#just this frying pan of shattering

[user-without-a-cool-acronym]

Movieverse Cinder, but he is just some highschool bully who spray painted a frying pan golden and is now hitting people with it.

[puhmpken]

this has BEEN edited 🥳🎉

Author’s Note: this may be silly, but i have nagging myself to write this one 😭😭 hope yall like it <33

Warning ⚠️-> none! enjoy ☺️

Title: Hell’s GreatestDadParents !

Alastor X You OneShot

written + edited by @puhmpkins-blog 🎃

W/C: 1.8 K 🥱 not sm this time around

The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with tension. You sat perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed, your arms crossed. The fabric of your knee-length dress rustled as you shifted–avoiding eye contact with a certain red-haired demon who stood in the doorway.

“Unfair, Al,” You muttered, your voice ringing out lowly.

Alastor’s response was swift, his tone unwavering. “Dearie, not everything I want you to do will be fair. Just listen and do as you’re told.” His footsteps echoed as he closed the distance, bold strides carrying him toward you. His tuxedo jacket was impeccably tailored, and he adjusted the sleeves with a flick of his wrist.

“I need you to come to the hotel with me,” Alastor continued, his crimson eyes piercing. “Help me persuade the princess to listen to me more.” His fist clenched, and a surge of green energy erupted from his palm. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded.

His smile was unsettling, a blend of charm and menace. “Excellent, dear,” Alastor murmured.

Your smile stretched as Lucifer's eyed you–He recognized you.

Charlie’s cheerful introduction echoed in the room, and you gracefully stood, leaving the bar behind.

“And this is Alastor's wife! (Y/n)” Charlie said happily

 Your hand extended toward Lucifer,

“Lucifer,” you greeted, your voice a velvet whisper. “Long time no see, old friend.” 

As your fingers brushed his, the chandelier above swayed, then plummeted, shattering into shards. Lucifer flinched, his gaze darting to the wreckage. But your smile only widened, revealing your sharp teeth.

Retracting your hand, you moved past him, joining Alastor’s side.

Lucifer bangs covered his eyes, his smile bared his teeth as he fist clenched on his staff 

“haha..alrighty then” He said lowly  

The blare of a trumpet was heard making you put your ears down

“Looks like you could use some help” Lucifer said swiping his cane in the air making Alastor and You dodge it, as he moved Charlie away from the both of you 

“From the Big Boss of Hell himself!

Check out Daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp” 

Mini little puppets appeared around Charlie, you kept your arms crossed watching him sing about the same thing he always does..the things he could promise 

“Who needs buspeople?” he asks, snapping his finger. The scenery morphed, reality bending to his whims.

You, now changed, were in a crisp standard waitress outfit, balancing a silver platter on one hand as Charlie sat beside your standing figure.

Standing at Charlie other-side was Alastor, he was in a server outfit pouring red wine into a chalet for Charlie

 Lucifer’s voice cut through the air

“Now that you got the chef!” 

The ground shifted below you before Alastor and you plummeted into a colossal frying pan. The impact jarred your bones, but you landed on your back—luckier than Alastor, who fell face-first, his ears pinning back in probably discomfort 

The scene shifted, reality bending like a mirage.

You groaned, your normal size restored. Revenge simmered within you;surely you had to get him back for him messing around with you..?

Lucifer’s pitch lacked conviction. His promises were half-hearted. 

(f/c) swirls manifested around you–Both you and Alastor vanished, then reappeared before Lucifer, neon colors exploding from your very essence as he finished his song note

Slinging an arm around Lucifer, you feigned warmth, as if about to embrace him. But instead, you pushed him toward Alastor

“Who’s been here since day 1?” Alastor sang to Charlie, catching Lucifer. The red demon’s smile, as he shoved Lucifer aside and out of the way

You manifested on Charlie's side, you clouded her vision from seeing Alastor shove her father with your mock nun attire that clung to your curves perfectly it caught her attention, you held your hands in a mock prayer 

“Who’s been faithful as a nun?” you asked, raising an eyebrow leaning towards her smiling.

Red theater curtains swirled around and engulfed the both of you–before swiping open, the curtain revealing a big stage bathed in warm light. You and Alastor both stood at its center, the spotlight capturing every move. 

“Who makes you chuckle with an old timey pun?” You questioned out hip bumping Alastor as you waved your finger back and forth shutting one eye as you looked up to a smiling Charlie who was seating in the audience. Her smile was radiant. She leaned forward, caught in the theatrical magic.

You and Alastor materialized on opposite sides of her, your voices harmonizing.

“Your executive producer~!”

Elbowing her playfully as Alastor wrapped a arm around her, Charlie’s laughter echoed, and the scene shifted seamlessly.

“That’s true!” Charlie exclaimed, glancing from Alastor to you.

 “He’s your guy!” You said appearing as a small shoulder angel infront of Charlie’s face “Your day-to-day!”Another little angel version of you winked. “Your chum!” Another version of you butted-in moving the first two a bit to the side as it pointed to Alastor

The scene shifted to the three of you guys working the front desk behind a busy hotel lobby “Your steadfast hotelier~!” You said as guests hurried by, their requests and complaints blending into a cacophony.

“Why, remember when he fixed that clog today?” you said raising a eyebrow before putting your hand to your chin. Alastor, sleeves rolled up, as he pulled Nifty out of a stubborn toilet. The cyclops grateful voice echoed as a once clogged toilet started to flush 

“I was stuck! Thank you, sir,” Nifty had exclaimed. Alastor, still holding Nifty, patted her head with a smirk as you mirrored it, watching Charlie with her close eye smile. 

 “Oh you” She replied holding her cheek 

Alastor stepped forward, spinning Charlie with practiced ease.

“I am truly honored that we built such a bond” Alastor said looking at Charlie from now on top the staircases as neon faces of them lit up 

“Aww” Charlie replied 

You appeared on Charlie's side leaning in, one hand on Charlie’s shoulders, sincerity in your eyes. “You’re like the child we wished we had,” you sang, your voice a gentle lullaby.

“Uhhh, what?”Lucifer’s voice interrupted from below the set of stairs.

Your eyes shot to him with a flash of a smirk spreading on your face for him to see and disappearing, did you strike a nerve? 

Seating yourself at the edge of a bed, you looked down at a tucked-in Charlie. Alastor stood beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Together, you painted the picture of an unconventional loving family—the perfect family picture for Lucifer to have ingrained in his head. 

“We care for you just like a daughter we spawned,” you said, patting Charlie’s head. Her eyes closed, as she relaxed into the makeshift embrace.

But Lucifer’s protest echoed. “Hold on NOW!” he shouted, disrupting the scene. You grabbed Charlie’s arm, pulling her out of bed. Spinning her, you cheered on her dance moves, and Alastor’s amused voice joined the chorus.

“Its little funny” You heard Alastor say— “You can almost say were your” Alastor’s voice trailed off as he grabbed both Charlie and you, spinning you both with one arm. He positioned you next to his side, placing Charlie in front of both of you. “Parentsssss,” he drawled, dragging out the word. His wicked gaze turned toward Lucifer, and you mirrored his smile, snapping your head to Lucifer before returning to your regular expression looking at Charlie 

Suddenly you heard the noise of a violin playing..you looked to Lucifer seeing him play a golden one rather aggressively towards Alastor and you 

You raised your eyebrow looking at Lucifer, as he was taking bold strides towards the both of you, before he got too close, a piano materialized in front of you as you heard your husband voice cut through the air 

“Take it away dear!” Seating down, cracking your knuckles. Your fingers danced across the keys, and you shut your eyes, lost in the music–focus on upstaging Lucifer

Playing the last key, the final note harmony was shattered–you cringed at the noise you were hearing. It sound like a instrument being crushed, your shoulders tensed to the loud sharp noise–your deer ears flickering back and forth in annoyance. You peered your head over your shoulders too see Lucifer with squinted eyes and the purposely crush instrument above his head. As you squinted back, the lights around both of you flickered before shutting off completely.

Thinking the little singing battle was over you heard, a rhythmic beat filling the air.

“They say when you’re looking for assistants,” Alastor began, as large books started to descend onto Charlie’s back as she struggled to keep them up

“It’s smart to pick the path of less-,” you continued for Alastor, as both your figures manifested tendrils from the ground

As Alastor and you sang out

“Resistances~!”

As the tendrils thickened before lifting the heavy books off of Charlie back with ease 

Lucifer interjected, “Others say in your needy hour. There’s no substitute for pure–angelic–POWER!!!.” With a spread of his wings, he flew briefly before landing near Charlie with a crazed look, gripping his staff tightly

“Whose is also your blood!”

As Lucifer approached Charlie closely, you stepped between them, easily grabbing her attention.

“Sadly there are times where a birth parent” As both Charlie and you appeared in a higher location looked down on Lucifer as you did a thumbs down motion “Are a dud” A trap door beneath him swung open, sending him plummeting into a black void.

“They say the family you choose” Alastor said appearing on Charlie’s otherside as little images of Angel, Nifty, Husk and Sir Pentious appeared around you three “Are often better!” 

“What a bunch of,” Lucifer interjected, popping up and shoving Alastor aside with his staff.

“LOSERS!”

You watched standing next to Charlie as Alastor hip bumped Lucifer “Can you butt out of my song?” He questioned watching Lucifer stumble forward 

“Your song?!” Lucifer countered, walking back towards Alastor and standing on his tiptoes, pointing at himself. “I started this!”

“I’ll finish it,” Alastor quickly replied, leaning down towards Lucifer as they both bumped heads, their razor-sharp teeth bared, growling like wild animals.

“OH! YOu tacky, piece of SHI–”Lucifer’s sentence was cut short as the door suddenly burst open.

Alastor and Lucifer both pausing their yelling at one another as they both turned their heads to the noise..really everyone did

A small but recognizable figure appeared at the door, prompting an internal eye roll from you.

“It’s me!” she sang out, wagging her finger and bouncing her hip. “Yes, it’s me! I know you were all waiting for me!” Confetti flew as if from thin air.

“It’s ME!” she exclaimed, now on the second floor, jumping from the railing and landing on her knees, sliding a bit on the floor. “MIMZYYY!” she proclaimed, taking in some big breaths after her energetic entrance.

“Who?” Lucifer asked after a moment, confusion written all over his face as he raised one eyebrow.

FIN!!!

Extra! Extra!

No extra is available this time around! Tune in next time for extras! :))

[nunalastor]

Territorial Angels Au

Angels have this ability to mark important people in their flock, most are family, lover and friend. This lets other angels know who this person’s flock is or mate and lets the Angel know where their mate/friend is

However, some angels can be territorial, especially fallen ones. If they sense another Angel trying to mark their mate/friend, it’s seen as a direct challenge and disrespect

Charlie, Vaggie and Lucifer were the first ones in the kitchen and Lucifer was making pancakes. One by one, each guest of the hotel made their way for breakfast. When Alastor had made his way in to make himself some coffee, he was about to reach for the kettle when he heard the sound of glass shattering.

Charlie: Vaggie?

Vaggie had just dropped her cup of orange juice. Her eyes were wide with shock, as if just witnessed a crime. Charlie grabbed her girlfriend’s shoulder to get her attention, but then heard the sound of pancakes hitting the floor. Lucifer also had that deadpan expression while letting the pancakes slip through the frying pan

Both Lucifer and Vaggie were staring at Alastor.

Charlie: Guys?

Lucifer: Who was it?

Alastor: I have no idea what you are talking about

Vaggie: Pendejo! You know what he means! Who marked you and don’t lie!

Alastor: Are you talking about that silly Angel mark? Is this what’s ruffling those feathers of yours? Hahaha

The two angels were not amused, in fact they getting angrier by the second

Charlie: Hey you two, mind explaining this whole mark thing? Cause we’re out of the loop and it’s not fair to get mad at Alastor since he doesn’t know what that means

Lucifer: Angel marks signify that you are part of a flock. Angels can sense this and can tell if that person who is marked is with someone

Lucifer walked closer to Alastor and growled

Lucifer: But if that person is marked by another Angel, that Angel is declaring a challenge while disrespecting the flock

Lucifer grabbed Alastor pulled him closer to sense the mark and instantly learned who it was

Lucifer: I knew I should have kept a closer look at that asshole! Vaggie, how about you and me teach a no dog a lesson in respect and not touching things that don’t belong to you

👀

[lemon-russ]

True Son of Horus

-holds up frying pan as shield- look, I'm just as much a victim to these sad things as you guys, I wake up with terrible ideas and they just appear on my phone. If I don't share I think I will face 100 years of curses. I don't make the rules (I do make the rules)

It's super short

Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye, and thanks for dividers @squishyowl

Horus x F!Reader (Sort of)

CW: Death, Sad, very sad, mentions of blood and wounds, Loss of an adult child

Song: Youth- Glass Animals

Fly Feel your mother at your side Don't you know you got my eyes? I'll make you fly You'll be happy all the time I know you can make it right

Legion mother.

Thats what they'd taken to calling you, once upon a time. Their gene father's wife, their Legion Mother.

Then you'd became a real mother. You'd raised your boy and he became the pride of the Luna Wolves. The apple of his Father's eye. 

You wish you knew then. You would have run. Fought. Cried, screamed, escaped. Oh, you had loved Horus. But if you only knew what he would do.

He stands over the body of his brother, The Great Angel, as his own Father confronts him about his treachery.

You didn't know of course. He didn't tell you anything important. It was always don't fret over it my love. Always placating you, pampering you, hushing you. And you let him, because things were so easy.

You can't hear what Horus is rambling about through the ringing in your ears. Your vision tunnels as you scoot forward on your knees over the hard, textured metal floor of The Vengeful Spirit.

Your shaking hands brush the cold, pale cheek of the boy you made with your own body, so many years ago. Forgotten by his father now, left aside in a pile of other corpses of forgotten sons. But those were Sons of Horus in name only. Gene Sons.

This is The son of Horus. The son of the Legion Mother. Your son. Forgotten, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

With trembling hands you lift his head into your lap. You hear the conflict nearby escalate, but again cannot hear the words. You close your son's eyes. There, he's sleeping now. You can't kill an Astartes afterall. They are strong and fast and heal so quickly. That's how Horus convinced you to let your baby boy be modified at the tender age of 10. He will be strong, invincible, immortal, he'd told you.

Yes, he will heal. He just needed his eyes closed so he can rest and heal. He's sleeping. He's sleeping. He's slee-

You don't realize your lips are moving, repeating the phrase aloud until someone touches your shoulder. You yank away. They want you to abandon your baby boy at a time like this? When he needs to rest on his mothers lap and heal? Just like when he was small and got a flu- something he hadn't had to worry about in decades thanks to his geneseed implant- he use to come to your side and lay in your lap, seeking the healing warmth of his mother's embrace. You'd pet his hair like you did now, murmur lullabies to help him sleep, just like you do now. He's so peaceful. You'll need to get him a bandage for the head wound, it looked like a nasty one, but that is alright, you will mend him just like when he had a scraped knee-

The hand on your shoulder starts pulling harder, tearing you from your sleeping boy. 

Through the echoing ringing of your ears you hear a new sound over the shouting of Horus and his father. A wet, screeching sound like a metal sheet being torn in half, or almost what your old planets tales might call a banshee's wail. It was not good to hear the cry of the banshee, it means someone you know or yourself will die soon. You worry for your sleeping baby boy in the back of your shattering mind.

A hand clasps over your mouth and the wailing muffles. 

"Please, Legion Mother, we have to go now-" and insistent voice urges you. Was that Levi? He's your son's best friend, and a good boy, you've known him nigh most his life. He was a neophyte with your son.

"Levi, he's so tired, we have to take him to his bed-" you say, trying to crawl back to the motionless form.

Levi picks you up, and the banshee starts wailing again in the echos of your ringing ears.

"Legion Mother, enough! We have to leave now-" he damands, clamping a hand back over your mouth as he throws you over his shoulder.

You reach out as your sleeping boy grows farther and farther from you. Distantly you hear shouting, and metal on metal. Levi turns a corner and your son is torn from your eyeline. 

You'd go back.

You'd warn yourself.

You would find the day you sobbed and held the tiny, distinctly human baby in your arms and you'd tell yourself to run. Horus hides things. Horus wanted to make your baby into a wepon. Horus would fight his own father over the corpse of his brother, yards from where his own flesh and blood son lay lifeless sleeping on the cold metal ground of a warship.

Your baby boy. You'd have gone back and told yourself they would take your baby boy, and you'd have to watch. 

[green-eyedfirework]

The sounds of the fighting have greatly died down in the past few minutes and Dick still hasn't managed to unlock the door.  It's fucking barred from the outside, he's managed to figure that out, and strong hinges too, if it held against his battering.

He got free of the manacles—there was enough sweat to wrench his hands free, even if one wrist is scraped and bleeding and the other has a dislocated thumb—and he managed to get his clothes back on, but this stupid fucking door.

Dick blinks furiously, jaw tight.  The entire room is soaked in his scent and he doesn't know if the fact that the smell of heat has overpowered the smell of his emotions is a mercy or not.  His fingers are trembling, his breaths are too high, and his entire body is sore in ways he's trying very hard not to think about.

He just needs to get out.

There's a part of him pointing out that it's not that simple, that he's still on a ship in the middle of open ocean, that he has no idea who's attacked the Blockbuster or why, that his situation will not greatly improve outside this small cabin, that he may be locked in here but at least he's alone, but Dick ruthlessly suppresses that voice.

If he thinks too hard about it, he will break, and he didn't get to be one of the youngest fucking captains in the Royal Navy by shattering into tiny pieces at every difficulty.

Dick pounds on the door in frustration—and realizes, too late, that the sounds on the other side of the door have ceased.

Oh fuck.

Dick edges back when he hears scrabbling at the door, grabbing the letter opener off the desk—not a real knife, but it has a sharp edge and Dick needs something—and willing his fingers to stop shaking as the door is unbarred and finally opened.

The people peering inside aren't Desmond's men.  Their attire is too colorful to be privateers—one part of Dick relaxes, the other part tenses up.

Corrupt privateers to pirates.

Frying pan.  Fire.

Both pirates immediately wrinkle their noses, discreetly coughing at the abrupt influx of concentrated heat scent.  Dick hasn't left the cabin in two days.

This should be his opportunity to attack.  Strike while they're distracted, and get free.  His grip on the letter opener is weak in his less-injured hand, and he tightens it as much as he dares.  But on his first step, pain goes lancing up his spine, and by the time he grits his teeth through the spike, the pirates have recovered.

"That's a Navy uniform, isn't it?" one says to the other, slowly grinning.

"A captain's uniform," the other rejoins, eyes tracing the distinctive gold detailing on his collar.

"I thought we already killed the captain of this saltwrecked heap," one narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not the captain of this ship," Dick says tersely, affronted at the very thought.

Both pirates—he can't tell designations, he can't smell anything over the too-syrupy scent of his heat—look at each other and shrug.

"You're still a captain," one pirate says, and she's smirking, "and our captain loves to have fun with pretty omega captains."

The chill that goes down his spine is colder than last time.  Sharp and icy with intimate knowledge of what exactly she means.  The reasonable part of him points out that he cannot hope to take them on both, and the entire ship after that.  The illogical part of him just attacks.

He doesn't want to go back to that, he can't go back to that, he will do anything to avoid spending the rest of his life shackled to a pirate's bed, one day was bad enough.  He's a good fighter, he's a great fighter, but he's fighting his lingering post-heat, the stabbing pains between his legs, the bruises all over his body, the sharp, throbbing bites around his neck, and a bleeding wrist.

One of the pirates grabs the hand with the relocated thumb, and the world goes white.

When it comes back, Dick has been disarmed, arms wrenched behind his back, and is being marched out.

The yawning horror is enough to seize the breath from his lungs.  The heat scent is a mercy now, to hide the scent of his blinding terror under the cooling scent and smells of sex he hasn't been able to rub off.  It's heavy and thick, and more than one pirate coughs or turns away as he's dragged out.

The ship is full of dead men.  Dick doesn't recognize all the bodies lying on the deck, but they're all dressed in privateer's uniforms.  The pirates seem jubilant and victorious, vastly outnumbering their prey, and Dick realizes why that is when he catches sight of the hulking ship next to the Blockbuster.

He loses his breath.  He's seen the Deathstroke too many times to not recognize it, even at night and lit only by the moon.  And that means the pirate captain he's being dragged to face is—

"Captain, we found this one in the captain's cabin," one of the two holding him calls out to the silver-haired man supervising the looting, as Dick digs his heels against the deck, the frantic beat of his heart pounding no, please, no.

Captain Slade Wilson of the Deathstroke turns and goes dangerously still when he spots Dick.  Dick's last, desperate hope that maybe he's too disheveled to be recognizable dies an ignoble death at Slade's slow smile.

"Captain Grayson," Slade says, voice dropping to a more predatory tone.  "What a pleasant surprise."

Of all the pirate ships and all the pirate captains, did it have to be this one?

"What brings you here?" Slade asks, stalking closer.  Dick automatically presses back, but there's nowhere to go, his captors' grips are too tight.  "Supervising this ship?  Watching over your interests?  I have to say, I thought you were too straitlaced for smuggling."

Dick manages to suck in a breath, enough to say, as evenly as he can manage it, "I don't answer to pirates."  His voice is hoarse but at least it doesn't crack.

"You're at the mercy of my crew, Captain Grayson," Slade smirks.  "We'll get you to answer one way or another."  He steps closer, until he's in Dick's personal space, and takes a deliberate sniff.  "Or was this a tryst, hmm?  Is that why you don't want to answer?  Are you ashamed?"

The words are pointed and sharp and Dick's armor has already been stripped.  He can feel each one sink in.

"Fuck you," he spits as loudly as he can to cover up the tremor in his tone.  His captors take offense to the tone and Dick is forced down with an angry snarl, hitting the deck on his knees with a lance of pain that goes straight through him.  Dick can't suppress the way he arches, face twisted around a mostly silent scream.

When the flare of agony recedes, he's trembling, taking in ragged breaths and trying not to shiver.  It's a grim reminder of what awaits.

Dick sets his jaw and tries his best to glare as Slade crouches, still looming over him.  He jerks back—first a flinch and then more desperate—as Slade reaches out, but between the pirates holding his arms and the deck below his knees, there's nowhere to twist or turn as Slade grabs his collar.

The alpha rips the cloth down with barely a thought, leaning in with an inscrutable expression as he grips Dick's neck in a powerful hand, and Dick is too weak to fight the grip.  Slade tightens the grasp to bare Dick's neck and Dick just squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the bite.

He knows what it feels like.  He knows how his limbs will get weak and trembly, how the world will narrow down to the alpha who bit him, how the submission will steal away any chance he has of fighting back.  How it will leave him all too aware of what's happening to his body.

Dick blinks up at the starry night sky, everything blurry, and waits.  And waits.  And waits.

He can feel Slade's hot breaths against his collarbone, igniting fresh throbbing in the bites that Desmond laid down, can feel the alpha's firm, inescapable grip tight against Dick's throat, can feel the nose pressed against his skin.

Can hear Slade breathing deeply.  Inhaling deeply.

The grip shifts, tilting Dick's head the opposite direction, and he tenses again, but Slade doesn't bite down on this side either.  He's just....sniffing Dick.  Scenting him.  Deeply, past the overpowering smell of heat and sex.

Dick feels dizzy when Slade releases him.

"Let him go," the alpha growls, and this close, Dick can smell the rage in his scent.  His heat scent is getting weaker, tugged away by the wind, and Slade's overpowering fury is acrid and thick.  The pirates immediately obey their captain, and Dick's arms are released.

Dick doesn't dare to wrap his arms around himself despite how much he wants to, doesn't dare to reveal that much weakness in a pack of sharks, but he can't help the slow exhale when the burning flare of Slade's attention moves off him and onto his guards.  "Where exactly did you find him?" Slade growls, and Dick winces at the deep alpha timbre to his tone.

"In the captain's cabin," one of them answers, "It was barred from the outside.  We heard pounding on the door and opened it.  And he had this."  Slade reaches up and takes the—letter opener, spinning it between his fingers with a frown.

Dick blinks in surprise when Slade offers it back to him.  He doesn't understand.  Is this—does Slade want him to fight?  Dick might ordinarily be good enough to give him a fight, right now he's in no state for a challenge.  He can't even sit without feeling the throbbing ache inside of him, much less attack.  But being armed is better than weaponless and Dick reaches out to take the blade.

Slade catches his wrist.  Dick freezes, but Slade's attention is on the cloth wrapped around his wrist, and the pirate captain gently tugs it free to reveal the scrape beneath it.  Dick winces at the sight—he's all but flayed off a patch of skin below his thumb, and there are cuts extended up the back of his hand.

The alpha makes a low, warning rumble, and Dick barely clamps down on the appeasing keen.  He's too raw to be calm with the full force of an angry alpha in his space—he's been attacked and held captive and assaulted and the violations have stripped him bare.  The threads of defiance he's clinging to are slipping out of his grasp.

There's a part of him—a small part, growing ever larger and ever louder—that just wants to submit and make it all stop.

“Take him to my cabin,” Slade demands after he straightens up, anger unfurling hot and thick, and Dick is too busy trying to breathe in the presence of overpowering rage to register his words.  Until he’s hauled up to his feet and pushed towards the boarding plank.

Something inside him goes cold, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.  Perhaps he should be grateful that Slade’s taking him to his cabin.  Desmond told Dick he’d throw him to the crew once his heat was over, and Dick has no illusions about his ability to survive that.

Dick keeps a firm grip on the letter opener and doesn’t struggle against his captors.  He only has one solid chance, and he can’t waste it here.  He forces himself to keep breathing and keep moving, even when his feet touch the deck of the Deathstroke.

[semisolidmind]

I've had this question on my mind for a while, but how would Wukong and Macaque react to a reincarnated peaches that actually defend herself against demons?

Like obviously she's not a match for demons of their power and scale. But against regular demons, she can pretty much hold her own in a fight.

I just find the idea of Wukong and Macaque's reintroduction to peaches being her just beating the shit of out a couple of demons that were causing her trouble to be hilarious. 😂🤣

they'd be into it. even knowing she's strong just by human standards is very attractive to our two warlords.

im partial to the idea of her using a frying pan as a weapon (cause she works at a restaurant and that'd be one of the funny first things she'd see and grab in the event of being attacked there).

like, the first time mac meets her, she tries to hit him with the frying pan during one of the instances where he attacks the group. he stops the strike, blocking the pan with the back of his hand (it dented on contact); he compliments her on her bravery before disarming and kidnapping her anyway.

she could also go to hit wukong during a battle, and although the hit connects, the pan shatters. and she's standing there, angry and prepared to die, but...he's amused by her bravery/stupidity, and instead of knocking her head off, he just laughs. he keeps an eye on her after that.

the fact that reader can hold her own in a fight is just another reason she'd make a great queen.

(and any future sparring is an excuse to get their hands on her or pin her down. if they say otherwise they be lyin 🤣)

[corrodedcoughin]

They’ve been seeing each other for just under a year when Steve points out that they’ve never actually made a meal together. He doesn’t think mucb of it, just a passing comment but Eddie sees it as a ‘couple activity’ and declares that It Must Be Done. And what better reason than to celebrate Wayne’s upcoming birthday?

Now the meal they plan is one of Wayne’s favourites, hearty chilli that takes hours of low heat simmering and ingredient preparation. The pair of them head out to get the groceries the weekend of Wayne’s birthday and start cooking as soon as they get home, hoping to be finished before Wayne’s shift ends. Eddie has dug out an old scrap of paper with a recipe neatly writing along the fading lines detailing the step by step instructions. It’s covered in various stains, the writing has run in places, the condition of the paper is a testament to the love this meal has in the munson household and it makes Steve smile to see something so care-worn.

Side by side they start on the vegetables, Eddie wearing goggles to protect himself from onion attack as he calls it and Steve with sunglasses at Eddie’s insistence ‘Steve this guy is going to be firing stray tear bullets and I won’t let you be a casualty’. The pair of them looking a sight for sore eyes. Fully kitted up in ‘Protective Gear’ Eddie is chopping the onion, letting out little screams of pain and terror as he sentences the vegetable to its frying pan death, acting as executioner. Honestly he’s having a great time role playing as an onion.

In between his tiny screams he hears Steve’s own mutterings timed with his own cutting motions. A notable and iconic ‘vooooosh, vooosh’ clear lightsaber sound effects as he decapitates a chilli pepper, clearly lost in his own little world. Eddie can’t help himself, or more accurately, doesn’t even think it through. He drops his knife and turns to Steve, grabs him by the face and solemnly states ‘I love you’. They haven’t said it before, both thinking it of each other but too jumbled up in their own thoughts to say it out loud, not wanting to shatter what they have.

There’s no hesitation now as Steve lets a slow smile spread across his face and leans into Eddie. ‘I know. I mean….I love you too, sorry tried to do the Han and Leia Thing and uhh I just… I love you’ Eddie leans in to kiss him, intends to keep kissing him goggles be damned but feels a wetness on his finger tips where he’s holding Steve’s face.

Pulling back, he begins to say ‘hey, you okay? Sorry to spring this on you, I-‘

The sentence isn’t finished before Steve is ripping off his sunglasses. ‘Dude. The onions. FUCK they’re strong. Oh my god. Shit shit shit!’ Eyes streaming and furiously rubbing at them. Then? Screaming as the chilli sets in.

Wayne comes home that night to find a chilli half way through being cooked and two very happy boys. ‘Sorry it isn’t ready yet, had bit of a delay.’ Eddie reports from his place on the couch, goggles pushing his hair back and feet on Steve’s lap. Wayne glances over to steve who is sitting back with a wet cloth over his eyes and held in place by sunglasses. Wayne would ask questions but he knows better than that by now. Instead he just takes his jacket off, grabs a beer and waits for his chilli with his family, sometimes ignorance is bliss.

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Gosh looks like today needs more Kakashi positivity

Kakashi's first lesson to his students is 'fuck the rules if your friends are in danger/need your help

Kakashi actively wins multiple fights on his own and even holds his own against Kakuzu and Hidan without using the MS. Cannonly (Manga only) Kakashi wins against Zabuza (twice), the seven deadly swordsmen, multiple enemies in the war arc. Kakashi is also portrayed as more of a leader than a direct fighter, excelling most when he can lead a team to victory (like in the Kaguya fight).

Obito's eye is a GIFT to him. It doesn't matter if he 'shouldn't have it' or any other reason people come up with for him being crap for using it. He is the only character we see with a Sharingan (that is none Uchiha or even Uchiha in the vast majority of cases) who was 100% gifted the eye and told to use it. He uses it to honor the memory of a friend he lost.

Kakashi is the only character we see actively stand up to the system from inside the system. He's the one who stands up to Danzo to save Yamato. He's the one who turns his back on the 'New Hokage' (Danzo) and takes Naruto out of the village during a time when ALL shinobi are supposed to be restricted to inside of the village. He's the one who ignores Hiruzen's order's and plan in order to go save Yamato. He turns his back on Tsunade giving him an S-Ranked missiong to go after two of his students.

Kakashi taught each of his students something in the short amount of time we actually got to see him in teaching mode. He helps Sasuke improve his taijutsu so much that Gai is impressed by his improvements in the short span of a month. He teaches Sasuke his Chidori. He teaches Sakura the Qi release. He teaches Naruto how to make use of his shadow clones to learn faster (something Naruto uses both to create his rasenshuriken in such a short span of time and which he again uses later to learn sage mode.). That's not even touching on the obvious moments of teaching them about teamwork and chakra control (with the tree climbing)

Kakashi cared about all of his students. When he saw Itachi he assumed he was there for Sasuke, and when he found out he was there for Naruto he was just as ready to fight to protect his students. He carries Naruto on his back after he exhausted himself and gives Naruto a head pat. Seeing a bit of himself in Sasuke does not mean he ignored any of his students. While other teachers were hyper-focused on one student, Kakashi at least recognized he was only one person and when he needed to hyper-focus on Sasuke he still made sure that Naruto had someone to train him in chakra control as that was his weakest point.

Kakashi is the Hokage that made genuine changes to the system. He's the one who made a no-kill order for the shinobi of Konoha. He's the one who redirected Konoha's system away from shinobi toward a more economic system. It was during his reign that Konoha became an economic giant and grew exponentially in size.

Kakashi also became stronger after losing the Sharingan. The Sharingan was a gift from Obito that directly hurt him because he didn't have any magical fixes to keep him from getting chakra exhausted. the chakra was constantly being drained from him by the Sharingan, making him chronically fatigued just by existing with Obito's gift.

Kakashi's purple lightning is a stronger move than his chidori and does not require the sharingan. He's also capable of turning pieces of his mud wall jutsu to glass to deflect electricity before returning it to mud so that it is not left as an extremely fragile material that would shatter under most other attacks. this is a feat that was thought to be impossible even by the person who originally suggested it.

His chakra pool is so much bigger that he held a mud wall for three days and released it when he was ready to go on the attack

he defeated 50 jonin rank missing nin shinobi with a frying pan and some really well-used genjutsu

he's always learning and growing. Kakashi in OG Naruto was one of Konoha's strongest ninja and he STILL trained to get stronger after Naruto left because he knew he needed to. The same Kakashi who made the mistake of looking directly into Itachi's eye in their first fight then turned around and tricked Itachi into wasting a MS move on a shadow clone.

[levelsevenlaserlotus]

Unsettle Me

This contains adult content, minors dni 18+

AN: Trying something new here so please be kind ❤️ Might expand on this depending on whether or not you guys would be interested.

Pairings: Dark!Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Warnings: Language, Stalking, Non Consensual Sex, Somnophilia, Violence, Obsessive Behavior and just general creepiness.

Summary: Someone’s been in your apartment, you know this because when you come home from work, dinners waiting for you.

Words: 881

Masterlist Part 2

You’re still shivering and dripping water as you walk up the three flights of stairs to your shitty New York City apartment. You had just gotten back from a five-hour shift on top of your full load of college courses. The only thing you wanted to do was collapse into bed and not wake up for at least a week, but you still had to finish your essay on the Cold War.

You’re yawning as you shove the key into the keyhole in the door, and step inside, but the sight on your kitchen countertop has you alert at once. A piping hot plate of food sits at the ready. You shuffle closer to take in the food in front of you.

Rosemary and lemon chicken breast, grilled asparagus and crispy potatoes, and a bottle of red wine with a glass already poured for you. The food is hot, you can see the steam coming off the plate as if someone had cooked it minutes ago.

You stop, your heart beating wildly as you work over what this means. You didn’t see anyone coming down the stairs as you went up…was someone in your apartment now?

Your eyes flick around your studio apartment, looking for any potential hiding spots, the closet opposite your bed was open, the space too small for anyone to hide in any way. Your eyes fall to the floor, peering into the darkness under your bed, your hand reaching into your coat pocket to get a grip on your keys. Your hands are sweating and you fumble to get the keys into the spaces between your fingers the way you were taught.

You crouch down slowly as I’d you were approaching a wild animal which you very well could be and pull your phone out in your free hand, the light of the screen illuminating the dark space. Nothing but plastic storage containers with your winter clothing.

You sigh in relief but the tension in your body doesn't leave, someone was in your apartment recently too. You swallow hard, considering your options, you suppose you could call the police but what good would that do? You had no evidence other than the food on your kitchen counter, if anything they would think you were some stupid college kids trying to pull a prank.

You turn and study the door to your apartment, there was no physical indication that anyone had forced their way into your home. Whoever it was must have their key, a chill goes up your spine at the thought.

You end up dragging the small bookcase across the length of your apartment to barricade the front door. Having something physical in between you and any possible intruder made you breathe a little easier.

Turning back to your supposed dinner you take a closer look, picking up the knife and fork already set out and cutting into the chicken breast. The skin was brown and crispy, the inside juicy and cooked perfectly. Your mouth waters at the sight.

You take a closer look at the bottle of wine, the label was in French but you recognized the name from a few upscale restaurants. Expensive, four figures expensive and only sold by the bottle.

Grimacing at the sight before you and all it indicates you carry the plate over and scrape the food into the trash without a second thought. You turn and take the bottle of wine and the glass too, as you go to pour it down the drain the sight of dirty dishes in the sink stops you.

A small frying pan, already soaking, a few miscellaneous bowls and utensils wet and soapy, almost as if someone was in the middle of doing dishes before they were interrupted.

You don't notice your shaking until you hear the smash of the plate you were holding shatter against the hardwood floors. It takes another moment to realize your beading slightly, the red liquid oozing out of your finger fascinates you before it alarms you.

Stepping over the broken ceramic you fetch a tissue to tamper the blood dripping down the side of your thumb. Your body’s slower, less fluid as you sweep up the shattered remains of the plate, your eyes unable to leave the view of the front door.

You shower with the bathroom door ajar and the curtain open, the busted shower heads getting water all over the floor but you are too paranoid to care. You’ll clean it up later. You’re skin itchy as you scrub yourself with a loofah and rub lotion into your skin.

You’re no longer shaking as you clumsily prepare for bed, pulling an oversized t-shirt over your head and slipping on a cotton thong. You curl up on your side, your eyes trained on the door 20 feet away. You slip in and out of sleep, snapping awake before exhaustion pulls you back under.

Just two miles north of you, Natasha watches you through her computer screen, her face impassive as she watches you sleep. Annoyance flares up in her when she remembers you didn’t eat the dinner she made for you or anything else for that matter. She sighed, you barely took care of yourself but it was okay, that’s why she was there.

[chrisbitchtree]

The One with the Birthday Lockdown

For Harringrove Week day 2

Prompt - To be happy

2.1k - T (tw: child abuse)

***

Billy stands, pacing the short length of his bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until he’s sure he’s soon going to wear a hole in the ancient wooden floorboards. When that gets old, he sits cross legged on the bed, then lays down, taking deep breaths, trying to resist the urge to scream.

***

It’s the night of Billy’s 18th birthday. He should be out with Steve right now, having the best night ever. Steve had planned a whole evening for the two of them, although that’s all he would say, unwilling to tell Billy what his plans were. Billy had been riding the high of excitement for weeks.

That had all come crashing down when he’d talked back to his father the day before. He knew now, thinking back on it, that it had been a trap. Neil had agreed way too easily when Billy had asked to spend the nights out with friends for his birthday, forgoing the usual intense round of questioning about who he’d be out with, where they were going, and what they’d be doing, on top of stipulations about when he could leave an when he had to come back.

Instead, when Billy had mentioned going out with friends, Neil had readily agreed, slipping Billy a twenty and telling him to go have a good time. Billy should have been suspicious, but he’d been too blinded by excitement over Steve’s secret plans. Then, at 7pm the night before, while Susan and Max were out shopping, Billy’s father had called him to the kitchen, where he’d demanded to know why Billy had left dishes in the sink.

Billy had protested, which was his first mistake. He knew that he hadn’t left the dishes, but even if he had hard evidence to prove that it had been Max, his dad would still blame him, so he should have just confessed to having done it and washed the dishes. But no, he’d just had to open his big mouth and tell Neil to ask Max about it when she got home.

His dad had immediately flown into a rage, hurling a frying pan at Billy, just missing his head. There was a dent in the wall behind him, along with a trail of thick, brown sauce. Clearly unsatisfied with the results of his throw, Neil had proceeded to throw a spatula, spoon, and coffee mug at him.

The mug was thankfully another hit, shattering in almost the exact same spot as the pan had hit. Neil was yelling so loud that Billy’s ears were ringing as he started to clean up the shards of glass from the floor. After he was done sweeping, Billy scrubbed the wall and washed the unbroken dishes as his father continued to yell at him.

He told Billy that he wasn’t to leave the kitchen until it was spotless, then he was to go to his room for the remainder of the night. Billy could take all that. This was typical Neil behaviour. He started to lose his cool when his father told him that he wouldn’t be allowed to go out the next evening for his birthday, as punishment for leaving the dishes and then talking back.

Billy took a deep breath, knowing that talking back anymore than he already had wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could only hope that he could somehow get in touch with Steve, since Billy wouldn’t have access to the phone in his bedroom, and the next day was Saturday, so he couldn’t even run over to Family Video on his lunch break to let Steve know.

***

An hour later, Susan and Max returned home. After a couple minutes, Billy heard a knock on his door. Too peppy sounding to be Susan, it had to be Max. Clearly she hadn’t noticed that the lock on the outside of his door was locked.

“Go away,” he called, sounding miserable, even to his own ears. He was upset about how being able to go out, but still pretty pissed at Max for leaving those dishes.

“I just want to…” she replied.

“Go away!” Billy shouted, drowning her out.

She stayed as persistent as ever though, knocking again before Billy could hear Neil guide her away from his door, telling her in a loud enough voice that he could be sure Billy could hear that Billy needed some time to think about respect and responsibility and was to be left alone.

Not ten minutes had passed before there was a quiet knock on Billy’s window. For a  brief moment, he got his hopes up, thinking it might be Steve, and was disappointed when he opened the curtains to see Max’s face staring back at him.

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled, sliding the window open as slowly and quietly as possible.

“I just want to know what you did to make Neil so mad that he said you can’t go out tomorrow night. I heard him telling my mom.”

He glared at her dumb face, resisting the urge to shout as he responded. “Maybe you should ask yourself that, Maxine. You’re the one who left dishes in the sink for him to find!”

“That’s not true!” she protested. “You made breakfast this morning, and we did those dishes together, then my mom picked me up right from school! When would I have dirtied dishes?”

Neil, that fucking bastard. Billy had absently thought about the fact that the frying pan only had sauce in it, with no food besides. His dad had planted the dishes in the sink so that he had something to get Billy in trouble for.

One recent night, when Billy was up getting a glass of water late at night, he’d overheard Susan and Neil talking about Billy. Susan had told Neil that she thought Neil was being too harsh on Billy for nothing, so now he was clearly inventing reasons to get mad. Jesus Christ, Billy had to get out of there sooner rather than later.

He sighed, flopping back on his bed, leaving Max hanging through the window frame. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to sooth himself and stop the headache he could feel starting at his temples.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Max said, mournfully. “I know it doesn’t really help, but I brought you this.” She placed two cookies on a napkin on his windowsill. It wasn’t much, but chocolate chips could always make things at least a little bit better.

“Thanks, Max,” he said through a mouthful of cookie, giving her a small smile. “Could you do me one more favour and bring me your walkie?”

***

Steve was kind and empathetic throughout their entire conversation, telling Billy it was no problem at all to postpone their plans for another week, asking Billy in a worried tone if he was ok. He didn’t even complain once about not being able to hear Billy properly, as Bill whispered into the walkie under the cover of his blanket, hoping it muffled the sound from anyone trying to eavesdrop outside his bedroom door.

Eventually, the battery started to drain, Steve’s voice fading in and out, until Billy had to let him go, trying not to tear up as they said goodbye. He laid in bed, hugging his own body under the covers, willing himself to fall asleep. The faster he could fall asleep, the faster he could wake up and get through the next day.

***

Billy wakes the morning of his birthday to loud banging on his bedroom door, and his father shouting at him to get up for his birthday breakfast. He dresses quickly, scrambling to the bathroom then to the dining room table, where Susan serves pancakes, smiling weakly at Billy as she slides a couple onto his plate.

Billy’s dad gives a speech about how his son’s now a man, ready to make his own way in the world, and for a second, Billy thinks between the breakfast and the speech that Neil might actually be making an attempt to do something nice for him after punishing him so severely, but then he sees it for what it really is, an attempt for Neil to show Susan what a great father he is, even when Billy’s acting like a piece of shit. The pancake syrup suddenly tastes bitter on Billy’s tongue, and he wants nothing more than to be locked back in his room, where he can at least be alone.

***

Billy gets his wish, immediately being ushered to his room after breakfast, and told to both stay in there and stay quiet. He complies, picking up a book he has to read for school and getting lost in another world for a while.

At first, it’s not too bad, pretty much the same as every other quiet Saturday he’s forced to spend at home, except this time he’s not in charge of monitoring Max and her every movement. Susan drops off his lunch outside his door, knocking softly and scurrying away before he opens the door. He eats his bologna sandwich and apple in silence, continuing to read his book.

As late afternoon rolls around, he starts to get restless. That’s when the pacing starts. As he walks the length of his room, his anger starts to build. This was supposed to be his big night. He’s finally a man, and he finally has someone that loves him, but he’s still here, rotting away in his bedroom.

Evening falls, and as the sun starts to set, Neil knocks on Billy’s bedroom door, telling him he’d better use the washroom before Neil and Susan go out for dinner and a movie. Billy’s blood boils as he pictures his dad and Susan out at Enzo’s while he’s stuck at home, separated from Steve.

He uses the washroom, and as soon as he closes his bedroom door again, he hears the padlock click shut. Fuck Neil, he starts to think. Fuck him and his stupid rules and mind games. Fuck what he’s put Billy through. Fuck Susan for letting it happen. Fuck his mom for running away and leaving him here. Fuck everyone who isn’t Max or Steve.

He’s on the verge of tears, trying to contemplate whether sneaking out is worth the punishment he’ll receive when he almost certainly gets caught, when there’s a knock at his bedroom window. He expects it to be Max, bringing him a snack, or if he’s really lucky, a message from Steve, but when he throws open the curtains, he finds Steve himself.

Steve’s standing in the hedges, holding a box of pizza with a lobsided birthday cake balanced on top of it. He’s wearing a paper party hat on his head, and there’s another one dangling by the string from his hand. Under his arm is a wrapped gift, and there’s a soft, crooked smile on his face.

The floodgates do open at that point, Billy so overwhelmed by this turn of events that he can’t even be bothered to hide his tears like he usually does. He just lets them flow as he takes the cake and pizza box from Steve before ushering him in through the window.

“Steve, I can’t believe you…” he manages to choke out before the tears overtake his ability to speak.

Steve pulls Billy into his arms and rubs his back soothingly. “What, you thought I was going to let you spend your birthday all alone in here? You underestimate me, Hargrove.”

After a couple minutes, he pulls back and hands Billy a tissue from the box on his side table so he can wipe away his tears. Billy blushes thinking of what they usually use the tissues to wipe up, late at night, bathed in moonlight when Steve’s snuck in, telling Billy in a whisper that he couldn’t bear to be apart from him for another moment.

Billy laughs when Steve places the party hat on his head, only grumbling slightly when he snaps the elastic under Billy’s chin, and he moans in delight at the first bite of hot, cheesy pizza. When Steve goes to sing happy birthday to Billy, he realizes that he never brought a knife to cut the cake.

They call out to Max, who brings them one, running around the side of one in hand, and Steve invites her, so she stays and she and Steve sing to Billy together as he grins at them, his two favourite people in the world.

His 18th birthday isn’t exactly what Billy imagined, but it’s not often that things pan out the way he thinks they will, and honestly, it’s ok. He's choosing, in this moment, despite it all, to be happy.

One day, he’ll look back at this day, and he’ll barely remember the way Neil tried to sour it. He’ll just remember his boyfriend, his sister, and the sweet taste of chocolate cake.

[peppermintpinklemonade]

MITRI COOKING FLASHBACK FIC…… SPARE MITRI COOKING FLASHBACK FIC PLS………

Baby, bro, child, dude, you’ve seen most of it, you’re my fe3h guy of all time, however… ty so much for asking so I have smth to share so here are some of my favourite bits:

‘Felix is gonna be so happy.’ Dimitri thought cheerily as he grabbed the handle of their frying pan from the cabinet.

Dimitri pulled out the frying pan from under the rest of their cookware and everything in the cabinet clattered out onto the floor with a loud crash.

‘Oh goodness.’ Dimitri sighed as he went to restack the cookware. It was probably fine, Felix wasn’t a very heavy sleeper, but his room was far from the kitchen. He needed Felix to stay asleep so he could surprise him.

~~~~~~~~~more under the cut

‘Oh, shoot.’ Dimitri thought as he placed their carton of eggs and butter on the counter. He hadn’t done this by himself yet and he’d forgotten to pen down instructions the last time someone had fried an egg with him.

He picked up his phone and paused the old rock song he hadn’t heard before and opened his messaging app.

Ashe my friend, could you please remind me how long to fry an egg for?

Thank you,

Dimitri :)

Dimitri waited as Ashe typed, the three dots jumping in place of his message.

It’s Dedue, apologies. Ashe is asleep right now but I heard his phone go off while fetching something I left in his room. Please make sure the pan is at medium heat and has a small amount of either oil or butter melted in it. Crack the egg into a shallow bowl and then slide it into the pan so you can start over if the yolk breaks or pick out any pieces of shell. Once the egg is in the pan, watch the edges of the white for crisp browning. You want semi-soft yolk, solid white, and a crispy brown bottom. You can use a spatula to slightly lift the egg to check if you are unsure if it is ready. Good luck Dimitri.

~~~~~~~~~

Dimitri took an egg and lightly tapped it on the edge of the bowl like he’d seen. Perhaps not as lightly as he had intended as he pushed the egg into the edge of the bowl almost to his hand, crushing the shell in his palm, and sending yolk and egg white onto the counter and Dimitri’s apron.

Dimitri sighed, the bowl was a good idea.

He washed the bits of egg and shattered shell out of the bowl and off the counter and tried again.

This time he managed to get most of the egg in the bowl, but the yolk was absolutely decimated and full of bits of shell.

Third attempt. A broken yolk again, less shell though.

Dimitri looked remorsefully at the carton of eggs. This was wasteful.

“Oh!” Dimitri remarked. He took a serrated butter knife and sat the egg on its side on the counter. He began to carefully saw back and forth in a line down the middle of the egg. Dimitri smiled to himself as the knife broke through the shell in a neat line. He opened the egg the rest of the way and stared at his perfect cracked egg in the bowl. Felix was gonna be pretty impressed he’d thought of that, he’d make sure to tell him when he served him the food.

~~~~~~~~~

‘Oh.’ He should make some for Sylvain too. He would probably get home in an hour or two, and he would probably be hungover and maybe sad and would appreciate a full breakfast he didn’t have to cook. Dimitri brought the eggs back to the counter, he’d make more after he served Felix.

~~~~~~~~~ ok for these next ones idk how to do left text so I’m just gonna colour it

Oh, he also needed paper towel to line the plate. He quickly doubled back to grab a few strips. On his way his arm caught the handle of the frying pan. He turned around and, without thinking, caught the falling pan halfway to the ground, its tilt poured sizzling butter on the back of his hand and fingers as the hot metal seared the palm of his hand. Dimitri instinctively yelled, dropped the pan with a loud clang and clutched his hand, now bright red and radiating–

–heat, the throbbing pain getting worse and worse, the smell of his sizzling flesh, no, not just his, he was pretty sure. Oppressive warmth pushed into him from all sides, he could barely see through the grey smoke and orange flames whipping in the air. Someone called his father’s name, and then his, quiet against the ringing in his ears from the explosion and the screams of the people falling to their fiery deaths around him.

He was twelve, he had been in the audience watching his father and stepmother speak against the backdrop of their promising political agenda for the year projected on the wall. He was in the front row, waving to his best friend’s older brother Glenn, who smiled back covertly from his position on the side of the stage. Glenn stopped smiling at him and his face contorted with concern, he said something into his mouthpiece and took a step towards Dimitri’s parents, his hand on the gun hiding holstered at his waist.

~~~~~~~~~

“Dimitri!”

Dimitri looked around, he couldn’t make out anybody in this inferno, and the ringing in his ears deafened him too much to identify its owner.

“Dimitri!”

Felix walked into the kitchen frowning, rubbing his eyes. “If you’re gonna get up at ungodly hours on a Saturday at least keep it down.” He admonished harshly.

Felix continued, “What the hell are you–”

Felix rounded the corner and registered the scene in front of him. Dimitri, kneeling on the floor beside a frying pan spilling steaming eggs and butter onto the floor. He had pressed his hands into the ground and was staring at them blankly with his one good eye. His left hand was red and blistering. Tears were brimming in his eye and his breathing was quick and shallow.

“Shit.”

Felix’s expression of anger dropped like a heavy weight, wide eyed concern etching itself deep into his face, sadness softening the edges of his worried brow.

~~~~~~~~~ same thing w center text imma make it purple

Glenn let go of Lambert and knelt down in front of Dimitri. Holding his hand out.

“Dimitri, let’s go.”

“Dimitri,” Felix began, gingerly covering Dimitri’s burnt hand with the wet cloth.

“It’s okay,”

“I’ve got you,”

“take my hand.”

Upon getting no response, as expected, Felix gently lifted Dimitri’s hand and wrapped it in the towel, wiping off the butter still burning blisters into his hand. He watched Dimitri carefully, making sure to move slowly so as to not startle him.

~~~~~~~~~

Dimitri looked up at Glenn as he ran beside him, gripping his hand tightly. His raven hair was falling around his shoulders, whatever he’d tied his hair up with was long gone.

“What happened, what’s–”

“–going on, Glenn?” Dimitri mumbled, slowly stumbling to his feet. He tightened his grip on the warm hands wrapped around his. He looked up, no, down. Amber eyes stared back at him through loose raven hair that collected around narrow shoulders. Amber?

Glenn stared back at him, his piercing blue eyes serious and hard.

“We’re not sure, we think this is an attack.”

Felix sighed tightly and cupped Dimitri’s face softly, “I’m Felix, it’s 2023, you’re safe, and–”

“–we’re going to get out of here,” Glenn continued.

“it’s going to be okay.”

AUGH I feel like put way too much to be qualified as ‘snippets’ but, them,,,,

[aayo-whatt]

~got bored so i put the winchester gays and their angel "buddies" in an incorrect quotes generator~

PART TWO BESTIES

~~

Adam, ordering coffee: I’d like a light roast. Dean: You're kinda ugly.

~~

Cas: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter a. Michael: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory. Gabe: Fuck you.

~~

Sam: Oh my Gabe. Dean: Don't you mean 'oh my god'? Sam: You worship your god, I'll worship mine.

HELLO- IM DYING RN-

~~

Michael: Swear words are illegal now. If you say one you'll be fined. Dean: Heck. Michael: You're on thin fucking ice. Michael: Oh no-

~~

Michael: If I had a face like yours, I'd put it on a wall and throw a brick at it. Gabe: If I had a face like YOURS, I'd put it on a brick and throw a wall at it.

~~

Michael: What's my sexuality?! I don't fucking know! I'm not straight, and that's all that matters. Well, maybe that's unfair to the straights. Some of my best friends are straight! Well, one of them. Well, I know them, and Dean is perfectly tolerable person in small doses!

~~

Cas: Dean, you're an asshole, man. Dean: You are what you eat Cas.

CACKLING SOBBING ON THE FLOOR DYING OH MY CHUCK-

~~

Michael: A mouse! Dean, pulling out a knife: Go back to where you came from or I'll stab you. Gabe, pulling out a frying pan: It'll make a nice meal! Adam, giving the mouse cheese: You deserve a treat, little guy. Cas, gasping: It's Ratatouille! Sam: His name is Remi, dummy. Michael: I was going to say to just trap it and throw it out the window... what is wrong with you people.

~~

Michael: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase? Cas: I accidentally fell down. Gabe: DEAN PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay THEIR part of our rent! Sam: Cas bet me fifty bucks that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than they did falling down it, so I slide down the banister to get my money. Adam: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Sam.

~~

Michael: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon? Cas: We're chopsticks! Michael: Well... that's cute! Michael: Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly? Dean: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

~~

Dean: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like ‘look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.’ Sam: Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.

~~

*Dean dies in a game with ships* Cas: This ship is no longer a ship of love, it's a ship of vengeance, a gavel of justice against all that is wrong in the world, showing no mercy, as no mercy was shown to us. Cas: The spark of love will now fuel the fires of destructive glory as I wage my war across the world with righteous fury. Gabe: Legend has it that Dean still haunts the ship, stealing my fucking drinks. Dean: Of course I do.

~~

Adam with a gun to Sam's head: What happens if I pull this trigger? Heaven? Sam: Bold of you to assume I'll go to Heaven.

~~

Cas: A butterfly! Hey, little guy, gal or nonbinary pal! Michael: Can a butterfly be nonbinary? Cas: I mean, maybe? I don't judge. Adam, staring dreamily out of the window: Ah, have you ever imagine having butterfly wings? Then- Gabe: Then it would be inconvenient as fuck. Your wings would smack every doorframe and your clothes would have to have holes in the back. Dean: Also, your wing's paper thin, so even a six year old aimed a NERF gun at it would... Yeah... Sam: *sips coffee* According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a- Adam: No, nononono. You fuckers have already shattered my dream, you don't get the fucking privilege to make that reference. Michael: Also, it's about a butterfly, not a bee... Why would you make that reference? Cas: You clearly have not lived with them long enough.

~~

Dean: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

~~

Cas: I have seen a lot of murders in my time, and all six of them were today.

~~

Gabe: Hey guys! I drew everyones soul! Sam: Why is Michael's a monster? Michael: Gabe, you forgot Sam's! Its only an empty space! Gabe, proudly: Exactly

THE THING ABOUT SAM'S SOUL IS CANON OMGKBVERIUERKJ-

~~

Sam: What do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along? Gabe: What did you just say- Sam: Foetons! *Laughs* Gabe: Wh-what?

that is a terrible joke i love it

~~

Dean: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey! Cas: But I'm a vegan. Dean: Wakey Wakey Vegetables and Sadness.

~~

Gabe: No, this is not a mess. You know what I consider a mess? Cas: Your life? Gabe: I- well yes, but-

~~

Gabe: And here we see Dean and Sam in their natural habitat. Texting eachother variations of the word "garlic bread" to try to make eachother laugh. Dean: Gaelic bread. Sam: Grueling brad. Dean: Ha ha, glamorous beans.

~~

*when sam has no soul*

Dean: Sam, you need to react when people cry! Sam: I did. I rolled my eyes.

~~

PART 1 PART 3

[auveriablue]

Brahms The Brat (Chubby Brahms x Reader)

(Brahms has been a spoiled and bratty little shit so you stop cooking for him as punishment. He doesn't take it well.)

🍮

-

- Brahms had been getting lazy. He didn't even try to walk around the house for exercise anymore. All he did was laze about, eat, watch tv or read books.

- For most of the time, he'd get up and get his own food, but lately, he just asked you to get it for him, not bothering to get up and eat at the table.

- This only made his waist line balloon even more and it was getting harder to replace Brahms' wardrobe every few weeks, not that he cared if his shirt could barely contain his ever rounding tummy.

- He was the human equivalent of a fat, pampered, cat but you didn't really mind. He was more docile this way and at least he wasn't trying to kill you or hurt anyone.

- Until one day he had the nerve to throw a tantrum because you said no cake until he finished his vegetables from dinner. He complained that he didn't like steamed broccoli and that he wanted his treat now, while you explained that having treats is nice and while you rather enjoyed his plumpiness, he still had to eat balanced meals.

- He threw an absolute fit and even threw the plate on the ground, uneaten food spilling everywhere, as the plate, that thankfully didn't shatter, clanged loudly on the ground.

- He went on a tirade on how you were trying to starve him and how you didn't care about him.

- Scorned that the meal you worked so hard on was wasted, you stayed silent. You grabbed a broom, cleaned up the mess and left the room.

- The next day, Brahms awoke to see you doing dishes. From what he could tell, you had made breakfast but... where was his plate ? From what remained, he could tell that you cooked his favorite. French toast and berries with whipped cream.

- "Where's breakfast ?" He asked, tilting his head.

- "I ate my plate. Feel free to make yourself something." You said, in a monotone voice. "Just clean up when you do."

- He frowned. You weren't going to cook breakfast for him ?!?

- "What are you talking about ?!?" He demanded, growing more upset, especially since he was hungry.

- "It's obvious that you don't appreciate what I try to do for you, Brahms, so I'm done. I'm not cooking for you. Cook your own meals." You threw the dish towel aside and stormed out of the room.

- At first, Brahms was stubborn.

- Whatever ! He didn't need you to cook for him ! He still had his snacks !

- But the snacks didn't even last a day, since he ate them all to distract himself from you. So in the end, he had nothing.

- So then he decided that he'd cook his own meals !

- But he didn't know how to use a stove. He tried to fry an egg but ended up burning his hand touching a hot part of the pan, so he gave up and went to bed.

- In the middle of the night, he couldn't sleep. His stomach kept growling and his hunger pangs made him feel queasy. He put his hands on his tummy to try to get it to quiet down, but it didn't work, letting out silent whimpers and whines of frustration.

- It was then, when his stomach felt like it was trying to devour itself, he knew what he had to do. He got up and waddled to you room, cracking the door open to see if you had went to bed yet. Fortunately, you hadn't.

- "(Your Name) ?" He called out, shyly, pulling down the hem of his shirt, looking down.

- "Yes ?" You called out, not looking up from your book.

- "I...I..." he started to whimper. Then you heard sniffles, causing you to look up and see big pearly tears welling up in Brahms' eyes. He looked so pathetic that I tugged at your heart string.

- "I..." he choked on a sob. "I'm just so hungry !" He bawled. "I'm sorry for wasting your meal last night ! I'm sorry for acting so rotten ! I shouldn't have done that, I'll be good, I promise I won't ever do it again ! Please stop being mad at me !" He started to hiccup on his sobs, "I-I'll eat whatever you make me from now on, even if it's just steamed broccoli ! Just please, feed me !"

- You sighed and put your book down, getting out of bed, walking over to the sniveling man, resting you hand in his hair. He slowly looked up at you, chubby face wet with tears.

- "Alright, you've learned your lesson." You said, petting his hair. "I'll go make you something, now calm down." He quickly engulfed you into a large hug, holding you tightly, as you cooed at him, rubbing his back.

- "Shh, it's okay, it's okay. I'll make you some hamburger steak with rice and you can have a cookie for dessert, okay ?" You rocked back and forth with him.

- "Alright...thank you..." he said, voice soft. You smiled and pulled away, heading to the kitchen, Brahms following behind you.

- Brahms will always be a brat in other ways, but he never wasted your food again.

[felixstudios]

Random Corporate Clash Headcanons, if You Gave Them an Egg Edition

Duck Shuffler

🎰"Thankth!"

🎰He eats it, shells and all

Prethinker

🧠He won't accept it because he'll think you did something to it, and either way he doesn't need an egg

🧠If you leave it with him, he'll dispose of it when you're gone

Derrick Man

🛢️Confused stare

🛢️Tells you to leave and that he doesn't want an egg

Deep Diver

🫧He'll just take it without saying anything

🫧She won't know what to do with it since she knows it's too late to be saved and let it hatch, but she also doesn't want to cook it

Rainmaker

⛈️She thanks you {albeit, a confused thank you} and cooks it

⛈️Then she gives half of it to you

Land Acquisition Architect

🚦He takes it and cooks it for himself

🚦If he sees you again, he might thank you for the free food but probably not

Gatekeeper

⚔️She refuses to take it and claims the place she gets her groceries produces far better quality eggs than what you're trying to give her

⚔️If you try to force her to take it, she will simply ignore you

Witch Hunter

🔱Basically Gatekeeper but with a little extra spice

🔱If you're not careful he might end up basically frying your egg while he's trying to get you to go away

Public Relations Representative

🧱He tries to accept it, but he glitches and accidentally knocks it to the ground and breaks it :(

Bellringer

🔔He cooks it for himself later

🔔Will properly thank you for the free egg later

Multislacker

📺"Oh. Thanks, I guess... But I'm not really someone who cooks food a lot."

📺It might end up going bad on his desk and smelling up his office... or he'll either properly dispose of it or manage to convince somebody to cook it for him

Mouthpiece

☎️What a coincidence, she was an egg short on her recipe!

☎️As a thank you, she'll give you some of whatever she's making when it's done

Major Player

🎹He's either gonna immediately eat it in front of you, shells and all, or he'll save it for later and cook it

Firestarter

🔥Finally, his fire head comes in handy for something! He just cooks it on the spot

🔥He splits it 50/50 with you

Plutocrat

🌑If the cold of his office doesn't just immediately shatter it, he'll find some use or another for it

Treekiller

🪵He laughs a bit and says he doesn't need a random egg

🪵If you insist, he'll cook it under a magnifying glass or something similar and then eat it

Chainsaw Consultant

🪚He gives you a bit of a weird look but he'll take it

🪚The next day it's gone and you find a pan that looks like it was recently used to make eggs

Featherbedder

💤She falls asleep trying to say something about it

💤You'll just... leave it there for whenever he wakes up

Pacesetter

👟Doesn't really question you, just takes it and brags that he's gonna turn it into the greatest meal ever {that you won't get any of!}

👟He burns it because he got impatient and turned the heat to max

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Shocking Developments

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

Tracy distracts herself with the video game for a few hours while she waits for the right moment to break down the door. Once again, time flies, and it barely felt like she was waiting at all.

She turns off the TV. If she's going to be running away, she should probably have a better weapon than a broken light bulb, so she grabs a frying pan from the kitchen. Then she goes to the basement door and kicks it hard, right underneath the doorknob.

The door doesn't even shake. Tracy tries again. Again and again and again, but the result is the same. She's not even weakening it.

She's broken down doors before. What's different about this one?

Whatever it is, it's not going to change. She needs a new plan. Her leg hurts, and the few heavy objects at her disposal would be difficult to angle so that they're hitting the weak spot of the door.

Maybe she can break the doorknob off? She hits it hard a few times with her frying pan, but all that achieves is making a very loud noise. She tries to jam the handle of the pan into where the doorknob and door meet, but that doesn't work either.

She can… she knows how to pick locks. One of the electronics in here has got to have a wire that could be used for that.

She starts with the lamp, since that will require the least amount of smashing. She makes sure it's unplugged and tears the cord open with her teeth. There's a copper wire inside. She spends a bit trying to break the wire into manageable pieces with her teeth, but she can't. She stops when she feels a piece of one of her teeth breaking off. Clearly, she's not going to be able to break the wire with something weaker than it.

She can't even separate the wire from the lamp, so she takes the whole thing over to the door and tries to bend the wire in the right way. She's only done this with paper clips before.

She struggles with it for a bit before changing her mind. This is too hard with just one long wire. She heads into the sitting room and uses her frying pan to smash one of the game consoles open (after unplugging it, of course).

Once she can see the wires, she grabs hold of a couple and yanks. This time, they do break off. That's interesting, why are they so much less securely attached than the one in the lamp cord? Maybe these consoles are built with the assumption that people might want to replace the wires?

That's not important right now. She strips the insulation from her new wires with her teeth and goes back to the door. She's got this. She bends the wires into the right shapes and gets to work.

This lock… is completely different from any lock she's picked before. She keeps trying, but nothing she tries gets the lock even close to unlocked.

Molly's confident for a reason. She must've planned for this.

Tracy sobs in frustration and pounds her fists against the door. It doesn't do anything but make her hands hurt.

There's got to be a way out that Molly didn't think of. The hinges are on this side of the door, maybe she can unscrew them? She obviously doesn't have a screwdriver, but maybe…

She grabs her lightbulb and breaks off a piece of glass. She manages to fit it into one of the grooves of the lowest hinge, but it breaks as soon as she tries to twist it.

That's fine. She'll just try again.

She spends hours and hours trying, leaving her hands covered in cuts. When she runs out of useable glass on the lightbulb, she goes to the bathroom and shatters the mirror with her frying pan, then starts using those shards.

It doesn't work. It gets harder and harder the more she tries. Her hands shake uncontrollably and blood makes it difficult to see if the shards are correctly placed.

Okay, okay, she's not getting out while the door is closed and locked. That much is obvious. But the door will be unlocked when Molly comes back. Did she say she'd be back in the morning? Tracy can't remember.

She leans against the wall right next to the door and clutches her frying pan. As soon as Molly opens that door, Tracy will hit her with it, shove past her, and run up the stairs.

She waits a few minutes before realizing she might not even have to wait. She goes to the device on the wall that Molly showed her earlier and presses the button. "Molly?"

Can Molly even respond using this thing, or will she have to go straight to Tracy? Well… she should be able to hear Molly coming down the stairs, so she'll just get back in position then if Molly never responds.

She presses the button again. "Molly? I… I don't want to be alone." Molly would like to hear that, right?

She waits a few minutes and presses the button again. "Molly? Are you awake?"

After she releases the button, the device crackles. "Yes, dear, I'll be down soon."

Tracy rushes back into position. It seems to take forever, but finally, finally, she hears the click of the lock, and the door opens.

Tracy swings the frying pan as hard as she can, but Molly jumps back. In the same motion, Molly pulls some sort of stick out of her sleeve and—

Fire, fire runs through Tracy’s arm. She screams and drops the frying pan.

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t want to hurt you, I just have to defend myself!”

The fire stops, and Tracy is able to get a better look at the stick that Molly jabbed into her arm. There are two bits of metal coming off the end.

“It’s a cattle prod— I know that sounds awful, but if there was a painless way to defend myself I’d obviously do that. Cattle prods don’t do long-term damage, so it’s actually safer than if I tried to stop you with my own body— I’m sorry, it’s okay if you’re mad. But it will happen again if you attack me again.”

Molly sticks the cattle prod back up her sleeve. That can’t be safe. Her eyes widen as she fully takes in the scene in front of her.

“You’re bleeding! Oh, what did you do? I shouldn’t have left you alone…” Molly grabs Tracy’s upper arm and tries to guide her to the bathroom, but Tracy shoves her away.

The door is still open. She races up the stairs—

There’s a second door at the top. There are several locks and it seems to be made out of steel.

“No, no!” She pounds her fists against the door. “Someone, help me! Help, please!”

Molly lets her pound on the door. She was never getting out. There was never any risk on Molly’s end at all.

“Please…”

She doesn’t want to go back down the stairs, but she’ll have to eventually. Plus, Molly is willing to hurt her. Tracy can easily imagine Molly grabbing her to bring her back down the stairs, and then shocking her in ‘self-defense’ if she fights back. She’s lucky she didn’t get shocked for shoving her.

She slowly descends the stairs. Molly is lying blankets on the floor over all the shattered glass. Once Tracy is fully downstairs, Molly closes and locks the door.

“I’ll clean it up in a minute, let’s just get you fixed up, okay? I’m glad you called me. Um… you don’t want me to touch you, do you? At least not without permission. I’m sorry, I’ll ask from now on when possible.” Molly enters the bathroom. “Oh, that won’t do. There isn’t any broken glass in the kitchen, right? Let’s get you cleaned up there.”

Molly takes the first aid kit from the bathroom and goes to the kitchen. She doesn’t even look behind her to see if Tracy’s following.

Tracy could be stubborn and lock herself in the bedroom instead, but… she’ll need to take care of the cuts on her hands eventually. She remembers Molly’s words of reassurance from that morning. It doesn’t mean anything except that she’s using her resources. She’s not giving up, she’s still fighting, it would just be dumb to cause herself unnecessary pain. She follows Molly.

Molly smiles gently at her once they’re in the kitchen. “Your hands are shaking really bad. I don’t think you can take care of those cuts on your own. Is it okay if I help? I would have to touch you.”

“What would you do if I said no?”

Molly grimaces. “I don’t know. I guess I’d let you try on your own, but if you couldn’t… I’m sorry. I can’t just let those wounds go untreated.”

Tracy nods. That’s about what she expected. “…okay.”

“Do you want help?”

“…yes.” Tracy holds out her hands.

Molly gently cleans and bandages every wound, murmuring reassurances as she goes. “You’re being so brave. I’m almost done.”

Tears fall down Tracy’s face. She’s trapped. She’s truly trapped here.

“Done. How are you feeling?”

Tracy doesn’t answer. Molly can’t force her to share her feelings, right?

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. How about you go to bed and get some rest, okay? I’ll clean up the mess out here.”

Maybe… maybe she’ll feel better after some sleep. Maybe there’s some obvious solution she’s been missing because she’s too tired. Going to sleep can be part of fighting back. She’s not giving in.

She makes her way back to the bedroom and locks the door behind her before collapsing into bed. She’ll figure it out tomorrow.

[ninemelodies]

out of sight, out of mind

written for @doctordonnaweek day 5: memory/change

also on ao3

On Messaline, the Doctor had told Jenny that being a Time Lord was a sum of knowledge, a code, a shared history, a shared suffering. Before Jenny had died, he had begun planning how best to share his memories and that knowledge. Jenny would know the history of Gallifrey and their people. That dream had shattered like glass when that gunshot rang out. 

Since then, he has given up on hoping for anything more. He is the last. The Doctor walks alone and the last memories of Gallifrey and Time Lords would fade into history with his death. He is fine with that, really, he has accepted it. So why is he so traitorously hopeful when Donna pops up from behind that console in the Crucible spouting technological jargon that only a Time Lord would know and ideas that only a Time Lord could begin to conceive of? 

A two-way biological metacrisis. A human being with a Time Lord consciousness. It is brilliant, and of course it would be Donna at the heart of it all. For as long as they have been traveling together, the Doctor has known there was something special about Donna. In a universe as vast as the one they lived in, the Doctor had somehow met Donna twice. He had told her there was something binding them. Donna hadn’t believed him. 

But now… now she is so much more than Donna Noble, the temp from Chiswick. Now she is Donna Noble, the most important woman in all of creation. She is the DoctorDonna, like the Ood had foretold. The Doctor is so proud. 

The Doctor is so afraid.

Humans weren’t meant to hold a Time Lord conscious. The Doctor, however indirectly, would kill Donna if he didn’t act. All 900 plus years of his knowledge and memories would fry Donna's synapses like an egg in a hot pan. She would die, and it would be slow, and it would be painful. 

That she had held up this long was a miracle in and of itself. 

Without Donna, they would’ve all died to the Daleks. With Donna, the Doctor feels like his hearts are being shredded. He leans against a coral support and watches as Donna pilots the TARDIS. Round and round the console she goes, flipping a lever here, spinning a dial there, so much like him, and yet so different. 

It would be like this, the Doctor mused. The universe would give him no breaks. Just when he had someone else, an equal to share his world with, to share his life with, all of it, no secrets, no lies, it would be taken from him. Donna could’ve traveled with him forever, and maybe it wouldn’t have been his forever, but it would’ve been her forever. It could’ve been enough.

But he wouldn’t let Donna end up like Jenny. Donna will live, no matter what.

“I thought we could try the planet Felspoon,” Donna says. “Just because. What a good name, Felspoon. Apparently, it's got mountains that sway in the breeze. Mountains that move. Can you imagine?”

Instead of answering, the Doctor asks, “And how do you know that?” 

Donna grins at him. “Because it's in your head. And if it's in your head, it's in mine.” She turns away from him and continues to fiddle with the TARDIS console. 

“And how does that feel?” The Doctor wonders, briefly, just how deep Donna has dug into his memories in the short time she’s had them. There hadn’t been much time on the Crucible, but now, with everyone dropped off and safe in their respective places, she has had nothing but time. 

“Brilliant! Fantastic! Molto bene!” Donna exclaims. “Great big universe, packed into my brain.” She turns back to him. “You know you could fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot-binding the fragment links and superseding the binary, binary, binary,” Donna's smile fades and her face goes blank. “Binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary-” she gasps and shakes her head, breaking off the loop.

The Doctor straightens and pushes off the coral support. He knew it was coming. That knowledge doesn’t make seeing his best friend in distress because of him hurt less. 

“I'm fine,” Donna says, and then she changes the subject. “Nah, never mind Felspoon. You know who I'd like to meet? Charlie Chaplin. I bet he's great, Charlie Chaplin. Shall we do that? Shall we go and see Charlie Chaplin? Shall we? Charlie Chaplin?” She picks up a phone on the console and holds it up like she’s speaking into it. Donna puts the phone back into the cradle and continues her rambling. “Charlie Chester. Charlie Brown. No, he's fiction. Friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton-" Donna cuts herself off with a gasp again. This time, she folds in on herself, panting. 

Donna is holding her head. She hasn’t straightened from where she’s bent over the console. It must be getting unbearable, the Doctor thinks, as he steps closer. Sometimes his mind, all those memories, all that history and knowledge, gets to be too much even for him, so for Donna the pressure must be nearing excruciating levels. “Do you know what’s happening?” he asks, softly. He knows the answer before she speaks. If it was in his head, it’s in hers. 

“Yeah,” Donna confirms. She straightens up but she won’t look at him. 

“There's never been a human-Time Lord metacrisis before.” Now Donna turns to look at him. “And you know why.” The Doctor finds pieces of himself reflected in her eyes, sees all of his sadness and his guilt lining Donna's face. Does he look like that when he gets lost too deep in his mind? In the darkness that haunts Donna’s eyes, the Untempered Schism flashes, briefly, and he knows time is running short. The Doctor does not wish Donna to see the Schism, even in a memory. 

“Because there can’t be,” Donna whispers. She sniffs and pushes herself away from the console. With her back to him, she walks around the console, flipping more levers as she does. “I want to stay,” she says and she’s back to avoiding his gaze.

He leans on the console next to her, getting close so she can’t ignore him. “Look at me,” he pleads. “Donna, look at me.” 

She hesitates, like she’s fighting it, before she turns to him. “I was gonna be with you, forever.” There are tears building on her bottom lashes, but they do not fall. 

“I know,” the Doctor whispers. 

Donna takes a deep breath. “The rest of my life, traveling in the TARDIS. The DoctorDonna,” she smiles bitterly. 

He continues watching her, but does not speak. There is only one way to save Donna at this point. To save her life, the Doctor has to take all her memories of him. All the ones she experienced herself, and all the ones that were leaking from the consciousness - his consciousness - that was embedded in her mind. 

Something in his eyes must give his plan away, because Donna gasps. Fear and desperation flicker across her face. “No. Oh my god. I can't go back. Don't make me go back,” she pleads. She's backing away from him. 

The Doctor straightens and places his hands on her shoulders. He hates this, hates that Donna is afraid of him, hates that he’s having to hurt yet another person he cares about. 

“Doctor, please, please don't make me go back,” she begs. 

“Donna,” he says and he still hasn’t let go of her shoulders. He knows that if he does she could run and if she runs, she will die. “Oh, Donna Noble. I am so sorry.” And he is. If there was anything else he could do to keep her safe and have her retain her memories, he would. He would have loved to have Donna by his side for so many more adventures. He would’ve let Donna travel with him for as long as she wanted or until she couldn’t anymore. “But we had the best of times,” he says.

They had helped each other become better versions of themselves. Once the Doctor removed all the memories of himself and their adventures, he knew he would be restoring the Donna Noble that he had first met. The Donna who felt useless and trapped in her life as she jumped from temp job to temp job. The Donna who projected being shallow and vain in order to hide the soft heart of gold inside. 

He could only hope that the Donna he had come to know - the one who would sacrifice herself for someone she barely knew, the one who was so kind and so selfless, the one who had finally realized just how special she was - would come back eventually. The world deserved someone like that. 

Donna closes her eyes and the tears finally fall.

“Goodbye,” the Doctor says, softly. Donna is protesting and pleading the entire time as he raises his hands to her face. He puts two fingers on either side of her temples, and he dives into her memories. Her mind is awash in shades of gray and the sadness that echoes burrows down to his bones. The Time Lord consciousness is there too, in the distance, burning bright golden and devouring everything in its path. There are so many memories to clean up and he has to be quick about it. If left alone for even another minute, Donna will burn. 

He takes what he can, pulls those memories into himself and stores them somewhere safe in the back of his mind. What he can’t remove, those memories that are too intrinsically intertwined with the core of Donna Noble, he hides behind a wall, a mental block he builds in Donna's subconscious. It’s not perfect, it’s rushed and if prodded too heavily might crumble, but it will keep her alive. He starts to withdraw, but pauses as he considers something else. 

Just in case, he adds a protective measure to that wall. If it comes under too much stress, a shockwave will be unleashed that will knock Donna unconscious and give the mental block a chance to restore itself. He leaves Donna's mind as gently as he can. In reality, only a few seconds have passed. Donna protests one more time before she collapses forward into his arms. He closes his eyes as he holds her and rests his chin on her head. 

The Doctor lowers them both gently to the floor. He takes a moment to pull Donna’s memories to the forefront of his mind. He skims through them gently and sees himself through her eyes. All sharp angles and fast words and yes, he determines, he does look like that when he gets lost in his mind. Those observations don’t shock him - Donna had never been quiet about her opinion of him, but what does surprise him is the fond exasperation, the love that is infused in and attached to all of Donna’s memories of him. 

From the amount of times they bickered, the Doctor had not expected Donna to feel this way. She had obviously liked him well enough, considering the fact that she stuck around, but this…this love is not fiery, it is not passionate. It’s not a romantic love, no – this love is soft and warm. It is security, it is trust, it is home. 

He can’t stand to see anymore, can’t stand the way that warmth wraps around his hearts and chokes them. He puts all of Donna’s memories into a box, locks it up, and hides it away in the dark part of his mind. With a steadying breath, the Doctor opens his eyes, sets Donna down gently, and begins the process of getting her home. 

The clouds are dark and thick when the TARDIS lands outside Donna's home. He carries her as far as he can before he collapses on the doorstep. He knocks once and hears a clatter as someone hurries to the door. It's Wilf who opens the door, and it’s Wilf who helps him carry Donna up the stairs to her room. The Doctor takes a moment to stand and look at her, to burn this image of her asleep and at peace into his memory before he heads back downstairs.

The Doctor settles heavily onto their couch and begins to explain what happened, to stress how important it is that Donna never remembers him. “For the rest of her life,” he tells them, “you can’t mention me or any of it.” 

Sylvia and Wilf agree. “All those wonderful things she did…” Wilf begins.

“I know,” the Doctor replies. “But that version of Donna is dead.” 

There is a pause as Wilf and Sylvia consider what he’s told them. “She was better with you,” Wilf says, and the Doctor inclines his head in agreement. 

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “I just want you to know there are worlds out there, safe in the sky because of her. That there are people living in the light, and singing songs of Donna Noble, a thousand million light years away,” he trails off, lost in memory for a moment. He snaps himself out of it and focuses back on Wilf and Sylvia. “They will never forget her, while she can never remember. And for one moment, one shining moment, she was the most important woman in the whole wide universe.”

“She still is,” Sylvia protests. “She's my daughter.” 

And the Doctor can’t help the flash of irritation that Sylvia's words spark. Donna loves her mother, and Sylvia loves Donna, but Sylvia has never been particularly easy on Donna. At least not, when the Doctor was around. “Then maybe you should tell her that once in a while,” he snaps. 

Sylvia is regarding him with an expression the Doctor does not recognize. “You love her,” she finally says. The revelation startles Wilf, who looks quickly between the Doctor and Sylvia. 

The Doctor remembers the feeling that was woven into the fabric of Donna’s memories. “Donna is my best friend,” he says, and he knows it isn’t really an answer. “But she’s more than that she’s -” he cuts himself off and presses his lips into a thin line as he mentally flips through all the languages he knows to try and find a suitable description for what Donna was to him. Best friend worked, but it wasn’t enough. When he can’t find a suitable word, he scrubs his face with his hands and looks back up at Sylvia. “I would do it all again,” he says instead. “If it was between me or Donna, I would choose Donna, every time.” 

Before Sylvia or Wilf can respond, they’re interrupted by Donna opening the door to the sitting room. The Doctor leans back and does not look at her. She complains about being left to sleep in her clothes, before she glances at him. “Donna,” she introduces herself, but she’s already more focused on her mobile. 

The Doctor stands, forces a smile and offers his hand. “John Smith,” he says, and Donna shakes his hand, briefly, before leaving the room. The Doctor takes this as his cue to leave. Even though he’s not supposed to, he can’t help but stop in the kitchen on the way out. With Rose, he didn’t get a proper goodbye. Donna might not remember him, but he wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. “Donna?” he calls. She turns to him but she is clearly more focused on her phone call. “I was just going.” 

“Yeah, see you,” Donna replies and then she turns away to continue her conversation without a backwards glance. 

Just like that, Donna slips quietly out of the Doctor’s life, a sharp contrast to how quickly and loudly she had wormed her way into it. 

It’s raining when the Doctor opens the door to leave. Wilf is right behind him. “This will happen for a while as your atmosphere settles,” the Doctor says. “But it will pass, everything does.” He takes a deep breath and turns back to Wilf. “Well, bye then, Wilfred,” he says as he steps out into the pouring rain. 

“Doctor?” Wilf calls, and the Doctor pauses and turns back to him. “I'll watch out for you, sir.” 

And the Doctor is so tired he can’t even bring himself to protest the use of the word sir. “You can’t ever tell her,” he repeats. 

“I know,” Wilfred says. “But every night, Doctor, when it gets dark, and the stars come out, I'll look up on her behalf. I'll look up at the sky, and think of you.”

“Thank you,” he tells Wilf, and he means it. After all, the Doctor supposes that’s better than he really deserved to ask for, not after what happened to Donna and Martha and Rose. Everything he touched seemed to crumble under his fingers. Three times in a row, he had lost his friend, his companion, and the only connecting link was him. He had told Donna that he didn’t need anyone, when they had first met, and Donna had protested that he did. 

Now, the Doctor wasn’t sure he could stand to try again. He turns and heads back to the TARDIS, pulls the door closed behind him, and sets off for the next world. In her memory, he will do what Donna had told him and he will keep going. 

It’s all he can do.