competition between you both as you got to know each other before finally meeting in person. they’d finally upped the stakes at the start of the week with a bet and you were determined to beat their average by friday - after all, loser would be paying for drinks on saturday when you all went out.

this day’s puzzle, however, was stumping you. you didn’t want to just guess aimlessly, visions of free drinks seeming ever further away, but you just couldn’t figure out the word either.

F_ _ _R

you stared at the screen unblinkingly, thoroughly distracted from your course and the discussion around you until a hand holding a slip of paper appeared at your shoulder in your peripheral.

you took it hesitantly without looking back and unfolded it. you stared at the word written scratchily across it in disbelief.

FOYER.

fuck. how’d you miss that?

you typed it in and heard a satisfied chuckle behind you when it was correct and pursed your lips to hide your own smile. you figured you should thank the guy at least, he might’ve just won you free drinks after all.

you flicked your eyes up and found the professor busy facing the board and took the chance to swivel in your seat to look up at the one above yours and the handsome man that currently claimed it.

“thanks,” you whispered, your smile turning flirtatious and less guarded when you met his pretty eyes.

“don’t mention it,” he said with an easy shrug, his voice warm.

“oh? you don’t want a favour in return then?” you asked, coy. “you might’ve just won me a bet with a friend, so i owe you.”

his shoulders shook as he huffed. you realised it was a laugh, just muffled behind a surprisingly fond smile aimed your way and a want to keep quiet in the lecture hall. he was clearly charmed by you - and likely the view he had down your shirt as you leant forward against the back of your seat, equally enamoured.

“i could maybe think of some way you could thank me,” he acquiesced, smile turning sly. “better concentrate on the front of the class for now though.” he nodded forward.

with a look over your shoulder you noticed the unimpressed look your professor was sending you both. you sent them a contrite look as you sat back properly and stayed quiet for the rest of the lecture, not wanting to cause a fuss and make a name for yourself too early in the year. you did like this subject after all.

you just liked handsome, helpful men too.

you bit your lip in an attempt at calming your smile and the excited noise that bubbled at the back of your throat when you got a second note passed over your shoulder by a now-familiar hand not ten minutes later. you kept your eyes facing forwards as you took it, wanting to play it cool.

that went out the window however when you opened the note and felt giddiness override it.

coffee after this? it read, followed by his name and number.

absolutely, you thought.

[arsonstatistic]

something something screwtio something something the woes and wonders of a human-robot relationship something something learning from each other as equals something something affection displayed by mental connection sometjing something time passing and the memory of one living on in the other eternally idk idk

[st-peculiar]

Fuck you. Ouroboros Cycle au posting be upon ye.

Been working on this a bit off and on today in my free time, been having fun. More in the tags

[kirisclangen]

Larchpaw

She/her, 8 moons, cis molly

[homerforsure]

For the prompt meme: 30 for angst and 36 for fluff? ☺️

Oh. Performing CPR you say? Well, why not?

(For the record I also recently thought of something for the fluffy one too so I’ll get to that soon)

03:17

Long after the ER team vanishes through the doors with Buck, Eddie is still counting. One, two, three, four. Thirty compressions, two breaths. Five, Six, Seven. One hundred beats per minute. Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven. No time for breaths; just keep the heart pumping. Twelve, Thirteen. The count continues in his head without ceasing as though Eddie is still keeping Buck alive, still beating his heart for him, with nothing but his unbroken focus. He wraps an arm around Chimney’s shoulders and the count goes on. Fourteen. Bobby pulls Eddie into his side. Fifteen. Eddie can’t lose the count. He knows, “A ten second break to breathe can halt the momentum and cost you everything so don’t breathe.” Don’t break.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

His own breaths start to match the fevered pace of his count and a grey, creeping fog moves into the emergency room. For half a second, Eddie considers falling into it, letting it swallow him whole so he can dive into that shadow world and drag Buck back out. Then Bobby squeezes him tight and Hen’s breath hitches and Chimney shudders beside him. Eddie snaps back to full, terrible consciousness, but he doesn’t stop counting.

“I got- I gotta call Maddie,” Chimney says. He reaches a trembling hand up to wipe the rain off his face. “I got- fuck.”

“No,” Bobby answers. “We’ll follow protocol.”

Pulling out of Eddie’s grasp, Chimney shakes his head, “No. No way. I’m not letting some stranger-”

“Chim-”

“Show up at my house and tell Maddie that her brother’s-! She needs to hear it from someone she knows.”

Bobby takes a step toward him, releasing Hen and Eddie, who drift toward each other automatically. Holding up his hands and straining to keep his voice level and calm, he says, “Chim, if you call her, she’ll get in the car. You don’t want that.”

“Then, I’ll go get her. Give me the keys.”

Read on AO3

The keys are still in the ignition of the ambulance that is still running and still blocking the emergency entrance. The front doors might still be hanging open for all Eddie remembers of the past few minutes.

“You’re not driving either. None of you are,” Bobby says, glancing briefly at Eddie as if he can sense that he’s about to volunteer. The count in his head has slowed with his breaths, but Eddie needs to do something. There has to be something. Something more. “We’ll find the hospital liaison. They’ll send a notification officer.”

“She doesn’t need a notification officer; she needs me!”

Other visitors and staff look up as Chimney’s voice rises above the noise of the emergency room. Hen closes her eyes and lets quiet tears slide down her cheeks. Bobby looks a hundred years old in the flickering fluorescent light, but he doesn’t flinch. He steps forward and wraps Chimney tight in his arms.

“We’ll send a notification officer,” Eddie hears him say. “They can drive her here. They’ll make sure she’s safe. They’ll make sure your daughter is safe. And you’ll be right here to take care of both of them.”

Slowly Chimney’s arms come around Bobby and cling tight to his coat. The sound of his sob has Eddie looking up to the ceiling, blinking hard and barely holding back his own pitiful lamentation.

“I sent him up the ladder, Cap. I broke his damn ribs.”

“You kept him alive, Chim. You gave him a chance.”

One, Two, Three. The count stutters and starts over, but Eddie catches it again and keeps going. Ignores the way that Bobby doesn’t say “You saved him.” Ignores the way it isn’t true. Not really. Not yet. His fingers–are they shaking?--his fingers are never going to forget Buck’s damp and freezing skin beneath them. That unnatural stillness. The absence of that strong and steady pulse that’s been keeping Eddie on rhythm for years now. Without it he’s stumbling, spiraling, falling out of time. Nine, Ten, Eleven.

“Okay. Let’s call them then,” Chimney says, pushing himself away from Bobby with a stuttering exhale.

He strides off towards the desk and Bobby looks back at Eddie and Hen before he catches up to lead. Eddie almost doesn’t notice the way Bobby’s eyes slide from his face and linger meaningfully on Hen’s until she takes a step toward Eddie and rests her hand on his arm.

“We’ll be here,” she says.

Eddie covers her hand with his and each pat he gives it is another pulse he counts in his head. They lean together, both of them clinging so tightly to the shreds of their own hope that they don’t have any left to offer the other, but scraping together enough strength between the two of them to keep from falling down.

Twenty-eight, Twenty-nine, Thirty. Breathe for two. Breathe. For two.

Breathe for me, Buck, Eddie prays. He skips God and directs his plea to the one person who always answers.

One. Two.

Two nurses in blue scrubs round the corner, pushing a gurney towards them. Eddie moves out of their way before he realizes it’s their gurney and that the nurses are returning it to them. The top sheet is gone and the mattress is soaked from the rain, water still dripping from the rails down to the floor.

“One-eighteen?”

“Yeah,” Hen clears her throat on the word. “That’s us.”

“Here you go.”

They turn as soon as Hen’s hand touches the gurney; their duty fulfilled; the chain of custody reaching its final link.

“Wait,” Eddie says, his voice thick and rough. “Is…”

He swallows, unable to even think his way to the end of the question. The only word on his tongue is Buck. He can’t even figure out how to form another.

Their faces bend in matching expressions of pity and one of them shakes her head as she says, “We don’t know anything. I’m sorry. I’m sure they’ll send someone as soon as they can.”

“Thank you,” Hen says.

Dismissed, they quickly scoot away again before Eddie can gather any more of his wild and overflowing fear into a coherent question. The count starts over and he thinks that he would know- He thinks he’d be able to feel it if- But Eddie doesn’t know how it could possibly feel any more than this. He’s empty. Bereft. His heart is somewhere deep inside this hospital and he can’t be sure that it’s still beating.

Hen touches his arm again and says, “We should get this out of the way. They’ll need us to move the ambulance.”

Right. Because their emergency isn’t the only one happening tonight.

Eddie nods and they walk together, pushing the gurney toward the open back of the ambulance. The driver’s side door is closed, but the passenger side is open and Hen walks over to close it while Eddie lifts the AED off the mattress. It’s easy. Rote. Twelve. Thirteen. The single-use cardiac pads are already gone along with their wiring. He just needs to put the device back in position and make sure the new package of pads is ready for next time.

As he tilts the box, it lights up and a mechanical voice says, “Check electrode pads. Plug in cable.” In their haste to care for Buck no one bothered to turn off the AED.

He’s just about to power it down when the screen changes. A sinus rhythm spikes in sharp green lines and the text below urges, “CHECK RESPONSIVENESS.” Above are numbers in easy to read green:

Shocks: 01 03:17

Three minutes and seventeen seconds. The timer must have stopped after the shock, the medical team pulling the history from the device as they rushed Buck down the hall. Three minutes and seventeen seconds from Buck landing on the gurney and Eddie feeling the flutter of his pulse under his hands. He doesn’t know how much time passed before that. How much the wind and the rain and thirty pounds of gear slowed him down on his frantic climb. He’ll probably never know.

He’s still staring at that jagged green line that’s barely life when Hen comes back around the truck and he can’t bring himself to stop once she joins him.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks and Eddie barks out a laugh.

What’s wrong with it is that it was just attached to Buck. That it’s showing, now, exactly how close he came. How close he is to-

Tilting it toward her he says, “Three minutes, seventeen seconds.”

A long breath leaves Hen’s lungs, leaving her deflated. “Oh,” she says.

“Three minutes. Seventeen seconds. He was-”

“I know.”

“Three minutes.”

Gently, Hen takes the AED from Eddie’s hand and sets it back down on the gurney. Then she wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight. “I know,” she says. “I know.”

The rock there at the edge of the glass doors, while rain continues to fall beyond them and thunder rumbles in the distance. Eddie’s pulse pounds in his ears. And he keeps count.

[flubnuggetpurple]

Dove Cameron’s Alchemical album is so fucking bat coded I feel like a conspiracy theorist.

(This went off the rails at one point, so WARNING: vague mentions of sexual assault and being drugged without consent)

First song: Lethal Woman.

Cass, all over, right? The bridge is “she walks like a saint, floats like an angel, sharp like a knife under the table”

c o m e o n

Second song: Still.

“Man on the screen, they only see whatever you want them to see” and “Supernova self-erasing, hourglass is always draining”

Could be either Tim or Bruce, but I lean toward Tim because of “how dare you, dare me to love you, if you jump I will too” because whenever Tim decides he loves someone, he’s the ride or die, ends of the earth type, even if they don’t even know who he is. A) how and why he became Robin in the first place, B) The Cloning Thing, C) an argument could be made for the Captain Boomerang thing (but now that I think of it, I think I’m mostly basing this off fanon oh well ontotgenextone).

Song Three: Breakfast.

I will admit out the gate that this one’s a reach, so I’m just going to leave Selina here.

Song Four: Sand.

For this I’m thinking Tim or Jason, for different reasons.

For Tim;

“I saw the end when we began, you couldn’t love the way I can, I tried to bargain with the stars, for more than half your heart but you have more pieces of me than the dessert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I could hold in my hand” and “our love’s misaligned, ‘cause you’re on my mind every night, I stretch out the time, and now I know why.”

I’m just making it obvious I read the Red Robin run, aren’t I?

For Jason:

“What's worse, being wanted but not loved, or loved but not wanted? What's worse, hearing what you wanna hear, or hearing what's honest?” And “What hurts, is the one thing that you wanna do, is the one thing that you shouldn’t do”

Pre-death Jason, but like, right after the Garzonas thing.

Song five: White Glove.

Okay hear me out.

This is part one of the Dick Grayson saga; the persona he shows to the public. This is Richie Wayne. This is every honeypot mission he went on too young, every woman he’s had to seduce for information (it’s one hundred percent happened before don’t fight me) every source of sexual trauma (that one I’m ninety percent sure is canon) that keeps him up at night.

And this guy’s been a vigilante for over twenty years, he can absolutely recognize drugs by sight, smell, and how they feel when he’s too late to notice something slipped in his drink. He’s felt nearly every strain of fear toxin and every one of Ivy’s pollens. If anyone knows their drugs it’s pretty boy Richie Wayne and Robin.

Song six: God’s Game

This one I’m definitely taking some lines out of context, but for Jason, “Just a boy with a man's face, playin' God's game” is when he’s taking over Crime Alley, pit-mad and trigger happy. “I prepare with so much care, I was runnin', it was stunnin', I am desperate from delusions, not much of a solution, never knowin' what the truth is, oh, God” is when hid plans start to fall apart, when Bruce slits his throat with a batarang, when eventually the pit-madness eventually starts to wear off and he realizes what all he did to Tim, who was a child at the time, not to mention Robin.

He nearly became what the Joker was to him to the next Robin, and I feel like at some point that would occur to him.

Song seven: Boyfriend.

(…Admittedly, I don’t think this one has any grounding in canon and if it does, feel free to educate me.)

So, obviously I could mention Kate Kane at this point, but I know basically nothing about her, so instead I’m going to talk about Steph.

So Steph has definitely had some shitty experiences with guys, right? Like, her dad to begin with, but also the guy who got her pregnant (at like fourteen? Maybe I’m just sheltered, but I don’t think anything about that relationship was heathy—again, I haven’t read many of the comics, so correct me if I’m wrong), then Tim, which, I love him as a character, but didn’t he date her in the mask for like, months, and I have some vague recollections of some dickish things he said (i know i know i need to read more comics)—whatever. Men are shitty.

I have a scene in my head. Like, Steph’s in college, at a bar with friends or something, maybe it’s an under cover op, idk, and there’s this girl she’s been lowkey watching all night. She doesn’t quite know why, but she just keeps catching her eye, and okay, it’s not like she’s never questioned her sexuality, she knows Cass. There have been Extensive conversations with Babs on the subject.

Anyway, so at some point, there’s obviously some sort of argument between the girl and the guy she came with and the girl’s crying, and Steph just Can’t Handle That.

She goes up to her, comforts her, makes a new friend, listens to the whole story.

And at some point, she has the thought.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him.”

She doesn’t necessarily do anything about it that night, but now that she’s had the thought, it won’t leave her alone.

Yeah. So. Maybe I’ll write that story later.

Song eight (last song): FRAGILE THINGS.

Dick Grayson part two; So your mentor (dad) just died, leaving you an angry murder child, another one hanging on by a thread after losing eighty percent of his support system, a grieving butler (grandfather), and a mantle the size of the Most Dangerous City in America. Any direction you move is going to hurt someone, and one kid is more likely to snap and murder people than the other, and hey, if you have to be Batman anyway, might as well let your brilliant kid brother be Nightwing, right? Except, whoops, you forgot to mention that last part and now Timmy thinks you just replaced him without telling him and fuck you knew you were forgetting something and now there’s a goddamned imposter Bruce and—

“Love is like a house of fragile things, where hearts can be broken as easy as antiques, and now there’s glass all shattered at my feet, what we built together, you left in smithereens.”

Anyway. This got kind of incoherent (or maybe it was from the start?)

I accidentally added a poll at the bottom and can’t figure out how to remove it, so.

[romanceyourdemons]

3500 words later. i can finally rest

[officialdashcon2024]

Would it be a bad idea to write A/B/O fic of Omega!AnonymousSudan and Alpha!AO3?

Asking for a friend

[try-set-me-on-fire]

time is out of joint

(If the author of Alabaster is on tumblr please know I’m haunted by your work)

[wexhappyxfew]

AYOOOO — the sun’s out and it’s beautiful, im going to be watching the phillies game as they play in london, and i think i’m finally going to be putting my writing up on AO3 for the Silver Bullets!!!!!!!

[skyward-floored]

Hey! It's not up on AO3 so I can't leave a comment in the normal way, but I wanted to let you know I've come back and re-read your latest from the Lost AU like three times. Not only do I love the story and interaction itself, but it's just so neat to read as a piece of writing. It gets so much characterization done in so little space.

Aaaaaaaugh thank you 🥺🥺🥺

I had a lot of fun writing that one— you can always tell when my writing is self-indulgent, heh. Thank you again!!!

[askamnesiamoonjumper]

🫂

(🫂: Comforting hugs)

WOE MJ COMING OUT BE UPON YE (though should be noted this isn’t 100% how it happens in the final fic in my head, example being I tweaked some dialogue to not have references to spoilers and made it just be Mj and Snatcher, where as in my head I think Delilah would also be there :3 but yeah I have no clue how I actually got myself to write this I was fully expecting to fail horribly at this bc of my motivation sucking ass but welp here we are ig?) (also note this is taking place during the timeskip but I think everyone here already knows that about femmj) anyway, enjoy!!

(Tw for accidental misgendering)

——————————————

“…So, are you going to tell me what’s eating you?”

“Mm-m”

“Moonboy you know I can’t hear you with your face in the pillow like that.”

Moonjumper flinched at the nickname, he doesn’t know. She had to remind herself. 

The two sat in the corpses room, with said corpse having their form pressed into the pillows of their bed, as their brother sat at the end to question their odd behavior lately. 

Moonjumper tilted their head away from the pillow to unmuffle their words. “I said no— it… it’s fine, Snatcher, really.” 

“Yeah, and my name is the Twilight Goat, I’m not falling for that Moon, now fess up.” He gave a deadpan look, a hint of annoyance inching its way into his tone. 

“Snatcher really, it’s—”

“I know it’s not fine. Now. Talk.”

“No, it’s—”

“No, you’ve had yourself locked up in here throwing yourself a little pity party all week! So what’s going on? Because I’m not leaving until you say why!” The ghost snapped. 

The two were left in silence, Moonjumper bit their lip uncomfortably and buried their face back into the pillow, clutching it tighter between her claws. Why couldn’t she just tell him? It would solve both of their problems wouldn't it? 

“I…” Moonjumper tried but the words died on her lips. 

Snatcher simply gave them a sympathetic but simultaneously tired look, one that said he knew far too well what they were feeling right now, oh the joys of being one in the same— you know every little trick and act the other knows. All the same horrible coping and communication skills, like a snake eating its own tail. 

The ghost sighed, “Look— I didn’t mean to get mad. I’m just… worried. You know how I am.” He looked off to the side, shoulders slumping. 

Moonjumper nodded, she knew, she knew he was worried— who wouldn’t be after you realize the pattern over the years that your sibling shuts down through self isolation. A painful habit from the Horizon. Who wouldn’t realize the spirit hadn’t been seen all week and come to the conclusion they’re rotting away in their room, wallowing in their own misery over something that couldn’t even be. Who wouldn’t come check on them, who wouldn’t worry. 

“I know…” Moonjumper whispered, turning over to better face him, “I just…” she blinked a few times, tears rung the corners of her eyes, “I… just don’t think you’d get it…” they looked off to the side. I know you’d understand, I know you won’t care, but I care, I care so much, and it's killing me, it’s killing me how much I care. 

Snatcher only stared at them, “Try me.” He prompted.

The spirit looked up at him upon hearing the words, it’s not you, it’s me, it’s not you, it’s not your fault, it’s not that you won’t get it, it's not that you won’t understand, it’s that I can’t say it, my mouth goes dry just thinking about it, so how in the world could I possibly say it?

Moonjumper slowly sat upright, holding the thick pillow in their lap, suffocating the poor fabric into their chest, “…I…” try again, “I’m—…“ again, “it’s just that— …that I-“ one more time, “I think— no- I am—! I mean— I…” 

“I’ll be here all day, Moonboy.” Snatcher gave an amused look at their failed attempts at the words, though it wasn’t hostile, or the typical harsher teasings he gave, it had a softness he only showed now to them, after all the years that had passed, the kind of softness his past self would gag at seeing from himself. 

There it was, the nickname, …it’s now or never. 

“That!” Moonjumper scrunched their eyes shut, “that— that's the issue.” They mumbled.

Snatcher blinked in pure confusion, “…What?” 

“Th- the name…? Um… that.” She sat up a bit straighter, not looking at anything in particular. “Can you… not call me that…?”

Snatcher was silent, before laughing a bit under his breath, “Wh- the nickname!? Was that what this was all about!?” 

“N- no, Snatcher it’s…” their voice trailed quieter. 

“Haha— You- you had yourself locked up in here for that!?” He laughed, continuing on.

“There’s more to it th—!”

“What? Did you think I would steal your soul over it or something!? Ahahaha—!” 

“Snatcher I'm not a boy!” The words came out as one sound, like ripping away a bandaid, get the pain over with. 

Snatcher froze, his laughter instantly disappeared, he looked at the other, eyes wide before his brows furrowed, bright gold lights looking into amaryllis red irises that shook and shivered with tears that lined the corners of their eyes. 

“You— …what…?” His voice was a complete 180, hushed and silent like the wind, rather than booming and loud like a thundering hurricane. 

Moonjumper bit her lip, desperately blinking the tears away from her eyes, “I— I…” she hicced, voice trembling against her will. She simply let her head fall down, burying her face into the pillow in her grasp, harshly digging her fingers into the cloth coated stuffing. 

Snatcher shifted on the bed, scooting closer to the spirit, “Woah, woah, hey, Moon— it’s ok, I didn’t—“ he didn’t finish his sentence, as he spoke while he moved, bringing his claw to his siblings— (possibly sisters? He wasn’t going to ask just yet,)— shoulder, to which they wordlessly understood where the gesture was leading, shoving the pillow to the floor and diving into his arms. Snatcher was still in shock from the quick hug for a second, before he eased into the embrace, wrapping his arms around the others shoulders as they sobbed silently. 

Moonjumper let the tears slip down their face, allowing themself to relax in his hold, the heat of his fire magic helping tremendously, as they let their form slowly limp against his warm chest, keeping their hold around his back tight though, as their head rested comfortably in the crook of his spectral neck. 

Her sobs slowly died down, but the two remained like that together, wordlessly in each other's embrace 

“So…” Snatcher began, “Do I have a sister, or…?”

Moonjumper laughed quietly, “Maybe~” she sang. “…But, um, I don’t mind you still calling me your sibling, that part is staying the same.” She added in a more serious tone. 

“Got it.” He nodded, “Just no more ‘he’, then? ‘Brother’, ‘Moonboy’, none of that?” He asked to double check. 

Moonjumper shook her head, “I don’t think so, no.” She mumbled. 

“Alright, good to know.” He mused. 

The two were silent yet again, simply resting into the other's arms. Moonjumpers' breathing slowed, dying out into dead emptiness as they stopped forcing it to show itself. 

“So… why were you so upset? Isn’t this a good thing?” Snatcher asked. 

Moonjumper looked at nothing for a moment, biting their tongue in their mouth to think of the words. 

“It’s just…” she shifted, finally breaking the hug to demonstrate— “Well, Snatcher look at me! I’m dead!” They held out their arms, gesturing to their form.

The ghost blinked, “Well, Yeah, so am I. What’s the issue here? That isn’t exactly able to stop me from calling you different things, is it?” He laughed slightly. 

Moonjumper huffed, “it’s not just that— it’s- my form is what’s wrong— it’s my body, not just the words.” They explained, hands motioning as she spoke, “And… and anything that I think of I know wouldn’t do anything— medicine would just absorb into my magic, and- and I couldn’t go to any kind of doctors because— well, one, they probably wouldn’t even take spirits for patients, and two, even if they did, they wouldn’t know how my biology works!? Hell, I hardly do!” She continued to motion her hands, waving them out exaggeratedly at the last part before they fell down into being crossed against her chest, as the corpse huffed, looking off to the side. Her eyes looked at nothing intently, the ghost across from her watched as tears began to build in her eyes once more. 

Moonjumper turned to him, “Snatcher, don’t you get it?” She said in a desperate, defeated tone, “I can’t have it.” 

Snatcher looked at the corpse in sympathy, watching as they looked down, nails clutching tighter into their crossed arms. 

“And how do you know that?” He finally spoke.

Moonjumper sniffled, before looking up to him with wide eyes. “P… pardon?” She said in a shaky voice. 

“How do you know you can’t.” He repeated, deadpan. 

“I— …I just told you?” They said in confusion.

“And what if you’re just jumping to conclusions.” He challenged.

“I…” the spirit didn’t have any words. …Huh. They hadn’t… considered that… 

…They supposed that was what happened when you made an echo chamber of your own negative thoughts for days straight… 

“Well?” Snatcher broke her from out of her head.

Moonjumper only blinked a few times, trying to sort through their thoughts, before she laughed weakly. “I- I guess you have a point…!” She smiled tiredly, a bittersweet sadness rung in her face, as she still managed a toothy grin despite that. 

Snatcher seemed satisfied with that, bringing himself closer once more and hugging the other again. “Even if all that nonsense does turn out to be true, I’ll make sure we find a way, promise.” He leaned his head back away from the hug, pressing his forehead against hers.

Moonjumper laughed airily under her breath, “O- okay.” She shakily breathed out with a smile, easing her head against his.  

“That’s more like it.” Snatcher said in encouragement. “…Glad we talked, Moongirl.” He added. 

Moonjumper paused, her brain freezing up trying to comprehend the words, the nickname hitting her like a train. Once it sunk in, a warm fuzziness she didn’t know existed filled her form, making her smile stretch more as she dizzily pressed her forehead further into Snatchers, letting her eyes slip shut in her newfound haze of bliss. “Yeah…” She echoed the sentiment, “…Glad we talked.” 

[def-not-kaz-brekker]

*Me when I was young and naive, being a gryffindor and holding a Harry Potter book and waving my wand that lit up when I shook it*: omg I love jk Rowling so much I wanna be like her when ur grow up—

*Me now, gay and trans, opening ao3 to read another wolfstar fanfic on my phone after reading “the sun and the star” and another kanej fic, being a slytherin even tho on the test it said ravenclaw, smirking deviously*: oh she-who-must-not-be-named would hate me so much

[bookwyrminspiration]

if young Sophie had any social media I think it might’ve been tumblr, but what would she post? destiel? Sophie fanfic author au, she logs on to ao3 like “hey sorry this chapter has taken like 3 years, turns out I’m not actually human and I had to leave my whole life behind and I keep getting hunted down by these pyromaniacs and I’ve been hospitalized over a dozen times. but I saw the Spanish dub and just had to get something out, sorry it took so long, enjoy xx”

[n20-kildare]

5 things I’ve learnt from joining tumblr:

1. I should probably start making art again; y’all talented as hell.

2. Y’all are also way funnier than Twitter was, and also your gifs are way higher quality.

3. AO3 stands for Archive Of Our Own, and is not, as I previously assumed, a wikia-like information archive website.

4. I’m glad I was forced to retire because becoming big enough wrestler for people on tumblr to write fanfics about me, because I don’t know how personally comfortable I would’ve been about that.

5. Oh shit this website has formatting hell yeah