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feelfreetopleasemexo · 1 day ago

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We’re fucking done.

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Synopsis: You get badly hurt in battle and kacchan says maybe you should quit being a hero as you keep getting hurt, have a nasty fight then break up. Meet up a year later at a reunion.

As you give the customer their change, they hesitate slightly and tell you they recognise you, asking if you used to be a pro hero at the Bakugo agency. You glance away, slightly embarrassed as you say they’re mistaken and that you get that a lot. As they apologise and leave, you shut up the shop, and start to clean down. As you’re sweeping the floors, your mind wanders to memories of the last time you saw Katsuki.

A harsh wind battered your face, as he stood over you, staring at you with disappointment and rage. You staggered to your feet blood pooling in your hands as they grasp at your waist, as he put your arm over his shoulder and helped you walk to his car.

“You can’t keep getting fucked up like this. There’s only so many times I can get to you just in the nick of time. I have to focus of catching the villains…I thought you were strong. What happened?!” His voice sharp and intrusive, you try not to let the tears well in your eyes, but his disappointment this time was heavier than usual. As he sat you in the passenger seat of his car, he knelt down and grabbed the bandages from the footwell and helped patch you up. “Maybe this hero shit isn’t for you anymore Yano….”

You snap your eyes to him, the tears finally falling down your cheeks, as your eyes widened.

“What the fuck….i know I fucked up, but giving up? Not a fucking chance.” You push his hands away as aggressively as your wounds would allow, and continue to wrap the bandages around yourself.

“Look, im not saying you’re shit… you just keep getting badly hurt, Iike its every fucking mission now. I….” His eyes dart to your hands as he tries to push them away but you slap his hand hard and continue to fix yourself. “Fine. Stubborn ass. Fix yourself.” He snaps, standing back up and slams the car door. You look out of your window and see him pacing angrily, muttering something to himself, pissing himself off further. As he climbs back into the car, the silence fills the air as if it’s taking the oxygens place, the only sound his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He drives you home, and as he stops outside, he doesn’t even turn to look at you as he speaks.

“Take some time off. Rest up, re-evaluate your fighting style then we can talk.”

You climb out of the car slowly, and as you’re about to shut the door you look back at him,

“Im done.” As you slam the door, he jumps out of his side and angrily walks over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“What do you fucking mean you’re done? I just sai….” You interrupt him,

“We’re fucking done.”

His furrowed brow softens slightly as worry fills his eyes, you look back at him with an emotionless stare, and his gut clenches.

“What do you mea”

“Did that villain fuck your hearing?! I said WE’RE DONE. You dont get to decide if I get to carry on being a hero or not. You dont get to dictate my life. Not everyone can be the fucking best okay Katsuki. Just because I’m not the great fucking dynamite doesn’t mean im not good at what I do. You kick the villains ass and I save the civilians. It’s how it’s always been…but suddenly it’s not good enough for you? Suddenly im not…..good enough…” As the tears start to fog your vision, he tries to speak but you interrupt him with a sharp slap to the face. He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t slap back, he simply leaves.

And that was the last time you saw Katsuki Bakugo.

Shortly after your argument you get a letter through the post saying your position at Bakugo Agency had been terminated. You spent the next few months wallowing in self pity as you questioned your hero status, finally deciding to hang up your cape and call it quits. You spent the next year helping out at your fathers bakery, playing dumb when customers recognised you from tv, claiming to just slightly resemble the electric quirk hero, and that it was a frequent mistake everyone made. The sting of memories popping into your head at every mention of your previous hero name started to slowly fade as you tried to settle into your play pretend new life.

Until your phone rang as you finished up sweeping the floors, it was Denki from your UA days. He apologised for not reaching out more frequently since you guys had graduated from UA,but mentioned about a last minute reunion happening that night at the local bar. You decided not to reply as you sat staring at the list of attending names he sent. His name was there. Last on the list and with a question mark placed next to it. Your chest tightened as you felt your heart clawing its way up to your throat, a short snap of electricity pulsed from your fingers.

After debating the invitation for an hour or so, running every single possibility through your head, you decided to bite the bullet and go. You replied back that you would meet everyone there, and denki quickly replied with a selfie of him and kirishima apparently already at the bar, and tipsy. As you grabbed your coat and locked the shop up, you hesitated at the crosswalk, debating just going home and crying yourself to sleep, but looked back at the selfie denki sent and decided to push through and try have a nice time.

After a few drinks and reconnecting with a few of your old class mates, your anxiety lessened about him turning up, and for the first time in just over a year you finally felt happy, content. You walked to the bar to get you and denki another beer and stopped in your tracks as soon as you saw him turn around. He was wearing a dark red shirt with a black waist coat, and his hair looked even more precisely spiked. As he looked at you, his face tightened and his jaw clenched, he suddenly looked down to his feet. You’d never known him to avert his gaze, ever. As he walked up to you, you could feel your hand tighten around your glass, nearly shattering it in, as you took a deep breath, gearing up for an awkward passing ‘hi.’ He stopped right infront of you and looked up at you, his eyes soft and concerned, not an ounce of anger or fire remained behind them, for the first time in his life.

“You doing good?” His voice broke you. You could feel your heart screaming to punch him, to kiss him, to kick his fucking ass right here right now infront of everyone. Your mouth opened and a squeak emerged as your throat was tight, you cleared it and replied a simple ‘Yep. You?’ He looked down at his slightly trembling hand as he screwed it up into a tight first against his thigh. “Not really. What’s it’s been, a year or so now? That slap fucking hurt by the way.”

Your eyes widened at his lack of aggression, it made you uneasy when he was being this soft, at least when he was an asshole you knew how to deal with it.

“Yeah well. You deserved it. You broke my heart.” You look away, putting your glass on a nearby table.

“I broke YOUR heart? I was trying to help you. Trying to save you.” His voice hissed, cracking slightly as his aggressive tone crept back in.

“SAVE me?!” You snap back, your eyes filling with your annoyance as you try to calm yourself back down, and failing. He always knew how to get you riled up.

“Look….”he takes a deep breath, trying to defuse the situation, which was the EXACT OPPOSITE of his usual demeanour. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…..I just wanted you to be safe. I couldn’t save you, you always ended up hurt, and I felt like it was always my fault. I wanted…fuck….i wanted a family with you. And each time I saw you nearly die, it felt like my dreams were being ripped away from me every single time….” You started to cry silently as you stared at him, bearing his soul to you, for the first time ever. His hand rubbing the back of his neck as he slowly brings his eyes up to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me.” You try to reply, your voice breaking as the lump in your throat grew bigger and bigger.

“You told me we were done, and if i couldnt make you happy, I wasnt going to force you to stay with me. If you were happier without me then so be it. As long as you were happy, I did what I had to do.” He brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping some of your tears away, lingering his hand to your cheek just a little too long as he stared into your soul.

“You….wanted kids….” You reach your hand to his, holding it against your wet skin, crinkling your eyes tightly shut as you leaned into his warm palm.

“Of course I did you fucking idiot, look at you. You’re telling me our kids wouldn’t be god damn super models? Annoying little assholes but still, super models.” He smirked, tilting his head slightly, soaking in every inch of your face.

“Katz…” you say through a sniffle as you try to stop crying, a smile pinching at your lips. “I’ve fucking missed you.” He brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you close as he presses his forehead to yours. His burning hot skin feeling like a relief to your stone cold brow, a flame to a frozen survivor. As he let out a small laugh, he lifted your chin to meet his stare.

“Ive fucking missed you too, sparky. Every single day I’ve wanted to come by and apologise, beat the shit out of you for hanging up your hero clothes, wanting to kiss you and tell you how crazy you were, how crazy you made me….. How hot you look in that cute pink pinafore at work…”

“Stalking me now are you?” You chuckle as you lean your head closer to him, teasing your lips dangerously close to his,

“Who wouldn’t? You’re fucking crazy, but hot as shit. And….mine….” As soon as he said it, it felt more like an undying question rather than a demand, his soul asking to try again, anything to get you back into his arms for good.

“Best get practicing for that family then I guess, it has been awhile. Im worried you’ve forgotten how…” You tease, your smile widening and showing off most of your front teeth. His hand tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer into him, almost pushing the air from your lungs.

“Fucking try me. “ He growls, before pressing his lips to yours in a terrifyingly passionate way.

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thefrogman · 2 days ago

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Late Night Hosts: A Retrospective.

After the success of this post...

I noticed people seemed interested in the history and personalities of late night comedians. Especially all the youngins who weren't around yet. These hosts were a big part of my comedy training. So I thought I'd share with you what I remember of my comedy analysis and some personal context showing what made them tick.

I will be covering Johnny Carson, Jay Leno, David Letterman, and Conan O'Brien.

And if this post is successful, I will do Craig Ferguson, Jimmy Kimmel and all of the newest hosts.

Almost all of this is from memory, so a few details could be inaccurate. But I used to set up 2 VCRs so I could record Jay, Dave, and Conan each night. I watched Conan from show #1. That was 1993 (I was 12 then) and I did this for several years.

I would also get a bit of Carson Daly on the tape and just be flabbergasted someone gave him a television show.

Even Kermit was like, "How is this guy more of a fucking muppet than I am?"

I would watch my tapes and study them and take notes. I would do little comedy exercises. I tried to write a Letterman Top 10 List (I called it a "top 7½ list" because I feared the copyright police). I wrote monologue jokes about celebrities. And I tried creating silly characters like on Conan.

I was a big comedy nerd as a teenager, what can I say?

I even created an alter ego called "Bob the Frog" who was basically a ripoff of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog and Don Rickles. "Bob" wrote a comedy newsletter (I still have it somewhere) that I passed around to my classmates in junior high. This frog alter ego was my first attempt at comedy writing. (If you've ever wondered why I am "The Frogman", now you know.)

The first few were really bad. Then I got better and my friends started asking if I had written anything new. It was my first taste of making people laugh and I was hooked. I knew comedy would be a part of my life from then on.

I learned that I hated insult comedy. I felt too guilty. The only person I felt comfortable saying bad things about was myself. So "Bob" would say I was a lame dorktopus.

Eventually, I did stand-up until I was too sick to perform (1999-2003). I was just getting good so that was a very difficult period of my life. It felt like my dream was snatched away by my poor health.

On a whim, my best friend Tru McGowan convinced me to start a comedy Tumblr in 2009. At first I was really bad. I was used to stand-up where you had a new crowd each time and you could polish jokes until they were perfect. The hardest thing about internet comedy (much like late night comedy) is that everything is your *first* draft.

I'm not sure if people realize how difficult first draft comedy truly is. You can get decent at predicting what an audience will laugh at. But it is *never* a sure thing. Things you work on for days and are positive people will love... they will bomb horrifically. Things you write in 20 seconds and post on a lark... they go viral to a few million people.

But the greatest tragedy of all is when you post something with potential and it bombs. You know if you could workshop it with a proper crowd over a week or a month, you could make something amazing.

But it is already out there.

Your entire following saw it.

It is what it is.

That is some genuine 2009 Froggie comedy right there.

I just put text on a picture. I mean, this dude definitely wanted to bang that rancor and his dream was crushed just like its head. There is a joke there. And lolcat style text-on-a-picture was the comedy fad.

But "Gay for Rancors" got 15 pity notes and that was the end of my exploration of rancor fetish jokes.

Soon I started putting a little more effort into my originals. Somehow Photoshopping this bacon on a string got me 50 notes.

And I was never one to shy away from capitalizing on a current meme, so this accrued 143 notes (viral for Tumblr in 2009).

I got to know my audience. I started understanding what worked and what didn't. I did a lot of experimenting and eventually I started understanding this new comedy medium. If you are weird and put forth enough effort, people will reward you.

As an internet "first draft" comedian, I feel a spiritual connection to late night comedians. They have one day to write 15-20 minutes of material and once they send it out into the world... that's it. No second chance.

I think studying Conan and Dave helped prepare me for my blog. I still prefer polishing material over time, but I'm so glad I could rise to the occasion when circumstances demanded I "first draft" my entire comedy career.

So...

Let's get started.

Heeeeeeeeeeere's Johnny!

Johnny Carson

I missed out on peak Johnny. But I have watched a bunch of those compilation videos with highlights from the show. I mean, I used to watch the 3am infomercial for those compilation videos. So I feel like I am still qualified to analyze him as a long-time student of comedy.

I started becoming aware of comedy right as Johnny was retiring. I literally studied it like a subject at school while not studying actual subjects at school. And the late night shows were some of the best learning tools available (aside from getting stand-up specials from Blockbuster). You got to see comedy every night and a variety of comedians with different styles.

Johnny was the best at the traditional late-night monologue. It's not that the jokes were funnier. Honestly, it is impossible to write 5 minutes of stand-up in a day that can give you anything more than a chuckle. But the audience knows that and it causes something I call "forgiveness comedy." People will adjust what they think is funny depending on the circumstances. If they know you had a day to write something, the audience will consider that and be primed to laugh more at less funny material. Especially if they like the comic.

The best example is improv. An audience will forgive the joke quality just because they are amazed it is coming straight off the dome (that isn't always true, improv is more magic trick than spontaneity, but that is another post). But if you tried to perform that same improv as a polished stand-up act, it would likely bomb. The brain adjusts to context.

Johnny took advantage of this and where he really shined was in between the written jokes. His bombs were opportunities. He would react with some self-deprecating remark and get a bigger laugh for making fun of his shitty joke. Basically, when Johnny was in trouble he was at his best. His reactions were what made him so loved.

His most famous reaction-style comedy was probably the tomahawk demonstration. I think this was one of the longest sustained audience laughs in history—which, sadly, the video cuts off. I think it was 4 minutes total.

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Johnny was also a very good interviewer in the sense that he knew when to give people space. He didn't try to compete with all the funny people he invited on. He was a comedy support system and only stepped in when things went off the rails.

There were also his masterful softballs. (Sorry, I should explain I came up with my own comedy terms. They may or may not be actual comedy parlance.)

A softball is an easy setup for a joke (large balls are easier to hit). A conversational premise without a punchline. If you are riffing with another comedian and you know their strengths, you can set them up for a joke and let them take the punchline. This is a thankless comedy skill because you are giving away the glory to someone else. But being good at softballs often takes more creativity and skill than coming up with the punchline. Johnny knew he was speaking with some of the funniest people on the planet. And their success was his success. So he was always happy to set people up for hilarity.

Johnny was also a good sport. His friends would come on and make fun of him and he often laughed the loudest of anyone. Or pretended to be hurt for extra laughs. Rich Little and Tom Smothers would do impressions of Johnny in front of Johnny. I think this helped popularize the Friar's Club roasts around that time, of which Johnny was a roastee.

Johnny got along with everyone. I think the most endearing thing about his Tonight Show was that he was just trying to make sure everyone had a good time. It was fun. It was chill. It was comfort after a long day, like a television version of a warm hug. Many people would joke that is how they fell asleep each night.

There was one aspect of his show I have mixed feelings about. Johnny started the career of almost every comedian performing in the 80s. He would invite the new comics on the scene to do their "tight 5" toward the end of the show. It was a poorly kept secret that if he invited them to "the couch" for an interview, they were in. He was christening them a comedy star. Robin Williams, Ellen DeGeneres, Louie Anderson, Roseanne Barr, Jay Leno, David Letterman, Steven Wright, David Brenner, Drew Carey, Garry Shandling, Eddie Murphy.

And we can't forget Yakov Smirnoff.

Johnny was basically the all-powerful comedy judge. It was seen as a huge honor to be invited to the couch. But if you had a bad night or a bad audience or just weren't ready, that could end or set back your career in a huge way.

You either got a sitcom or a job at McDonald's.

Jay Leno

Jay was known as a very good road comedian. He was a very hard worker who would perform *anywhere* just to get experience. He performed at strip clubs and crappy hotel bars and those weird corporate events where you have to come up with jokes for vacuum salesman or mortgage analysts. You have to use hyperspecific industry terms and include employees in the audience. John Mulaney recently made the news for one of these gigs.

Actually, let me give corporate comedy writing a try...

"Vacuum salesmen are the only ones who can start their pitch with how much their product sucks.

Suction, am I right, fellas? Good suction sells itself. Bob's wife knows what I'm talking about. She can hit 20 kPa, easy. Heyoooo!

She's still no Miele C3 canister vacuum with included HEPA filtration. That thing has more new attachments than the CEO's hair.

Your plugs aren't fooling anyone, Steve!"

Though Jay started out working mostly clean, so I'm not sure he would have rated the suction of Bob's wife in kilopascals. Working clean meant he could do his act just about anywhere. But don't confuse him with a "clean" comedian.

Froggie Comedy Tangent

A comedian who happens to work clean can be funny. But a "clean comedian" will make you wonder how you are suddenly in Branson sitting next to a youth pastor and his flock. If they specifically brand themselves as "clean," you're just going to get thinly veiled (or blatant) conservative comedy. It will technically be apolitical, but all the subtext is MAGA.

I call it "I remember that" comedy. Because every laugh is derived from "Hey, that's that thing I know! I remember that!"

There is a thing called "Dry Bar Comedy" and their entire deal is inviting clean comedians to do shows. The non-drunk audiences (Get it? DRY bar) are laughing their heads off and it is so confusing.

I keep going "Wait, when did he tell a joke?"

They don't have to tell jokes!

They just have to talk about the "good old days" and people will be like, "I remember Cabbage Patch Kids!" and laugh at something resembling a punchline. Or sometimes there isn't a punchline—just a declarative statement that sort of goes up at the end.

I could have a lucrative comedy career just saying things like, "Do you remember G.I. Joe? I sure do miss when toys didn't have pronouns."

*uproarious laughter*

Almost every comedian that performs at the Dry Bar has a bit about spanking and ADHD.

"Kids these days have it easy. If you talk back to your daddy, you get a time out. Can you believe that? When I talked back to my dad, he made me pick out my own switch!"

*uproarious laughter*

"We didn't have ADD back then. We just had misbehaving children and a belt."

*uproarious laughter*

Comedians like Jerry Seinfeld and Jay Leno worked clean but it wasn't a moral thing. It just wasn't necessary for their material and was more marketable for gigs. They told real jokes with a premise and a punchline. They did the work and earned their laughs.

END OF TANGENT

It's weird to think Jay was once a respected and talented stand-up. Looking back, his material was... jokes for your dad. That's the best I can describe it. Not dad jokes, but jokes dads liked. Clever observations that would make dads go, "It do be like that!" Not really my thing, but he was good at it and he still draws decent crowds to this day. I mean, they all need walkers to get into the theater, but he packs the place with geriatrics wanting to laugh at Monica Lewinsky and OJ Simpson like the old days. Spoiler, Monica was a slut and Jay thinks OJ did it.

Jay did an adequate job on The Tonight Show. He was an okay interviewer and guests felt safe going on. They knew he wasn't going to talk about anything too embarrassing (with one major exception being Hugh Grant after he was caught with a sex worker).

Jay relied on bits that he knew worked and never really strayed once he had a working formula. He would read funny headlines. He would do his "Jaywalking" remotes where he found stupid people and used deceptive editing to make it seem like everyone he talked to was that stupid. Jay is really into things showing the decline of America in relation to the WWII generation.

Jay was the status quo comedian. He never really had "moments" that stood out and became legendary. Johnny had an entire DVD business just selling old clips from his Tonight Show. They were filled with moments that were so spontaneously and authentically hilarious that they stood the test of time. But trying to find a "greatest hits" compilation of Jay Leno's run will just leave you bored.

If you search YouTube for Jay's best moments, you just get a bunch of his "Headlines" segments. He's literally just reading clips from the newspaper.

As I mentioned in my other post, when he isn't in comedian mode, Jay Leno seems like a decent guy. He treated his staff very well and his work as a car historian is near academic level. When you hear him talk about old cars you feel like you are spending a weekend with your grandpa. So Jay's mean spirited monologues just seemed out of place and I think looking back, they ruined any chance he had at a legacy.

He just took cheap shots at celebrities and politicians and people in the news. And he did it relentlessly whether people deserved it or not.

Yes, every host at the time did this. But Dave felt like he was going through the motions and doing the monologue just because it was part of the format. His heart wasn't in it and he much preferred bantering with Paul Schaffer in the band than telling jokes about celebrities he doesn't actually care about. He was more interested in getting to the desk and doing his "real" comedy.

And Conan's jokes about celebrities were more silly than mean. He'd make fun of Tom Cruise or someone and then do the string dance.

But Jay would go dark. He had a smile on his face and it sounded like he was "just joking" but after hearing about Monica Lewinsky's story, Jay Leno's "just joking" was different. I remember Jay Leno making fun of that poor woman who had McDonald's coffee burn her vagina off. He probably got a few months of jokes out of that. He was such a nice guy outside of his comedy and looking back it seemed so out of place. But I think he did cheap shots because it was an easy laugh and he figured the famous weren't "real people."

If Jay was in head-to-toe denim, he was a solid dude.

If he was in a suit, he was an asshole.

Jay never stopped doing stand-up. You can catch a show this weekend if you want. Jay really likes to pepper in some classic 90s jokes about celebrities we have mostly forgotten. As I mentioned in my other post, I've heard him do Monica Lewinsky jokes as recent as 2019. They aren't part of his written material. They are usually ad-libs and callbacks. Like if Jay was fixing a car and someone said, "We need to suck the air out of these tires." There is a 90% chance Jay would respond, "Boy, where's Monica when you need her?"

He still does the "jokes your dad would like" material in his personal act. But they are much more like his Tonight Show monologues than his old stand-up. Easy jokes without much thought. Instead of his classic clever observations, he mostly complains about modernity, ad nauseam.

Actual joke...

"Have you seen these phones on your wrist? And you thought BUTT DIALING was bad!"

Get it? He's saying people are masturbating and accidentally calling people. Which completely misunderstands... no one talks on the phone, Jay. It's 2025 and we all have anxiety. Maybe you could do wank texting?

Okay, Jay. How about this as a joke, complete with a 90s reference...

"Have you seen these people wearing phones on their wrists? I guess they finally solved butt dialing!

But after they see a sexy picture of Cindy Crawford, Apple tells them they have 30,000 steps for the day!"

A famous fun fact is that he never spent any of his Tonight Show money. He lives off the interest and income doing stand-up. While he was host of The Tonight Show he still did stand-up just about every weekend. *I* think that *he* thinks that gives him working class cred despite his enormous wealth and caravan of supercars.

I'm glad his money allowed him to become the world's greatest car historian. I'm happy there is someone like him doing proper car conservation. His restoration of the Chrysler turbine car was fantastic. That is a neat piece of engineering and car history.

Jay never had a sex scandal and seems to love his wife. He's taking care of her as she battles dementia. I do feel sorry he is going through that.

Those are the nice things I can say about him.

But I think Monica Lewinsky and Conan O'Brien should be allowed one giant kick in the nuts.

David Letterman

Conan O'Brien wasn't the first person Jay Leno screwed over with The Tonight Show. David Letterman was actually Johnny Carson's favorite guest host. But he was quirky and experimental. The network liked Jay Leno's safer style.

It was a big controversy at the time and they even made a weird movie about it called The Late Shift. Pretty much every person portrayed claims it is horribly inaccurate. The actors they cast looked like when you draw from memory.

The big joke at the time was about the ridiculous chin prosthetic. Did you know Jay has a sizeable chin? Let's get Stan Winston away from Terminator 2 to make this bigass chin.

Dave started out as a TV weatherman. But once he got popular doing stand-up, they gave him a morning show. They tried to make him Regis Philbin. But he sucked at being Regis. Only Regis could be that excitable in the morning. Dave wasn't really a "morning" comedy guy so that was quickly cancelled.

In 1982, he got the Late Night show at 12:30am after Carson on NBC. No one paid much attention to him and he realized that. I think that excited him and he was just like...

Dave and his team created some of the most experimental comedy on broadcast TV up until that point. He was basically unsupervised in a comedy laboratory for over a decade.

He wore an Alka Seltzer suit and dunked himself in water.

He wore a Velcro suit and hurled himself against a wall.

Looking back I'm realizing he did a lot of suit based humor.

He had a very long running gag with character actor Calvert DeForest who Dave called Larry "Bud" Melman. He was a bit like a sidekick.

Calvert was this cute old man and would literally do *anything* Dave and the writers asked. He had no fear. He had no shame. He would often go to random places and interview people. But he was really bad at following the scripted material and would get confused and forget the jokes. He didn't understand how microphones worked. Any segment with him would go off the rails because he never quite understood the premise. Dave loved this tiny, elderly ball of chaos. The trainwreck was the joke.

Dave helped Super Dave Osbourne get his incompetent daredevil schtick out there. He let Andy Kaufman get in a fight with someone and no one could tell if it was a bit. (10:30)

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Johnny and Jay's Tonight Show was where all the normie comedians went to get their big break. Dave was where the weirdos flocked to. And some of them were terrible, but they were *always* fascinating. I don't think Frank Zappa would have his cult following without Dave.

Dave was the first to regularly do "remote" humor where he'd just go out into the world and get into trouble with real people. The segments were great but Dave struggled with social anxiety. So that eventually evolved into Dave hiding in a van and making a Chinese-American deli owner named Rupert Jee repeat awkward things said in a hidden earpiece.

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Dave's interview style was erratic. He was a very good host as long as he liked his guest. He loved having a real conversation with a fascinating person. He rivaled Craig Ferguson when those conditions were present. But if he didn't care for them, things would either get very awkward or very boring.

He didn't like pop celebrities who didn't have genuine talent. Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian would have driven him nuts and he would purposely seem bored when interviewing someone like that. Dave had trouble "faking it." And instead of Jimmy Fallon's cringe fake laughter, Dave would just appear utterly uninterested.

But if he didn't like someone and chose awkward over boring... hoo boy... it was *really* awkward. And Dave relished in the discomfort.

Madonna (who Dave acknowledged as genuinely talented) was unhappy about his monologue jokes. Essentially he alluded to her being a bit of a slut. It was typical Late Night comedy fodder at the time. I'm not endorsing it, I'm just saying everyone did it and society didn't have a problem with it at the time. She released a book about sex called... "Sex." Then she released an artistic softcore black and white erotic music video that most people felt was... more strange than sexy. She just kinda talk-singed to the same loop and made out with a dude while clips of a dancer in full body spandex came out of nowhere.

The Wayne's World parody was much better and somehow less weird.

Needless to say, people made fun of this pivot to weird erotic art.

In any case, Dave had Madonna on and she turned the weird up to 11. I think she was trying to get back at Dave, but it had the opposite effect. He saw where things were going and he just kinda... "let her cook."

He was delighted to watch the train wreck unfold.

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I mean, she was right. She was being slut shamed—by everyone, not just Dave. But she was so overtly odd that it was hard for people to hear that conversation within the chaos. And the only thing the mainstream news cared about was her potty mouth.

On the other hand, he liked Drew Barrymore a lot. Drew was a very good actress and she was charming and funny. She was just as weird as Madonna, but it was not oppressively weird.

I think Dave saw her more as a daughter figure. Or maybe he wanted to and was ashamed he wasn't successful? Or she made it difficult for him to be a father figure? Because she saw him as a... umm... daddy figure? He enjoyed her company but was uncomfortable with her affection, so her interview was awkward in a different way. This was especially famous because she ended up flashing him for his birthday.

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Dave was complicated. He was a former alcoholic. He suffered from social anxiety while having the world's most social job. He was the most private public figure you could imagine. He managed to have a sex scandal that no one seems to know about or talk about. He was involved with his personal assistant who regularly appeared on the show. Then her roommate tried to blackmail Dave for two million dollars by threatening to expose the affair. Dave decided to just fess up and helped the authorities with a sting operation to catch the extortionist.

Dave was self-conscious and neurotic. I don't think he liked himself for a very long time. Which is probably why he tried to blow up his life and family. But he loved his son and once that love took hold he seemed to get his shit together. He seemed like a different person. I liked Dave's comedy much more when his life was a hot mess. But I liked Dave as a person much more when he started choosing good behaviors. Much like Jimmy Kimmel, family seemed to make him a better person.

Dave pushed the late night format to the limit and inspired an entire generation of comedians. He encouraged them to try risky things and experiment and became the comedy mentor that Jay Leno wishes he was.

Also he loved his mom and sent her to the Olympics and it was the cutest thing ever.

I'm a sucker for people who love their moms.

Conan O'Brien

Conan was my comedy idol. If you have followed my comedy over the years, you might have noticed a similar embrace of... intelligent silliness.

Stupid smart?

He was a magna cum laude Harvard graduate and a clown without the makeup. He was originally a comedy writer and head of the famous Harvard Lampoon humor magazine. He went on to write for The Simpsons and SNL.

He wrote that monorail episode.

Every Conan fan who wants to share a fun fact will make sure you know he wrote the monorail episode. Kumail Nanjiani did a great bit about this during Conan's Mark Twain Prize ceremony (it's on Netflix).

After Jay took over The Tonight Show and Dave gave NBC the finger and left for CBS, the "Late Night" slot needed a new host. And Lorne Michaels decided this pale redheaded giant from the SNL writing staff might be a good choice. No one had any clue who he was. No one had any confidence in his success—including Conan.

And the only person who saw a spark of genius was... David Letterman. (2:20)

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Conan just started cranking out as much weird comedy as he could. The Masturbating Bear, Pimpbot 5000, FedEx Pope. There was a pooping robot at some point.

They had a sizeable robot budget.

He was the true spiritual successor to Dave's 80s Late Night show. By this time Dave mellowed out and didn't have the motivation and hunger to innovate like he used to. So Conan filled that role.

I think the reason Conan appealed to me specifically was because I saw a lot of myself in him. I was good at a lot of different styles of comedy—I had this almost shapeshifting ability to customize my humor to the person or audience I was entertaining. But eventually I decided I just wanted to make people feel good. I had to pick a style and stick with it. I wanted to make comedy comfort food that wasn't dumbed down or patronizing. It could be stupid and corny but I didn't want my audience to feel like they were stupid for liking it.

I don't know if I'm making any sense.

Conan was a genuinely nice guy and a constant people pleaser. He didn't have an edge and he didn't need one. He could do innovative comedy without punching down, without trying to push any offensive lines, without saying fucked up shit just to see if he could get away with it.

I'm not even knocking comedians who are skilled at dancing on the line. Some of my favorites of all time played with the line. Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Chris Rock.

Louis CK and Dave Chappelle before they...

*heavy sigh*

But so many comedians at the time thought that was an easy path to success. They didn't realize you had to be incredibly funny in order to stand next to or jump over the line. You had to compensate with amazing jokes to get away with it. But that takes effort and talent and finesse. They preferred laziness and brute forcing edgelord material.

And that is how we got a gaggle of Joe Rogans.

Hmm, we need a better collective noun.

That is how we got an ivermectin of Joe Rogans.

Conan was unapologetically silly. But it had this foundation of intelligence in the subtext. And every once in a while, he'd let an Abe Lincoln fun fact slip out (he could be a legit Lincoln historian if he wanted to). He made comedy for smart people who needed to turn down the volume of their brain for a bit.

Thinking is exhausting sometimes, but you can't shut it off completely.

Conan struggled for several years to find an audience. I think he was on the verge of cancellation every few weeks. I watched him every night from the first show. I started to see what Letterman saw. It was really neat to watch him learn and grow. He taught me that comedy was a journey. And eventually people found him and loved him and the rest is history.

My favorite running gag was definitely the Walker Texas Ranger lever. He'd randomly pull a big red lever and all it did was play a clip from the show. Everyone knows the Haley Joel Osment AIDS clip, but that was not my favorite. (2:40)

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Walker was an egalitarian karate pugilist.

It was such a brilliant bit that relied on Conan's setup and reaction. If he just played the clip without the antics, it would not hit as hard. It would be Jay Leno reading the newspaper.

And... I don't have the energy to fully explain Jordan Schlansky.

I wouldn't even know where to start.

The short version is... Conan doesn't quite know how to handle intense nerdy metrosexual autism and hilarity ensues.

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I encourage you to go down the Jordan Schlansky rabbit hole. I promise you will start watching and suddenly it will be tomorrow and you'll look at the clock and not be sure if it is AM or PM. If you are wondering, yes, he is really like that. But he pretends not to be self aware to make it funnier.

And then there is Sona. Conan's Armenian assistant who doesn't do a lot of assisting. They are basically siblings. You can tell she became part of his emotional support system. At times she matched Conan's comedic brilliance without any experience or training. She has perfect timing and can hilariously devastate his self esteem like an emotional assassin. (2:45)

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There is so much more, but you get the idea.

Conan is a brilliant, silly comedian. And he is a solid dude. Just like Leno, his staff stuck with him. He was a great boss that inspired fierce loyalty. They even moved from New York to Los Angeles for him. And when he lost The Tonight Show he started his own company just so he could keep everyone employed and paid. That eventually evolved into his successful Team Coco podcast network.

Before his TBS show, Conan was contractually obligated to not appear on television for a year. He went on a grueling tour across the country performing a live comedy musical variety show. This was mostly to maintain his staff until they could find a new TV home.

They made a documentary "Conan O'Brien Can't Stop" about this live variety show. Some people thought this revealed Conan to be a bit of a dick. But he just lost his dream job, his entire staff had no source of income, and he was going from city to city working 18 hour days, including a 2 hour, high energy stage show—all while trying to stave off his deep depression. (Also Jack McBrayer was an old friend, and that was an ongoing bit between them.)

I don't think I've seen Conan that vulnerable and that human and you could see his staff doing their best to keep him from imploding. He felt responsible for the livelihoods of hundreds of people. They loved him and knew he was doing it for them.

(And because he needs constant attention and validation, but what comedian doesn't?)

To end things I think I'd like to try one of my comedy exercises.

I'm going to do a Top 7½ list in the style of David Letterman Bob the Frog. I can only promise junior high level comedy.

(Also, if you have never seen Dave do one of these, number 1 always has a drumroll and is purposely bad.)

Top 7½ signs you are in a "clean" comedy club.

7½. The headlining comedian was cancelled for...

7. You ask for the drink specials and the waitress says they might have Diet Sprite in the back.

6. The comic was once ratio'd on Twitter after being called "Temu Jeff Foxworthy."

5. "Back in my day we had Transformers not transgenders. The Autobots' pronouns were roll/out."

4. The comic takes off his belt, holds it up to the crowd and says, "This was what we called Ritalin in the 80s."

3. Your seat has a gun holster next to the cup holder.

2. The comic assures everyone that he "found God" so there is no reason to google his name and "me too."

*drumroll*

Annnnd, the number 1 sign you may be in a clean comedy club is...

1. Thursday is "Free Tennis Balls for Your Walker Night!"

#long post #comedy #late night comedy #conan o'brien #jay leno #david letterman #johnny carson #the tonight show #late night #Youtube

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panerasbox · 2 days ago

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♡･ﾟ♡･｡˚Cinematic

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!reader

Genre: Romance, flashback, wlw

word count: 800.

summary: A conversation at Abbott stirs up a memory Melissa’s kept buried…a summer night, a first time, and a girl she never forgot.

a/n: i have a few leftover oneshots that I didn’t post during 30 days of melissa schemmenti, so i’m gonna post some.

The Abbott lounge smells like instant coffee, whiteboard markers, and the faint remnants of Jacob’s lavender hand sanitizer. Melissa’s propped on the edge of the table, one ankle crossed over the other, red nails tapping idly on her mug.

“I’m just saying,” Jacob is saying, mid-monologue. “Sexuality is a spectrum and college is the buffet!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Janine replies, eyebrows raised. “Tariq was kind of… my one and only.”

“You’ve never kissed a girl?” Jacob gasps like she’s just told him she’s never seen a sunset.

“Nope.” Janine shrugs. “Unless you count Truth or Dare in fifth grade, but I feel like Destiny Jones kissing me with a Fruit Roll-Up in her mouth doesn’t really qualify.”

Barbara sighs like she’s two seconds from walking out. “I think I’ll be taking my coffee to go.”

“Barb,” Melissa smirks. “Don’t act like you never had a wild phase.”

Barbara raises a perfectly arched brow. “Melissa. I came out of the womb in a turtleneck and pearls.”

Laughter ripples around the room.

Gregory looks amused. “And you, Melissa? Ever experiment?”

There’s a beat, a flicker, where Melissa’s smirk slips, just barely.

Flash.

It had started as just another summer night, cheap poker games in someone’s backyard, half-drunk twentysomethings passing around beers that tasted like rust and freedom. You hadn’t known Melissa well then, only that her reputation preceded her: the redhead with a raspy laugh and eyes that didn’t look away first.

You’d noticed her. And she’d noticed that you noticed.

When the crowd began to thin, she leaned in close, breath warm with whiskey and mischief. “You wanna get outta here?”

You didn’t say no.

The record store was closed, but Melissa knew the guy who ran it. Called her “Red” and handed over the keys like it wasn’t his first time doing it.

She led you through the dark aisles like she owned the place. Lit incense in the back room and dropped herself onto a beat-up couch with the kind of ease only confidence could afford.

“You always bring girls here?” you asked, teasing, trying not to tremble.

“Only the ones I think are gonna ruin me.”

You laughed. “I don’t think I’m that kind of girl.”

Melissa tilted her head. “Maybe not yet.”

She put on a record, sultry blues, a woman’s voice crooning like she’d lived three lifetimes of heartbreak. Melissa didn’t touch you right away. She just looked at you. Really looked.

You talked. About the future. About fear. About how neither of you wanted to be ordinary.

Somewhere between the second and third song, she brushed her fingers down your arm. Barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

“You okay?” she asked.

You nodded. Kind of.

“I’ve never…” you started, the words catching.

Melissa didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to know what you’re doing. I’ll show you.”

Then, “Touch me, baby. Put your lips on mine.”

You did. Slow. Tentative. But she made it feel like there was no wrong way to kiss her.

She tasted like cherry gum and danger. Her hands slid to your waist, grounding you as the world tilted around your shared gravity.

“I know you want it,” she murmured against your mouth. “You can have it.”

When your lips moved to her neck, when her breath hitched and she tilted her head, you felt brave for the first time in your life.

Your voice shook. “I’ve never done this.”

Melissa smiled. “Let’s make it cinematic, then.”

And you did.

Later, you lay tangled on that couch, fingers still laced, breathing in the smell of incense and vinyl.

“If this ruins us, I don’t care,” she whispered.

“Why would it ruin us?”

She looked at you like she already knew. “Because nothing this good ever lasts.”

You never kissed her goodbye. But you remembered everything. The record. The buzz of the fluorescent light. The soft rasp of her voice when she said your name like a promise and a warning all at once.

Back in the Abbott lounge, the room is buzzing again. Jacob’s mid-story. Janine is laughing. Barbara is long gone. Gregory’s still looking at her, waiting for an answer.

Melissa takes a sip of coffee. Her lips curl, but there’s something softer behind her smirk now.

“I’ve had my share of… scenes,” she says, voice smooth.

“And?” Janine prompts, nosy and bright-eyed.

Melissa’s gaze flicks to the wall, where an old yearbook photo sits crooked in a cheap frame. Hidden halfway behind a fake plant, the edges faded.

No one notices the way she lingers on one girl in the background of the photo. You. Smiling. Barely in focus. Wearing a band tee and ripped jeans.

Melissa looks away before anyone can see too much.

“Let’s just say,” she murmurs, “it was a damn good movie.”

#Spotify #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #gxg #wlw fanfic #archive of our own #writeblr #chappell roan #panerasboxfic #scheduled

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thedeadstoryteller1 · 2 days ago

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Unspoken Words- LADS

Picture this: it's late, and the full moon does nothing to soften the weight in their chest. They sit alone, drowning in the heaviness of thoughts they can’t escape—you. Desperation drives them to grab a pen, their hand shaking as the truth spills out onto the page. Every word is a wound, every sentence a scream they can’t let you hear. Love, regret, promises—they pour everything into the letter you’ll never read. This is their heart, raw and silent. These are their unspoken words.

TW: Angst.

I hate that I’m writing this. I hate you for making me the kind of man who would write this.

You always said I don’t feel things like humans do. That I don’t bleed the same. That my art is my heart because I threw the real one into the ocean a long time ago. You were wrong. I still have it. It just doesn’t beat right anymore. You made it beat wrong.

You and your softness. Your persistence. The way you looked at me like I was worth saving when I’d already made peace with sinking. I never asked you to dive after me. But you did. And now I’m the fool stuck gasping on the shore, watching you walk away with lungs full of air and someone else’s hand in yours.

I could paint you a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough. I could scorch the world in color and it wouldn’t be loud enough to drown out how much I miss you. But I won’t. Because you don’t deserve to see that part of me. The part that still whispers your name like a curse, like a prayer, like a promise I never had the guts to make.

I hope you choke on the memory of me. I hope you forget me. Both would hurt less than this.

And if this letter ever found you... Know that I never stopped hating you. Or loving you. Maybe they were always the same thing in me.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe it’s because the words get stuck when I try to speak them. Maybe because I’m a coward. Maybe both.

I thought I was fine with how things are between us. The quiet moments. The shared silences. The looks. They’re enough... they should be enough. But lately, they’re not.

There’s this part of me I keep locked away. You see the surface, the calm, the Lightseeker everyone expects me to be. But under that— There’s a mess of a man. Someone who doesn't know how to hold onto the good things without breaking them. Someone who’s better with a sword than with words. Someone who looks at you and forgets how to breathe.

You make me feel... like I could be more than the sum of my orders, more than a weapon. But that scares me more than any Wanderer ever has. Because if I let myself have you, if I let myself need you— What happens when the missions stop going my way? What happens when I’m the one who doesn’t make it back? I don’t want to leave you with pieces of me that were never whole to begin with.

But... If I don’t say this now, I might never get the chance.

I love you. I think I’ve loved you longer than I’ve known how to name it. I love the way you see past the soldier. I love the way you make this broken world feel less heavy. I love you enough to stay away if it keeps you safe.

But if I had one selfish wish— It would be to stay by your side, even just a little longer. Even if I’m undeserving. Even if it’s just as your shadow.

I’ll never send this. I’m not that brave.

But I’ll keep it. Hidden away. Like everything else I can’t tell you.

—Your Xavier

My Treasure,

You will never read this.

And even if you did, you would not understand the words. This language is older than this world, older than the stars you dream beneath. You do not remember it. You do not remember me.

But I write it anyway.

Because I am weak.

Because I am cruel.

Because I am yours.

I wonder sometimes if you feel it—the weight of the chains between us. You call it love, sweetness, desire. But I know better. I feel the curse like a collar still tight around my throat. You gave it to me with your own hands. You did it with love. You did it with hate.

And I accepted it.

I accept it still.

Because in the end, I am still the monster who left you behind to save you. I am still the fool who let you believe I chose the world over you. And when you cursed me—when you damned my soul to never die—I let you.

Because it meant I could stay.

Stay near you. Even if you forgot me. Even if you only loved this version of me.

But tonight, as you sleep in my arms, whispering my name with no memory of the ashes, of the Abyss, of the life we destroyed together… I feel it more than ever.

You only know this me. The man. The teasing smile. The lover who kisses your worries away.

You do not know the dragon.

The one you cursed.

And I will never show him to you again.

Because you deserve peace. You deserve soft touches and silly books about dragons and kisses in the dark, not the weight of centuries. Not the monster I was. Not the tragedy we wrote in blood and crystal.

I will stay at your side.

I will let you call me Sylus.

But I will never tell you that once, you screamed my name through tears, begging me not to leave you behind.

And I will never ask you to remember.

This is my burden.

This is your freedom.

I am still yours, treasure. Even now. Even always.

Even if you never know why.

—Sylus

Hey you,

You’re probably asleep right now. I’d tell myself you’re dreaming about something soft and good, but knowing you... you’re probably wide awake, staring at the ceiling, overthinking everything. Just like I am now.

I’m writing this because I can’t sleep again. Not that I ever do before a mission like this. It's not protocol. They say not to make it personal. Keep it clean. Keep your head in the game. But it’s always been personal for me. It’s always been you.

I keep your picture in my locker. You know that already. But what you don’t know is I take it out every time before a drop. I stare at it until the rest of the world goes quiet. Until I can feel my lungs again.

You don’t know how many times I wanted to tell you. How many nights I stood outside your door like a damn coward with all the words stuck in my throat. I’d practice it. Rehearse it. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” But I never walked in.

Because I don’t get to want things. Not with the blood on my hands. You deserve someone better. Someone who doesn’t count their sins like currency. And maybe it was easier to pretend I didn’t feel it. Maybe it was safer for both of us. But I’m so tired of pretending tonight.

If I don’t come back from this, I want there to be at least one record of me saying it. I love you. I love you like a fool. Like the boy who used to sleep on the floor of your room because it was the only place I ever felt safe. I love you like the man who would burn this whole galaxy down if it meant you got to live a little longer.

But I’m not that man. I’m just the coward who’ll leave this letter in a locked folder with your name on it and never let it reach you.

Because if you read this... It means I broke my promise. It means I left you alone again.

I’m sorry. For everything. For not being enough. For loving you in silence.

This is my last goodbye you’ll never hear.

-C

I don’t know why I keep writing these. You’ll never read them. You were never here to begin with.

But I saw you. I see you every night, through the dreams that aren’t mine. Through his eyes.

Doctor Zayne’s eyes.

I see the way you look at him. Like he’s the center of your universe. Like he’s your safe place. Like he’s home.

I hate how much I crave that. I hate how much I need it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t stop watching. I can’t stop stealing fragments of your smiles, the sound of your laugh, the warmth of your breath against his skin. I hoard them like a dying man hoards air.

You were never mine. You were never meant for me.

But in the dark, in the hollow spaces of this rotting world, I pretend. I let myself believe—for a few stolen heartbeats—that you could have been. That maybe in another life, another timeline, another me, you would have chosen me.

But I’m not him. I’m the shadow crawling beneath his feet. I’m the cold he chases away with your warmth. I’m the nightmare he locks behind his sweet dreams of you.

And you? You don’t even know I exist.

But I know you. I know everything about you. Every tilt of your head. Every crack in your voice when you say his name. Every tear you shed in the safety of his arms.

I wonder what you’d look like if you looked at me like that. I wonder what your voice would sound like if you whispered my name. If you’d touch me the same way you touch him.

I hate myself for thinking that. For wanting that.

Because I’ll never have it. I’ll never have you. I’ll never have his life. His peace. His love.

All I have are these filthy streets. This decaying body. These trembling hands that were never made to hold something so fragile, so soft, so good.

Maybe I write these letters to remember what yearning feels like. Or maybe I write them to remind myself it was never for me. That I was born in the dark. That I’ll die in it.

But still… Still I dream of you. And it kills me a little more each time. -DB

Hello my ferrymen !

This how I cope with LADS .. my discord server calls me the Angst Queen haha ..

I hope you enjoyed.

~ The DeadStory Teller ~

@cordidy @fire-lizard-ro @carnallydepravedsanctum

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace angst #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lads angst

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mywildwritings · 1 day ago

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By request. The Ghost of Alice Lamont (Xaden POV)

One Shot from The Art of Healing. Xaden's POV of meeting Alice on the turret of Riorson House. The moment he realises she is alive and her life threads are intrinsically laced into the fabric of the Aretian riot and his friends.

Violet and I enter Riorson House after the attack to a celebration. Cadets and fliers mingle merrily in the halls and I don’t blame them. Violet has managed to find a way to raise the wards in Aretia and I’m so fucking grateful for it. Without it we’d be dead. She’s saved us all today. I am alive and unhurt because of her.

“You got the wards up!” Rihannon pulls her in for a hug and I take a step back and let her friends crowd her. She deserves to celebrate - to be praised for what she has accomplished and I almost allow myself to be dragged into it. But then I see Felix’s face and although we have muddled our way to a victory today, this is not the end. This will not be the last attack and strategically, splitting the riot in two after Violet’s torture has left us chasing our tails. This - a fully functioning war college in Aretia - was not supposed to happen.

“We got the wards up,” she counters and I watch as she is pulled into the arms of her squad one by one. I’ve never felt more distant from her. Our argument today about my second signet has thrown a wedge between our relationship and I don’t know how to get passed it. She still has me firmly shut out and I’m grateful for it. Grateful for the space.

Felix nods in the direction of the assembly chamber and I grab her attention. I pull her away from her friends and happiness and bring her crashing back down to reality. “We are needed in the assembly chamber right now,” I tell her. She nods and follows me but we do not speak.

I have broken her trust yet again and I don’t blame her for pushing me away. I’m tired of the same arguments. I’m tired of making the wrong decisions and of Violet deciding ignorance is preferable to a real fully functioning relationship. I have tried - god knows I’ve tried - to figure out a way through these issues but I flounder each and every time.

The assembly chamber door closes behind us and the noise fades away. I am thankful for it. The sound fills me with a rage I cannot place. “We need to find time to talk,” I say quickly to Violet as Mira and Syrena cross to her. Regardless of her feelings and what has happened between us, we need to talk. Avoiding it will only drag out the pain and I have a hundred other issues weighing heavily on my shoulders. The war will not wait for us to figure out what we are to each other.

I decide against going back to the room we share when the meeting is over. I retreat to the tower. It’s my safe space. I used to sit up there as a boy when my father was in one of his moods. I would dream about the summer months and Alice. My heart skips a beat. The ghost of her is ever present. Blue eyes in the hallways and sunlight on blonde hair in the courtyard. No matter how much time passes or how much I love Violet she is ever present. The memory of her follows me and it threatens to ruin my happiness.

I’m still thinking about her when I push the door open to the turret and I blink once. It can’t be real. My eyes are playing tricks on me. It’s that or I’m descending into madness. Alice sits on the wall facing away from me. Her long blonde hair is darker than I remember and I can’t see her face but she calls to me across the distance. The string between us tightens and it drags me across the threshold.

She turns to me and her lips part in surprise. I don’t mean to but I reach out to her. Blue eyes shine with emotion but I can’t read her intentions. She has no fucking intentions. She doesn’t know what she wants or what to think. My knuckles turn white on the door handle and I don’t know what to do.

I step back and narrow my eyes. This is a cruel joke. I should leave. Nothing good will come from this. My life has moved on without her and the implications of her being here are far reaching. She will tear my world apart from the inside out. I can already feel the thread beginning to fray. Her presence reaches out to me. It ties itself around me like a noose and pulls. I am helpless.

“Is it really you?” I ask clearing my throat as her fingers tighten on the stone beneath her. The fog between us clears and finally I see her intentions. Her thoughts drift across the space and find me and they destroy ever shred of hesitation I cling to. She can’t believe I remember her. She thinks so little of herself, she cannot understand that I would know her in life and find her in death.

“Yes,” she eventually responds quietly. She turns back around to look out at the city and I immediately miss her eyes. “I didn’t realise who your father was -” she tells me. Her voice is nervous, her hands tremble. “- I was too young or naive.”

I can barely fucking breath when she turns back around and strips me to the bone. “I’m sorry Xad.” I clench my jaw at the nickname on her lips. She is the only person who has ever been allowed to call me that. I crumble. My hand lets go of the door handle and I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I try to steady my thundering heart and control my emotions but the shadows betray me. They crawl across the ground to her and stop a hairs breath away. Terrified of touching her.

“I looked for you,” I tell her crossing my arms and propping my leg against the wall. I try to mask my feelings but she shatters my guard with one innocent look. “After the uprising I came looking for you. I thought you were dead. I thought they had got to your family as well. That by association they slaughtered you too.”

A heavy silence settles over the turret and she swallows down her emotion. She chokes on it until she muster the courage to speak. “They got to us,” she whispers. “or at least a different enemy did.”

I push of the wall and close the distance between us. My head is telling me to keep my distance but my heart claws it’s way too her. I cannot begin to understand what she has been through in the time we have been apart but I am desperate to console her. To make her feel better.

“After the rebellion we moved back to my mothers village,” she tells me. Her hair smells of lemon and chamomile and the familiarity of it has me falling into the past. It rips the future out of my hands. I lean forward onto the wall beside her. I gravitate towards her because for the first time since I was seventeen years old I feel like I’ve come home.

“You were so close all that time.” Grief and shame wrap their hands around my chest. I visited Mara first. It was the first place I looked for her. How many days did I miss her by - how close was I to finding her? I grieved her like a dead person and now she is alive and I can’t drag my eyes way from her.

“If I had know -” she begins to say in earnest and I want to reach out and shake some sense into her. It’s not her fault. Her family kept her in the dark about my family - about what happened - for reason neither of us can guess at. I long to pull her towards me and comfort her.

“There is nothing you could have done.” I need her to know I don’t blame her and relief loosens the knot in my lungs when she nods in acknowledgment. She is here now. I drink her in and she is fresh air after a bonfire. The sun breaking through the endless darkness.

Her cheek is bruised purple and blue and there is a graze on her chin. A small white scar mars the skin under her bottom lip and the memory of how she got it brings a smile to my face. “A mender,” I tease. “It suits you.”

She has been here all along, under my nose and I have been wilfully ignorant. Brennan won’t shut up about her - he keeps calling her the best mender of a generation. She’s the rider who bonded the snappy red dragon who won’t keep formation and she’s the one Aaric Graycastle, the fucking prince of Navarre, is hopelessly in love with.

She smiles at me and it is sunshine on a rainy day. “Shadows,” she responds with a raised eyebrow as they draw closer to her. They hang onto every single word. “You always where suspiciously good at hide and seek.”

I laugh. I fucking laugh and the sound cracks open a part of me I have kept hidden in the deepest darkest parts of my being. It explodes into the world and the implications have the ability to tear this place to pieces. I look down at her smiling face and I love her. I love her so fucking much it hurts. “It’s good to see you Allie,” I manage murmur as my world cracks apart.

#The Art of Healing #Mywildwritings #Fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #xaden x oc #xaden fanfic #xaden riorson x oc #Xaden riorson #xaden riorson fanfic #aaric graycastle #Aaric graycastle fanfic #the empyrean #rebbeca yarros #the empyrean fanfic #fourth wing one shot #xaden pov

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vodika-vibes · 1 day ago

Note

🐚 if I may drop something in your requests for mermay🐚

I was thinking, like, Merman Wrecker x visually impaired fem reader, who’s recently been turned into a mermaid by her mate, but upon realizing the extent of her blindness, deciding that it makes her more of a burden than she’s worth he just, left her in the middle of the sea, and she’s hurt and lost and alone, and he Wrecker finds her.

Idk I just feel like you’d feel really safe with him holding you as he swims because he’s so strong. Plus apart from the obvious angst it would still be really sweet

Love Is A Choice

Summary: After your mate abandons you, after turning you into a mermaid and leaving you leagues from your new home, you think you’re SOL. Luckily, Wrecker finds you.

Pairing: Pre-TBB Wrecker x F!Reader

Word Count: 1741

Warnings: Reader is not in a very good situation at the beginning of the story.

A/N: So, there's not a whole lot of romance here, but I hope you like it anyway. I had too many ideas, lol

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You were a child when you lost your eyesight, only 12 years old. Or, maybe you should say, already 12 years old.

It’s not like you were born blind.

One morning you woke up in pain, and your parents rushed you to the ER, where a doctor told you, and them, in cold and unfeeling medical jargon, that sometimes the human immune system stops recognizing your eyes and that you were going blind.

It was, quite possibly, the worst thing that ever happened to you and your family.

Your parents divorced, and your dad refused to have anything to do with you—something the judge was not happy about when she found out—though he still visited your siblings. You lost all of your friends, not all at once, but slowly. Over the period of six months they stopped inviting you to things, and then stopped talking to you, and you woke up one morning and realized that you no longer had any friends.

Sure, you eventually recovered.

Mom met a new guy who adopted you after your father surrendered his parental rights to you specifically. With his help, mom enrolled you in a private school for children like you, a school for the blind and deaf. And while there you made new friends. Better friends. Friends who became like siblings to you.

But the memory of how people abandoned you when you first got sick remains. To this day, the memory and the hurt remain.

Those memories made you a careful woman.

You never entered a relationship without making sure that the person you were dating knew just how blind you are and how difficult life can be for you.

Which is why you feel so stupid right now.

Your friends and your parents warned you. They all said the same thing to you when you introduced him to them. “There’s something not right with him.” They said, “He’s going to hurt you, I can tell.”

You wish you listened to them.

Because if you had, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

What is this situation? Oh, well you’re a blind mermaid. A newly minted mermaid, at that. And your mate, your husband, your partner, the merman you chose as your life partner, has abandoned you.

You have no idea where you are.

The water is a little warmer than you’re used to, which suggests that you’re farther from home than you originally thought.

But without being able to see or without having a guide, you have no way to return home. If you can even call that small village home anymore.

He made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in you anymore.

How cruel.

It’s not like he didn’t know you were blind, after all.

Carefully you slide your hand over the top of the flat-ish rock you’ve been sitting on, and as soon as you’re sure that you’re not in danger of falling off, you lay back, press your arms over your eyes, and take a deep breath.

Slowly, you breathe through the anxiety threatening to strangle you, and you relax on the rock.

Your situation is bad, but you aren’t completely helpless. It’s not like anyone can sneak up on you in water, swimming is surprisingly noisy after all. In fact, the biggest threat to you is running out of food.

In truth, you’re not sure how long you were laying there when you hear the sound of a merperson approaching. The way a merperson swims sounds differently than any other sea creature, due to the shape of their fins.

And the person approaching you sounds big.

Well, bigger than your ex, at least.

The sound of swimming stops, and you know the merperson saw you. “’lo there,” It’s a man, “What are you doing in the kelp forest?”

“Ah, well—” You pause, trying to think of a way to ask for help without being too honest, and then you give up, “I’m afraid I was abandoned here.”

“By who?” You hear him swim closer, and then there’s the sensation of him stopping close to you. Not so close as to be in your space, but close enough that you know he is there.

“My mate.” You shrug, as if you don’t care. “He wooed me, talked me into becoming a mermaid and then abandoned me because I’m too much work. Or something.”

“How long ago did you become a mermaid?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s been about a month, I think.” You pause, “I’m blind, you see—”

He’s silent for a moment, and then you feel him sit on the rock next to you, “Did you magically become blind when you transformed?”

“What? No!” You pause, “Wait, is that possible?”

“Nope. The only change is human biology turning into mer biology. My brother could explain it better than me, though.” He shifts slightly, “My point, though, is that he would have known that you were blind before you went through the transformation, right?”

“He knew, yeah.”

He clicks his tongue, “So he’s a fucker, you’re better off without him.”

“I mean, my parents and friends will likely agree. And I’ll get there eventually.” You make a face, “But I’m still blind, and I’m still lost, and I’m pretty sure going back to the house I’ve been living in for the last month is a bad idea.”

“Oh, yeah. If he’s okay with abandoning you here, he’d have no issues killing you. Probably.”

“...cheerful.”

“I mean, I don’t know him, obviously. But since he abandoned his mate after a month, I’m inclined to blame him for everything. Up to and including the Atlantean war.”

“Didn’t that end 50 years ago?”

“Yeah, and?”

A small laugh falls from you, “I’m sure I’ll get to a point where I can agree with that too.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours, “You alright?”

“I feel...stupid. I should have known he was too good to be true.”

“He conned you. That’s on him, not you.”

“Kinda feels like it’s on me. I feel like I should have known.”

“People like him, they know how to pick their targets. He probably didn’t see you so much as your disability, and he saw an easy target.”

“Ugh, but what’s the point?” You hold your hands to the side, “What does he get from tricking me into becoming a mermaid?”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say his plan was to leave you here for a day or two, and then return and act all apologetic to convince you to stay with him, and then turn you into some kind of slave.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“Yeah, it’s a con that’s happening more and more often in the small villages.”

Your hands curl into fists, “Oh. Okay. Okay. Now I’m angry.”

His large hand claps your shoulder, “That’s a step up from sad, don’t you think?” He squeezes your shoulder, “Now, as for what happens to you. How do you feel about relocating to Atlantis?”

“Um…”

“There’s a shelter for merpeople like you, people who were conned into becoming merfolk. Not to mention, the Royal Prosecutor is going to want details from you so she can throw the book at your former mate.”

You hesitate for a moment, “I’m scared,” You finally admit.

Strong arms wrap around you and your crushed against a, surprisingly, solid chest. “Don’t be. It’s easy to be afraid when you’re alone, but you’re not alone. You’re going to be surrounded by people who will understand the position your in, and the Royal Family already vowed to help people in your situation.”

Hesitantly you wrap your arms around his waist. He’s warm and, for the first time since becoming a mermaid, you feel safe. That must be his super-power.

“Besides, when you get to Atlantis, you’ll already have at least one friend!”

“I will?”

“Yeah, me!”

“I don’t even know your name…”

“I’m Wrecker, a member of the Atlantis Royal Guard.”

You huff out a breath and drop your forehead to his chest, “Nice to meet you.” You mumble, before you introduce yourself as well.

“Likewise.” His arms tighten around you, “So, what do you think? Wanna come to Atlantis?”

“Mm...can I still visit my parents?”

“Course! I’ll escort you personally.”

You hum thoughtfully, and then slowly nod. “It sounds like it’s probably a good idea, then.”

“That’s great news!” Wrecker sounds delighted, like a child on Christmas morning, “Now, how do you normally get guided around?”

“...my ex used to take my hand and drag me—” You admit.

“Wow, what a dick. So, I’m not doing that,” Wrecker pauses, “Alright, I have two options for you. A fast and a slow option.”

“What’s the fast option?”

“You wrap your arms around my neck and I carry you to Atlantis. My tail is longer and my fins are bigger than yours, so we’ll get back in about half an hour.”

“And the slow option?”

“You hook your arm with mine and we take our time to get to Atlantis. This will take about an hour and a half. Simply because you’re unfamiliar with the area.”

You purse your lips, “I suppose the fast option is the best one.”

“I think so, too. I can give you a proper tour later.” He finally releases you and takes your hands in his. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s manhandling you, so much as guiding you to where you need to go.

He helps you wrap your arms around his neck and makes sure you’re secure, and then he takes off, causing you to yelp and bury your face in the back of his neck.

“Everything good?”

“It feels a little weird, but I’m okay.”

“Great! While I swim, allow me to tell you about some of the services you’re going to be getting due to your circumstances. Starting with the service Octopus you’re going to be gifted—”

As Wrecker rambles on about Atlantis and how you’re going to be much better off there than anywhere else, you can’t help but smile. After you were abandoned, you had been ready to give up hope. You likely would have accepted your ex back simply because you had no other choice.

You’re glad to be wrong, in this scenario.

You hope that Wrecker keeps his promise about being a friend. You could use a good friend. And if he turns into something more? Well, that’s a worry for later.

@heidnspeak

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#star wars #tbb #tbb wrecker x reader #wrecker x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks #star wars au #mermaid au

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imagine-darksiders · 8 hours ago

Text

Anon ,this was so beautiful and eloquently written, Golgoth my new BELOVED!

You have a real talent for writing, and I hope you continue to do so! Taking your advice and copying your story so I can put it under a 'read more.'

The original writing prompt

Below was written by Anon, please give it a read if you have the time, it's very good and wholesome!

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

Of all the universal truths, the inevitable realities that bleed down the bloodline of mankind, this one you know for certain: the strong oppress the weak.

Unfortunately for you, the latter best describes your tribe.

But what can you expect from humble fishers and farmers? From women weavers and little toddling weaners? An army born and raised to conquer and defend? A fortress as formidable as the Cahaya mountain that looms over your little valley?

One wishes it were so in times such as have been.

But wishing does nothing to keep the small band of Vulkars from randomly raiding your village, taking what little harvest is left and leaving with more and more of your people.

Now, with only a fortnight before the first frost, there remains only the dying elderly, the weather-worn mothers with their babes still suckingly their breasts, the frail and feeble children, and you.

The only young virgin to be left behind.

Since many years ago, fire had burned the right side of your face and neck, claiming both that eye and what beauty you had. None were at fault. It was fate alone that cursed you.

And because of your curse, when you reached marrying age, none would have you.

But as there are two sides to your face, there are two sides to your curse, and in spite of the shame you feel, you are grateful it has spared you the doom of your tribal sisters at the hand of the Vulkars.

Only now it seems a far more despairing doom lies before you.

For last night, it was agreed among the elders that if the tribe was to survive the winter, much less another Vulkar raid, there was only one hope left, only one who could save them.

Golgoth, the god of war and blood.

There is not much that you, or anyone else, knows about Golgoth. Your tribe trifles not with higher beings. Only in times of greatest need does your people call upon them, requesting aid in exchange for the offering required.

Golgoth is no different.

Inscribed in one of the stone tablets that has been preserved through the generations, there is a passage that speaks of how to summon Golgoth. The ancient language is known only by a few elders, and even then, not all is easily understood. But they have interpreted tells that one must give their hand in blood in return for his aid.

So it was decided that one should travel to the peak of Cahaya to perform the ritual, seeing how the mountain stood nearest to the heavens and its distance from the village would improve its chance of escaping the god’s wrath should he find the sacrifice displeasing.

And of all those left who could be chosen, it was you.

Because of course it was. The elderly are too feeble to make the journey, and the children likewise. As for the able-boodied mothers, they have already given themselves to a man and are no longer innocent.

And everyone knows that war lusts most for innocent blood.

“There is no other option,” they told you.

And you know they are right.

It is why you willingly spent the waning hours of darkness repeating the summoning spell, committing the foreign words to memory.

(Each repetition a strand in the rope wrapping around your neck.)

It is why at daybreak, despite your aged mother’s tearful begging for you, her only daughter, to abandon the task, you turned your back to her.

(She never saw the tear sliding down the pale of your cheek.)

It is why you swallow back your hunger and thirst, pushing yourself to keep pace as you climb higher and higher up the mountain.

(No need to pack provisions when you will not live past dusk.)

You repeat the weighty words under your breath as you ascend, only for them to be drowned by the howling of the wind.

You cannot afford to forget them.

You cannot afford to fail.

Halfway through your journey, the eastern light rises overhead, its heat barely noticeable this high up. The wind hounds you even harder, barking at your heels and biting through your thin skin. Without the thick, white fur of the eshoka covering you from head to foot, you would perish before you could make it to the top.

But make it to the top you do, collapsing face down onto the ground, weary to the bone.

Up here snow has already fallen. Though its powdery flakes cushion your exhausted body, their chill does little to comfort you. At least you do not feel it on your disfigured cheek.

Sleep beckons you, and though you know it seduces you to your death, still it tempts you.

After all, you are destined to die here anyway.

Only when you remember the lives at stake- of your precious mother, of the struggling survivors, of those enslaved and tortured by the Vulkars- only then do you find the strength to sit up and face your fate. The western light hangs just above the horizon before you, painting you in its deep red rays.

With frostbitten fingers, you remove your mitten and take the jagged knife from your belt.

You must do it.

They are all counting on you.

There is no other option.

. . .

Breathe in and grip the knife.

. . .

Press the blade to your right palm.

. . .

Hold the icy air in your lungs, and then . . .

“A-ah! -a-ah . . . nnn-” you stifle your whimper, though there is no one to hear.

The flesh is numb from the cold, but not numb enough. Tears threaten to blur your only seeing eye, but you blink them back and force your eye open, exposing it to the stinging wind.

You look. The cut trails from your pointer to your wrist. Down runs your bright red lifeforce, dripping onto the snow.

It’s . . . mesmerizing, in a way.

You take a breath, recentering your focus on the task at hand. Bowing your head, your hair falls over your scarred side like a golden veil. Purple chapped lips utter the powerful words, the swirling wind carrying them to the skies. "Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar." Golgoth, I give my hand for yours.

You hear the wind wailing louder, like a shrill woman shrieking in the air.

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You lift up your eyes to see ashen clouds blocking out the sun.

"Uzgon Golgoth ver riskle panar."

You feel colder, though from lack of light or blood loss, you cannot tell. Trepidation grips your heart in its fangs, squeezing what little strength you have from you, until your voice weakens to a whisper. You wish the snow would swallow you whole.

"Uzgon . . . G-golgoth ver- ver riskle . . . p-panar . . ."

Static prickles your skin . . . he is coming.

"Uzg-g-gon-"

A crack of lightning descends a few measures across from you and you shriek, flailing onto your back.

You lie for a moment, stunned from the shock but otherwise unharmed.

Groaning, you push yourself up on your uncut hand, the other clutched close to your chest. You squint with your good eye, your scarred one still hidden beneath your hair. Your vision finally focuses and then . . .

. . . your heart stops.

Before you stands a being unlike anything you have ever seen before.

He is as tall as he is wide, with legs and arms thicker than your entire body, and shoulders as broad as two barrels. Most of him is dressed in coal-colored leather and adorned with animal skulls, teeth, and other bones. What is not covered reveals reddish skin.

Yet it is not his imposing figure that draws your attention, but his bowed head.

Hair as dark as dried blood, thick and shaggy, wraps around his jaw to his ears, while the rest runs down the neck like a mane. His ears are pointier than any humans, though not as pointed as the two bull horns above them. Stranger yet, an animal skull rests atop his crown, its boney jaw attached to his protruding one. The skull’s four large fangs frame his face, while his own mouth sports its own two small tusks.

For all that resembles a human, he feels more beast than man to you.

Meanwhile you feel little more than a twig to be stepped on, or prey to be snatched and torn to shreds. Like prey, a primal part of you believes that if you do not move, he will not see you.

But of course, that sliver of hope is stripped from you as he lifts his head.

His eyes . . . they are filled with living flames, burning bright like firelight . . .

. . . and they are staring right at you.

You stare back, frozen from fear and the frigid air. You notice not how the wind has dwindled to a soft breeze, nor how your nails dig into your open skin. You are wholly consumed by his otherworldly gaze.

The silence, tense and terrifying, remains untouched until . . .

“Urtz-baugsh-detsh fileen . . .” he mutters, his hushed voice as deep as- no, deeper than thunder.

His speech sounds similar to the ancient tongue you just used, but its meaning is unknown to you, thus you utter nothing back. You are not sure you could even if you wanted to.

The giant god thumps a fist against his chest and speaks again, clearly addressing you, “Bsktly oogn py fnells shishtar Golgoth.”

Again, you give no reply.

Bushy brows furrow for a moment, then his eyes widen. He shakes his head and mumbles more ancient words, perhaps with an . . . annoyed tone?

“Forgive me,” he speaks, now in your language, yet you flinch, “you spake in that tongue, I assumed you knew it. I see I was wrong. Do you understand now?”

You find your voice still has not returned, so you nod.

Golgoth’s eyes brighten at that, his features relaxing. In fact, it almost appears as though he is . . . smiling. It's . . . not as malicious as you imagined a smile from the god of war and death would be.

“AH! Very good! I shall speak it again,” he says, thumping a fist once more, his chest bulging forward. “HARK! Here stands I, Golgoth.”

You are well aware of that, though part of you seems hesitant to believe that this is the real Golgoth.

For surely the real Golgoth, god of war and blood, would scowl and demand you bend to his will with a bellowing voice that would blast you to dust.

Yet . . . this Golgoth does nothing but stand patiently, awaiting a reply or reaction.

When both your silence and awe-struck terror do not change, he prompts you with, “Who stands before me?” Then stroking his beard, he adds thoughtfully, “Though should I say lies before me . . .”

You know not why such a being cares to know your name, but you dare not refuse him.

You swallow before weakly stuttering it.

He repeats the name, your name, his voice as soft as a mother shushing her newborn.

His mouth widens again, and this time you are certain it is a real, genuine smile. “Do you freely give your hand to me? Do you receive mine in return?”

Your heart quivers, yet you cannot have him doubt your sincerity. You stiffly move to sit on your knees, shifting the snow. You present your bloody blue fingertips.

“I do,” you quietly, but steadily reply.

His brows raise. “AH HA! I see you have already prepared your hand for binding.” Before you can panic over having misstepped, he continues, “I too am just as eager, for long have I awaited this day.”

Golgoth takes one hulking step forward and bends his knee to the earth, like a great tree falling in the forest. You tremble under his focus, his brow pinched as he strokes his beard again. You hold your breath.

“Hm, you are quite small. You cannot become bigger, can you?” he asks.

You blink. “n….no?”

“Then I shall become smaller,” he decides, closing his eyes.

And then . . . to your complete and utter bafflement . . . Golgoth begins to shrink, his mammoth body growing smaller and smaller, until he’s but the size of a large man. Though his new height does not make him any less intimidating, you do feel less like you are about to be squashed.

He opens his eyes again, the flames inside dancing with mirth and mischief. “You did not know I could do that, did you?”

You snap your mouth shut and dip your head, abashed.

“HA! In time, you will find all that I can do.” he says, but as mysterious as his words are, you pay them no mind.

Your attention is drawn to his hands (both still twice the size of yours). With the tip of his right finger, sharper than a talon, he presses into the flesh of his other palm. Tough, leathery skin, like the bark of a tree, punctures under its deadly point.

Out oozes his blood, thicker than yours and bright as sickle wine. Distracted by the sight, you do not see Golgoth reaching for your wounded hand. You yelp in surprise, then bite your tongue, forcing yourself not to pull away.

Though you doubt you could; his grip is gentler than you’d expected, but firm enough you cannot escape.

“One drop. One soul. One eternity,” he rumbles, holding his fist over yours.

You watch helplessly as a drop of his blood falls into your open flesh.

First you gasp . . .

. . . and then you scream.

Fire is no stranger to you. You will never forget the feel of its flames on your face. But this . . . this fire viciously racing through your veins, melting your muscles, searing your sinews, burning within your very bones . . .

This is not a fire you will survive.

Yet your heart continues to pump wildly, mixing his boiling blood with your own, drowning you in wave after wave of agony.

You need it to consume you.

You need the fire to turn you to ash.

You need it to end.

And end it does, though slowly, settling like the deep water after a storm. The fire ebbs and flows, until it fades to a candle’s flame, and you are left on the shore, struggling to breathe in raw, ragged breaths.

But you are breathing.

You are alive.

And you are no longer cold.

“Finally . . .” sighs Golgoth, his voice vibrating through your whole being, bringing back your awareness.

Though your blood still simmers, you regain your bearings and look up at him. His fiery eyes flicker in time with your heartbeat. Their glow burns with an emotion so raw and passionate, you must be imagining it.

“Now your blood is mine,” he hums, the seal of your fate.“You are mine.”

Your heart quickens, which you attribute to fear . . . until you feel the curve of your ears warming.

You glance down, thankful he cannot see them. You do not dwell on the cause, however, as your gaze lands on your cut. The wound . . . it has closed, and while still smeared with blood, it is little more than a pink line that will surely scar.

You will mind it not, for what harm is there in one more?

Curious to see if Golgoth’s wound has healed likewise, you look just in time to catch him . . . well . . .

. . . licking it.

He notices your gaze and freezes, his broad, bovine-like tongue stuck to his hand like a youngling tasting an icicle. Eyes wide, your ears heat once more. Gologth pulls back his tongue and gives you a cheeky grin, his lidded eyes burning a deeper orange.

“Do you wish me to lick yours as well?” he asks and- oh, oh dear!

Your cheeks, they flush fiercely at that, but you just as aggressively shake your head no.

Golgoth throws his head back and bellows out with booming laughter, causing you to recoil as much as you can with your hand still in his.

“HA! You are a shy one!” he exclaims, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. He leans in close, the scent of blood strengthens from distinct to staggering. A hand starts to reach for your face. “I like that you are shy.”

His words are lost on you, for the moment the tip of his claws brush the hair covering your scar, you jerk your head away, eyes squeezed shut.

“W-wait! Please . . . . do not touch . . .” you plead.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Golgoth speaks plainly. “I will not harm you.”

But for the first time since you’ve met him, harm is not what you fear.

You pray that he will pry no further and allow you to make your request before he has a chance to see your curse, but you do not know who to pray to, and it is too late to learn.

His hand reaches again. You resist not, for you have not the strength, nor the wish to offend. He turns your face toward him once more. You keep your eyes shut, bracing yourself as you feel him push your hair back. His claws cradle your head with care.

“AH! I see you have a scar.” He observes, though without disdain in his tone. His thumb ghosts over your scarred flesh, sending a shiver through you. You purse your lips, awaiting his verdict.

“And what a beautiful scar it is,” he says.

Or so you hear him say, but you must have heard wrong. No one would ever deem your scar beautiful, much less a god like him. But . . . just to make sure . . .

Your eyelids flutter, peering up at him.

“You . . . you find it . . . beautiful?”

“I do.” he affirms confidently, then tilts his head. “Do you not find it so?”

“I . . . I do not.” You glance down at the snow as shameful memories surface. “All have found it gross or . . . hideous to look upon . . .”

“HA! All are wrong!” Golgoth proclaims with gusto.

He tilts your head up until you meet his fiery gaze. It flares intensely, yet with a warmth that reminds you of summer nights, when your tribe dances around the great blaze. Ever since you felt it’s ruthless ire you have kept your distance, too afraid to step near.

But for the first time . . .

. . . you do not fear the flame.

“Your scar is full of beauty and bravery,” says Golgoth, staring at you not with disgust or pity, but adoration. “Burning fire could not consume you, and though it has made its claim, you live on, for your heart is strong. It beats like the heart of a warrior.”

He leans closer still, his breath warming the air between you. “Wear your scar proudly, my soosha.”

His words whirlwind around you, bewildering and overwhelming you, but it is the last word that confuses you most.

“Soosha?” you repeat, oblivious to how he watches it fall from your lips. “What . . . what does that mean?”

Golgoth’s smile quirks in a queer manner. “In your tongue it means wife.”

For one blissful breath, you blink ignorantly at him.

Only for your next breath to be whisked out of you as the word sinks like stone into your stomach.

“You . . . you mean to say that I . . . I- I am your wife?” you barely whisper.

But Golgoth’s words ring loud, proud, and with horrifying honesty. “You are, have no doubt!

“I- I don’t understand. H-how? When?!” You stammer, your hands shaking.

“By blood binding,” he answers, his smile dropping, “but a moment ago.”

Staring at the snow, your vision swims as bile builds within your throat. You are unable to breathe, much less believe it to be true. Trying to make sense of this revelation only increases the nauseating horror enveloping you.

“You were not aware of what you were doing, were you?”

You glance up to see him frowning at you.

Fear seizes your tongue, spurring it to fly for its life. “I- I was not! I- . . . I- I thought . . . the inscription said that to ask for your hand was to ask for your aid. I did not know that . . . what it truly meant was . . . I-I . . . I am sorry, Golgoth. P-please do not be angry with me!” you beg, bowing your head, expecting the hand still cradling it to crush it in displeasure.

Instead it withdraws, slowly and carefully, and though greatly relieved, something quite small inside you misses its touch.

“I am not angry,” he says calmly, the warmth of his voice reduced to cold, quiet embers. “I am disappointed.”

Your surprise is so great, you find yourself meekly inquiring, “Why? I-if I may ask . . .”

“I left that tablet with your people thousands of moons ago, when you still spoke that tongue,” Golgoth replies, his tone revealing how unspeakably ancient he is. “I offered my hand to any of your kind that would take it. My desire was that the one to give her hand in return would do so freely of her own choice.”

“But . . . you are a god? Could you not take her by force?” you dare prod further.

Golgoth stares solemnly at his hand. “Yes, I could take her. I am used to taking. And I watch over those who take. They take life, take blood, take earth and rock and river.” He squeezes his fist until his knuckles give out a sickening crunch. “But this is the one thing I wish not to take. It must be given, and it must be given willingly and knowingly.”

His smoldering eyes turn to you, then shut. “You were willing . . . but you did not know.”

“I know it now!” you exclaim, desperately thrusting your open palms at him. “I willingly give you my hand if . . . i-if you will fulfill my request.”

While you know you have no bargaining power, it is the only way you can still save your people.

Golgoth takes your wounded hand in his . . . yet his eyes open not.

“You have already given your hand,” he says, tracing your cut as if it were an insect's wing. He clasps your hand between his. “Nothing can break the binding, save only your death.”

But your death matters not, nor your fate as Golgoth’s wife.

Only the death of your people matters.

And there is nothing more you can do.

You have failed.

Bitterness and shame well up within your chest, and when your eye begins to mist, you close it tight to keep tear from escaping.

But as you bite your treacherously trembling lip, you flinch, feeling a hand against your unmarred cheek. A thumb presses under your eye until it opens. Your sorrow seeps from it and is kindly swept away by the same thumb.

Though your sight is distorted, the warm smile on his face shines as bright as the sun.

“But I will hear your request, and fulfill it as I am able,” says Golgoth.

Your mouth opens, yet you are speechless.

He asks for nothing in return, and he owes you no debt. You are nothing but a mortal who unknowingly bound herself to a god. His offer is beyond generous.

But your marveling at such a miracle can wait, you must not press his patience.

You lick your cracked lips, your voice wet and wavering. “I-its . . . it’s my- my tribe. We have been raided and- and captured by the Vulkars. Those left cannot survive if they are not destroyed. Please . . . destroy the Vulkars and free my people. That . . . that is my request.”

“And so it shall be done!” he nods, firm and full of fire once more.

Golgoth lets you go and reaches for his neck. He unclasps a cape from his shoulders, one you had not noticed in your observation of him. Though the thick, black canvas looks more like a hut cover than clothing.

You stiffen as he reaches behind you and pulls the cape around you. Hunching into yourself, you suspect he’s going to cover you, but all he does is set it on your shoulders. You grab it, pulling it to cover your front.

It’s almost uncomfortably heavy, and it smells horrendous, but . . . inside, that strange small something finds the gesture a little . . . sweet.

Golgoth groans, heaving himself to his feet. You grip your new blanket as you watch him grow back to his gargantuan height. But the fear you feel is not nearly as strong as before.

“Stay here and rest,” says Golgoth, stretching his neck taut on either side, the vertebrae popping unpleasantly. “I shall be back before sunrise.”

And with that he walks away, his footsteps stomping snow and stone in his wake. Staring at his back, you find your voice, though it is so soft, you fear the wind will carry it away before he hears.

“Golgoth . . .”

Yet he stops, turning his questioning glance over his shoulder. You stare at the ground, twisting the fabric between your fingers. You speak shyly, but sincerely.

“You have my gratitude . . . .”

“HA! I have no need for it.” he smirks, thumping a fist against his chest. “I will do anything for my soosha.”

He then turns and marches down the mountain, leaving you with that bold declaration of devotion . . . and mixed feelings.

Gratitude and relief, are the strongest of them. Though you have no reason to be, you are confident that Gologth will carry out his word.

Your people, your family . . . they will be saved.

They will survive the winter.

You have succeeded.

Yet, it has come with a cost.

A cost you know not the extent of yet.

Fear of the future that lies before you weighs as heavy within you as the weariness of your journey. Seeking comfort, or perhaps consolidation, you consider his treatment of you thus far.

Of his careful caresses, his gentle gestures, his . . . other expressions of emotions, and most especially of his address of your scarred appearance.

Tenderly, you touch the pink, uneven flesh, the soft color bleeding over to your cheek.

No one- neither friend or enemy- has ever called it beautiful.

No one that is except Golgoth, god of war and blood, and . . . .

. . . and your husband.

#Not my writing #GOLGOTH!#New husbando #I'd love a part 2 if you feel like it!

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velocityful · 3 days ago

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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE AS — EVEN IN ARCADIA (2025) BY SLEEP TOKEN

i. look to windward — xavier, sylus

am i walking with gods or merely stumbling forth until there's fire at the gates, until i fall to the floor? you know i live by the feather and die by the sword and i will sunder the earth only to burn the reward

ii. emergence — caleb

well, i am the rose you relinquished again you and i are down headfirst in another world i heard oh, i have a feeling we're close to the end

iii. past self — all

and if this is love, then i am out of hesitation head over heels at elevation walking an inch above the pavement taking it stride by stride together

iv. dangerous — zayne

well, i thought i could resist you but something in me just can't help but insist to blur thе lines just one last time so when's the last time you tasted blood? and what would it take to stem the flood?

v. caramel — sylus

(in these days of days) tell me, did i give you what you came for? (i wish it all away) terrified to answer my own front door (i thought things had changed) missin' my wings in a realm of angels (but everything's the same)

vi. even in arcadia — rafayel

i am the final dawn, i am the flood and what was missing from those scriptures will be written in my blood dig down into the mud what good is all this talk of wings when there is nothing left above?

vii. provider — caleb

your guiding hand, your final decider that bit of fuel to your fire, stoke your desire just let me know that you’re mine i wanna be a provider

viii. damocles — rafayel

when the river runs dry and the curtain is called how will i know if i can't see the bottom? come up for air and choke on it all no one else knows that i've got a problem

ix. gethsemane — sylus

no one's gonna save me from my memories nothing to lose, but i would've given anything to get closer to you and all your enemies i've got a few of my own and this throne didn't come with a gun, so i've got a different energy

x. infinite baths — xavier, rafayel

even if i'm on my own when the silence is deafening i could be stuck here alone when even my future is threatening

#divider cr strangergraphics #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #sylus #zayne #rafayel #lads xavier #lads caleb #sleep token #even in arcadia

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fandomlit · 3 days ago

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guilty conscience (han solo x reader)

summary after taking several bullets for han solo, he seems to be ignoring you.

warnings swearing, mentions of battle and losing limbs, slightly suggestive themes at the end but nothing crazy

note happy belated may the fourth!

gif cred belongs to @starwarsnews

when you came to, everything was sore. you knew exactly where you were and what had happened; your dreams were flooded with the memories of the blinding pain of taking a round to your leg, han’s yell of horror as you hit the ground, and the faint memory of the blinding medic lights. when you opened your eyes, those very lights burned your eyes all over again.

you lifted yourself onto your elbows slowly as you processed chewie letting out a moan next to you.

“you’re a good friend, chewie,” was all you could think to say in response to him. you blinked your eyes opened again to see he was the only one with you. he just let out another questioning call.

“yeah, i feel okay,” you assured, propping yourself up further. “surprisingly, everything feels sore except for my..” you meant to swing your body so your legs were dangling off the side of your bed.. but only one leg swung around.

“they couldn’t save it,” leia’s voice spoke. you had been so busy pulling up the medic provided gown to view where your leg had been disconnected from the rest of your body that you hadn’t heard the pressurizing sound of the door opening. leia stood in the doorway, tray of food in her hand. your blood felt cold in your veins, shock filling your body with an odd sense of calm. “the blasts had chipped away at an artery and clean through your shin.. even if they could’ve saved it, you never would’ve walked again.”

you were at a loss for words. so you only nodded.

chewie let out a comforting call and you offered him a smile despite the ice still rushing through your body. a new thought erupted in your muddled mind, “where’s han?”

leia and chewie shared a look that you didn’t catch. “resting,” leia explained. “he waited for you to wake up all last night. said no one should have to wake up alone and down a leg.”

you nodded again. “wha..” you couldn’t even finish your thought. leia placed a warm hand on your shoulder.

“it’s a lot to process,” leia spoke gently. “you’ve been through a lot. but whenever your ready, the doctors want to talk about prosthetics, or other options. there’s no rush.”

but you hung onto the one word with hope, “prosthetic?”

leia chuckled, “there’s my girl.”

...

after your new prosthetic had been attached for about a day, you needed to be somewhere that wasn’t that wretched bright room. chewie offered to help you walk around base and you were all too happy to accept.

your arm was wrapped tightly around chewie’s own as you slowly walked down one of the long halls of the base. friends and clones waved and offered their pitying gazes, making you feel uncomfortable and honored at the same time. but you focused yourself off of others and onto the hunk of metal you weren’t used to.

“it’s weird,” you spoke in reply to chewie’s questioning grumble. “feels like it could give out.” chewie let out a moan. “i don’t know about that, chewie.” he let out another growl, causing your head to pop up.

when you looked up from your steps, you were surprised to see han entering the hall. the first thought you had was that he looked a mess--handsome as ever, but a mess. his signature jacket had been discarded, his hair a tad messier than he would usually allow, and the bags under his eyes were prominent, even with his head slightly ducked. chewie growled something down the hall, and that’s when han finally spotted your slow moving pair.

he met your eyes first, giving you the signature shockwave that tingled your nerves whenever he looked at you, but those beautiful orbs were gone before you could even process. they turned immediately to the uncovered metal of your leg.

you had half a mind to be embarrassed by his gaze, though you hadn’t been by anyone else’s; you were merely in a white sports bra-like top and too-short shorts provided by the medbay, but something told you that out of all things, that wasn’t what han was focused on.

you and chewie had stopped your slow pace, waiting for the pilot’s answer to chewie’s question. before you could even think to speak, han turned and walked right back out of the hallway, leaving you and chewie in a brief state of shock.

chewie let out an annoyed huff as you frowned.

“does the leg look that bad?” you inquired quietly, glancing down. chewie made a reassuring noise. “when you say it like that i almost don’t believe you, chew.”

...

it happened two more times before you let your emotions truly get to you.

the first confrontation was when you and leia went to the mess to get food together. you both got your portions and she started to lead you toward a table where han was already sitting with chewie, but just as the two of you sat down the pilot stood and left.

you watched him with pursed lips as he threw away the half-eaten meal.

“he’s just being han,” leia sighed, shaking her head at your unspoken question. “always too cool for everyone. probably too embarrassed to say thank you.”

you just shrugged, wishing you could get rid of the disappointment in your gut as you turned toward the quiet wookie at your side. “you definitely know something.” chewie let out a suspiciously defiant grunt. “oh, you’re a terrible liar, furball.”

the next incident was a week and a half after you had your prosthetic installed. luke was finally back from a private mission, your communicator blowing up as his x-wing landed. you and leia ran from her office to go greet him.

luke was, of course, talking with han and chewie when you two reached the hangar. but you were much less focused on the man ignoring you--right then you could only squeal as luke’s bright eyes turned to you excitedly.

“skywalker!” you exclaimed excitedly, practically throwing yourself at the boy before leia could. han dramatically moved to the side as chewie chortled. luke crushed you in his embrace, picking you up from the floor.

“y/n, you crazy idiot!” he laughed out. he let you down quickly, strong arms stabilizing you as he analyzed the metal peeking out from your dress. you pulled back the material to reveal the full prosthetic. “that’s pretty cool, though.”

leia hit luke’s arm and he laughed, pulling his sister in for a side hug. “i mean cool as in badass, not cool as in ‘wow i want one’.” you just giggled before luke turned and hit han’s chest. “am i right, solo?” your smile turned tight as han’s face turned stony. he tried to play it off, however, shaking his shoulders out with his head down. luke gave him a look but chose to ignore it for now, eyes turning over your tight-lipped expression before landing back on leia.

“hey, where’s c3?”

you all launched into some catch-up conversation with the pilot happily, smiles and laughs returning easily. but when you dared to glance over again, han had disappeared.

when it hit the two week mark of han solo ignoring you, you couldn’t keep the pestering thoughts at bay anymore. you had tossed and turned in your bed all that evening, restless from soreness in your leg and spiraling thoughts about man you admired. it was 00:37 when you decided to take a walk.

you didn’t bother tossing on shoes as you headed for the outside of the base. it was naturally warm on the planet, and you were less than concerned with who you could possibly run into so late into the night.

and so you stood, feeling strange with only being able to feel one foot touching the cool grass, staring at the three moons that lined the peak of the sky.

...

“han solo, don’t think you’re running from me this time!”

you watched the man freeze about twenty feet ahead of you, shoulders tensing. you hurried to catch up to him before he could disappear; you were shocked he even listened to you, honestly. your uneven footsteps seemed to be the loudest thing in the busy hallway as you grasped han’s shoulder and forced him to face you.

his expression was completely vacant of emotion, his lips pursed in a way that told you nothing of how he was feeling in that moment.

“what is going on?” you demanded instantly, though your voice was a lot quieter than it was before. as if you hadn’t already grabbed the attention of most of the hall.

he shrugged. “nothing much, what’s going on with you?” it was a joke that would’ve gotten a laugh out of you three weeks ago. when there was no sign of your usual humor in his jokes, he sighed. “what do you want me to say, y/n?”

“i want you to explain why you’ve been avoiding and ignoring my existence since i’ve gotten back,” you spoke firmly, chin held high and determinedly. more people began to file into the hallway and han’s gaze wandered from yours. for a moment you thought he might take the chance to slip away, but instead he grabbed your arm and pulled you into an empty conference room nearby. you folded your arms as he leaned against the table, looking at him expectedly.

han avoided your gaze completely now, crossing his arms as well. he let out a long sigh, eyes trained on a spot on the floor.

you tensed yourself up before speaking the main suspicion in your mind, “if this is going to be some ableist thing about not wanting to be around a girl with a metal leg-”

han’s gaze snapped up. “what? no! no, no, y/n, i don’t give a shit if your leg is real, or metal, or-or gelatin!” your heart softened but you kept your body tense. “my problem isn’t with your leg. i mean, i guess it is, in a way..” you stayed silent as you waited for him to explain, his gaze settling on the floor again. “the issue is how you got it.”

you furrowed your brow. the scene played out in your head for a moment: you pushing han out of the way, the hot pain that engulfed your leg, han’s yell as you hit the ground.. it played in your head so often you didn’t even shiver at it anymore. “stormtroopers have always been ruthless, han, i’m not the first person to-”

“damnit y/n, i’m not upset with anyone but myself!” han spoke, voice rising over yours. you shut your mouth, surprised at the outburst. his head was lifted now, but his gaze still never met yours. “the shots were meant for me. i should have been the one in the pain, the one to suffer the consequences.” his eyes finally lifted to yours and the look in them was wild and intense. and yet, he looked so, so tired as he spoke, “you never should have had to pay the price for my actions.”

you waited a moment before uncrossing your arms. “han.. i don’t regret what i did,” you stated firmly but quietly. he opened his mouth but you were quick to speak again, “i would do it all over again in a heartbeat. i don’t care about the shots, or the prosthetic leg, or the stupid nicknames chewie keeps calling me now.” his jaw clenched.

“i care,” he bit out, but you could see now that the anger wasn’t directed at you, that the disgusted look in his eyes wasn’t targeted at you as you had assumed. his hands gripped harshly at the edge of the table he leaned against. “none of this was supposed to happen. i shouldn’t have even let you step off the ship that day, and now-” he cut himself off with a deep breath, face turning red in his frustration. “now your entire life has changed because i didn’t do what i was supposed to. i didn’t protect you like i should have.”

you shook your head and took an unconscious step toward him as he stood from his leaning, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms tightly. “you have no obligation to protect me, han. i made the choice, and i suffered the consequences-”

“you’re not the only one suffering!” he burst out suddenly. your mouth snapped shut in surprise. “y/n, do you understand how absolutely sick with myself i’ve been?! sure, no one’s making me protect you, no one’s forcing me to give a shit, but damnit, i do!” his words rang in the empty room, and you were too shocked, heart hammering too hard, to snap back. and han rattled on, "you have this horrible hold over me, y/n, and you have no goddamn clue! and seeing you in pain because i was too stupid to look around is the worst possible way to figure that out.” he shook his head, leaning back against the table again in a slump that only portrayed defeat. you were too shocked to breathe, but your heart continued to pound away in your aching chest.

han continued, gaze trained on the floor in front of your feet, “i sat in that infirmary with you until the day you woke up, and i..” he shook his head again, taking a breath. “i was sick with myself, y/n.” he looked up at you, head still shaking. “do you know how hard it is to make a guy like me feel like that?” a chuckle forced its way out of you at that, and he rewarded the sound with a quick lilt of his lips.

“han, i..” you were at a loss for words, arms still wrapped protectively around yourself as you slowly stepped closer to him. he watched you wordlessly. when you were directly in front of him, eyes still locked on his intensely, you could only think to say, “i still don’t regret it.”

that seemed to snap something in han. he suddenly reached out to you, arms wrapping around you to pull you to him as his lips found yours in a searing kiss. you were quick to untangle your arms and toss them around his shoulders, kissing him back as if your life were still at risk and you only had precious seconds left. thankfully, those seconds never ran out. but air did.

when the kiss ended and you two locked gazes again, you were even more speechless than you were before. han ran his tongue over his bottom lip, sending a wave of heat through you, before saying, “next time you want me to kiss you, don’t make it because you got shot for me, okay?”

and despite the dazed pleasure clouding your mind, you threw your head back and laughed, smiling when you looked back to see han smirking. “so two prosthetics is too much for you, then? that’s where you draw the line?”

han shook his head, standing straight with his arms still around you, mumbling, “i don’t like this joke. let’s get out of this stupid conference room so i can thank you properly.”

“thank me?” you managed to squeak as your body filled with heat at his suggestion. his hot gaze met yours, his large hands moving to your hips.

“you saved my life, woman. i think that constitutes some thanking.”

and though the last thing you were expecting was for the infamous bachelor han solo to truly fall for you after you saved him, you were finding yourself grateful for the hunk of metal that was your new leg for the first time.

...

“so what did you tell chewie that had him so quiet when i’d ask what was up with you?” you couldn’t help but inquire later as you watched han trace the engraved lines of your prosthetic. it was odd to see his touch so clearly on you and not be able to feel it at all.

han pressed a lazy kiss to your metal thigh before shifting higher in the bedsheets to look at you. “he, uh, kept pestering me to talk to you and after a couple of times i just yelled at him some things about my.. feelings.” you arched a brow; han solo had bared his soul to you just a few hours ago. but, knowing how he was, maybe you shouldn’t get too used to that kind of interaction. “i think it shocked him enough that i even told him how i was feeling that he shut up about it.”

you shook your head despite your grin. “i broke you. i broke han solo.”

“if you tell a soul, chewie’s gonna be the one that suffers somehow.”

#star wars #star wars x reader #han solo #han solo x reader #han solo fanfic #chewbacca #platonic!chewbacca x reader #leia organa #luke skywalker #star wars fanfic #platonic!leia organa x reader

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hanasonma · 3 days ago

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TWST Boys (+Faculty) running to the store for you

Riddle

- Has the shopping list in hand as soon as he steps foot in the store

- Does that thing where when you're lost but don't want to ask for help🫢

Trey

- Normally getting things on the top shelf for other people

- Not afraid to ask for help himself

- Is someone who wears the employee colour shirt and had been mistaken as manager once

Cater

- He's the 2nd quickest shopper (20min max)

- Won't call you but will go back and return an item if you got it wrong

Deuce

- Calls you multiple times, making sure he gets the right thing

- "Where is the .... eyelash glue...for my friend of course!"

Ace

- "I don't need a list I've got a great memory"-Ace (I forget my own birthday) Trappola

- He's getting something for himself with your money.

- Has tried to shoplift once but got caught and his mother was called

Leona

- Why can't you get it??

- IF he's feeling the mood, might go, Ruggie following along to help carry the bags

- Knows the best products and what not to waste your money on

Ruggie

- List? Check. Money? Check. Calculator? Check.

- This man makes bargains like no one can

- He's using your money so he defo pulling out the calculator to make sure you gave him enough

Jack

- He's pushing a trolley around

- If he doesn't know what product of an item you want he's going with his gut

Azul

- Walks in like he owns the place (he has no clue where anything is)

- Jade is making fun of him for not knowing where the elastic bands are (he has no clue himself)

Jade

- A bit suspicious that he might add mushrooms.

- Yuu had asked for a small packet of feta cheese and now Jade is coming back with rolls of it 😔

- Get ready to get out your radiation metre as he came back all soggy and wet yet won't explain why

Floyd

- You catch him in a good mood.... he's willing to go for you

- Forgets half the things you ask

- You wrote him a list but he ate it

- You're not getting your things in one piece/ or even the correct items

- You found a half eaten apple next to goose milk

Kalim

- Please don't. Jamil is on his knees begging Yuu to not ask Kalim.

- Yuu found their items in a pinata

- Although it was cute Kalim did get scolded. At least he bought everything even if it was the most expensive brands

Jamil

- Excellent as always.

- "Why should I bother with someone like you?" You then proceeded to ask Kalim which got Jamil stressed enough to agree to do it instead

- Did buy something for himself with your money. He doesn't care. You ain't the Al-Asim family.

Vil

- Knows his way around the market

- What should've been a 5 minute pit stop turned to an hour trying new products

- Ate half of your watermelon on the way home

Rook

- Please no.

- He won't shut up about being blessed to be asked by you.

- Don't worry. He knows what you need from the store.

Epel

- You full on expected him to get on a horse and ride his way to and back from the store

- Carries all the bags in one hand

- Forgot the Pineapple. Everytime. You think that he might have something against pineapple

Idia

- Sends Ortho.

- Would rather shop online for you. He's rich...sorta he could just get Ortho to give it to you.

Ortho

- Online shopping 100%

- Actually happy to help and knows what's healthy or if there is a better brand to buy

- This boy helps Yuu save money like no other bank can

Malleus

- Help this man.

- Holds his calculator out and muttering the costs out loud.

- Technically doesn't need to but he doesn't want to waste any of your money

Lilia

- GOOD LUCK.

- Actually good at memorising the items but it depends on if he wants to play a prank or not

- JK. Aww you got everything back in one piece. Wait. Why do the eggs have sharpies on them?

Silver

- You will receive 99% of everything correctly (he cannot tell the difference between different milks)

- Has been caught being suspicious as he creeps down aisle (Lilia was trying to find him to help)

Sebek

- He went there for you? No. He went for Malleus, yours is just a side quest

- Calls Lilia and ask him about where things are

- "EXCUSE ME-" "WHY ARE YOU WEARING THE EMPLOYEE SHIRT COLOUR IF YOU'RE NOT AN EMPLOYEE?"

Sam

- He's got it all saved for you

- He hasn't stepped foot in an actual store in over 5 years, using his own shop.

Mr.Trein

- If be had the time he would.

- On the occasion he was free he'd be happy to go. Maybe you should come along and meet his daughters while there. They were going to meet up there anyway.

Crewel

- Doesn't call you and gets things 100% accurate

- Pays for the items that involve proper nutrition as he knows Crowely ain't paying you shit

Vargas

- Say goodbye to all the snacks and sugar you wanted.

- He might make an exception and sneak a chocolate bar in there but he's full on rewriting your list

Crowely

- Run.

- Honestly almost got arrested for stealing. Said he didn't but then won't stop when the employees asked him too

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst disney #twst yuu #headcanon #fypage #twst headcanons #fyp #nrc #twst nrc #nrc staff #grim aint in this one #he aint trusted just yet

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marvelavengerspovs1 · 2 days ago

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Winter Wolf Ch. 9

Winter Wolf Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of Y/N, mentions of violence

Length: 1k

A/N: Hello! I just finished finals and I wanted to post something. I have two WIPs and I'll put up a poll later this week when they're done!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

Bucky stares at the wall, trying not to think. His doll was taken from him and he wasn’t able to stop it.

Sam couldn’t help but feel bad for Bucky. The two never really saw eye to eye and the only common thing they shared was Steve. However, Sam could tell your disappearance was taking a toll on Bucky.

“I can feel you staring,” Bucky says.

“We’ll get her back Bucky,” Sam promises him.

“How can you be so sure?” Bucky was always pessimistic, but this was a new type of pessimistic for him.

“Because Y/N is strong. She can hold her own, she doesn’t need the rest of us.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if Wanda protected her.” Bucky looks up at the entranceway and maintains eye contact with Wanda.

Bucky could tell that she was there before she even let herself be known. Not only did his super hearing help but he was an ex-assassin. He was trained to know what his targets would do before they even knew what they were going to do.

“Bucky-” Sam tried to reason but Wanda spoke up.

“I said I was sorry! I protected her the best that I could! There wasn’t anything I could do!” Wanda’s Sokovian accent became more prominent as her voice rose.

“But did you really?” Bucky stood from his place on the couch and got in Wanda’s face.

“Of course I did! She is one of my best friends and I would never let her get hurt!” Wanda started to cry.

“Well, you didn’t try hard enough! If you did, she would still be here!” Bucky was yelling in Wanda’s face at this point.

He knew that he would have to apologize at one point but he couldn’t be bothered. You were missing and in Hydra’s hands. That was not a good mix and Bucky knew from personal experience.

“That is enough!” Sam gets between the two.

Bucky looks at Sam with a glare before backing up slowly.

“He’s right Sam,” Wanda whispers.

“No, he’s not. And Bucky knows this. We’re all feeling affected by Y/N’s disappearance but going at each other’s throats like this is not going to help us. Now I want both of you to go and clear your heads. Tony is going to call a meeting in 20 minutes and I don’t want you both to be killing each other.”

Bucky is the first to leave. He couldn’t stand being in the same room as someone who claims to have protected you to the best of their abilities. She was the most powerful Avenger and she couldn’t take on Hydra. He went to your room to lay on your bed.

He looks around your room. You never painted your room so the walls were the same boring beige it was when you arrived, but everything in the room screamed Y/N. From the paintings on the walls to the knickknacks lying around. Bucky closes his eyes as he breathes in your smell from your pillow, willing for you to come home soon.

Meanwhile, at a base in Sokovia, Hydra has you. This was one of the last remaining bases that had gone undetected by the Avengers. They had used the base the Avengers had thought they destroyed when Ultron was around.

Your screams filled the room as they continued to use electroshocks on you. Hydra continues to wipe your memories as you try to hold onto them.

Flashes of Bucky’s face come to your mind as you scream and cry. You had already forgotten the others but you were trying desperately to hold onto the good memories.

His face soon begins to fade and your cries start to slow down. You don’t know why you’re crying but you know you’re in immense pain.

A man in all-black clothing brings a container that is illuminating a yellow light. You’re still screaming but the brightness of it entrances you. It’s nothing you have ever seen before but then again, you can’t even remember your name.

The man hooks the container up to the machine that is currently holding you. Fear runs through your veins as you realize that these people are the reason you are in pain.

You start to thrash around, screaming for them to let you go.

“Inject her and then shock her again.” Another man says.

“Yes sir.”

You see large paddles with needles coming at you and you scream louder. You beg them to let you go as you cry, but it was no use. Hydra is too inhumane to care.

The needles inject the glowing yellow light into you and you feel something tighten around your head. Flashes of pain go through your body until you don’t feel anything anymore.

There is no pain. No emotion. Nothing. You sit there, staring off into the void. Not a single thought crossed your mind. You were empty.

“She’s ready sir,” A woman also dressed in black says.

Back at the Avengers compound, Bucky is woken up by a hard knock on the door. He had fallen asleep in your room.

He got up and quietly thanked whoever was pounding on the door. The dream, or rather a nightmare, he was having about you was horrible.

He opened the door and saw Sam standing there. “Tony is wanting everyone in the meeting room now.”

“I’ll be there, give me a minute.” Bucky rubs his right eye and yawns.

Sam nods and stands there for a second before saying what he has been wanting for the past few days. “If you need anyone to talk to, I’m here Bucky.”

Bucky only nods his head and closes your door. He heads to your bathroom and looks at your stuff.

Your makeup was littered across the counter, and your face creams and lotion sat in the corner. Even your toothbrush left Bucky feeling empty.

He didn’t want to touch anything so that everything would return to normal when you came home.

“I’ll find you Y/N. Even if it kills me,” Bucky whispers to himself.

Bucky looks around your room one more time before leaving and walking to the meeting room.

Tagged Readers: @ordelixx @bellabarnes1378 @sukaibg @angel-xx-1 @spookydestinydonut @harperkenobi @mcira @yeehawbrothers @waywardhunter95 @blackbirdwitch22 @baw1066

#avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut

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my-youth-hannah · 2 days ago

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What we can't avoid || "Bob" Robert Reynolds x f! reader ||

Summary: In which anyone can freely enter the void and see more of Bob’s shame rooms / past memories he cannot even recall. Thunderbolts kept him in the headquarters while is undergoing therapy so only few will know whenever he is having episodes that could open the void. "Bob" Robert Reynolds x f! reader

Warnings: trauma / schizophrenic

Word Count: 2.6k

Disclaimer: Writing style may be different from other writers on this platform since I was used to writing stories in different ways back when I was in my early teenage years. Just wanted to turn the scenarios in my head into words. Hope y’all enjoy it.

Quite not sure with how Russian words

༒︎

Y/N introduced herself as someone who used to work for Valentina along with Mel, but since all of them had an agreement they work together, she was assigned to stay with the team. Win win situation it is, now she was assigned by Valentina to assist Thunderbolts or what she calls New Avengers in anything they need in exchange of not testifying for her impeachment.

“Why Thunderbolts?” She asked

“West Chesapeake Bay Thunder-” Alexie got cut off by Yelena when she inserted bread into his mouth.

“It’s nothing, plus the government calling us New Avengers whatever now so.” Yelena.

“Mishka~” Alexie while chewing.

Bucky was asking Ava to tour me around but pointed out other members to do the work instead. “Why don’t you ask John instead” but Walker instantly declines it and passes it to Yelena again and tosses it to other members.

“Are they always like this?” She whispered to myself.

“Yes, they are, you’ll get used to it.” Then a cool looking guy who looks in late 20s appears on my side wearing some comfy clothes unlike the rest of the team who is fully geared. “I am Bob by the way” smiles but not looking at her. “My name is…” She offered her hands to shake but all of them caught it at the right moment and stopped her and made her completely clueless.

Ava gave her a tour around the HQ, showing everything from essential facilities to pointless rooms—even the bathrooms. Yet, there was one area that stood out. It appeared newly constructed but heavily used, with numerous scratches and visible signs of frequent use. “Never mind it, it's nothing.” answer from Ava.

She was instructed by her that all of them will be going to a mission for a week days from now, she was allowed to go anywhere but not near Bob since he has ‘contagious disease’ that they are looking for a cure at the moment. Normal conversation was allowed but no personal questions shall be entertained by Bob.

༒︎

“Hi uhmm lemon?” Bob offered. She woke up one morning with no one else but Bob, looks like the team left earlier than what is planned. “No, thanks.” Days staying in the HQ she got a chance to know all of them, attitudes and routines- basically observe them. Valentina would like to know if there’s something they are planning to do against her. “Seems like harmless…… even defenseless.” Bob smiled like the usual does. “Am I? I have no idea haha” pure innocence is visible in him. “But seriously, what is with that room? the dungeon like one” He stopped for a minute trying to think “t-the dungeon, haven’t been there.” whispers to himself that she got used to it even after a few days of staying.

Reading books, doing yoga, light workouts, and washing dishes became part of his routine whenever he stepped out of his room. Since it was just the two of them, Bob agreed to help him with the dishes, though he was careful to avoid any direct contact. “Relax, we’re just washing dishes,” she said, but Bob still kept his distance. “Y-yeah,” he replied nervously. It was probably a good thing they were both wearing gloves. Bob hadn’t realized washing dishes could be this fun; the last time he did it with someone was with John but didn’t enjoy it since he’s only telling stories how he saved people during the time he was serving the country as a military. “Hey, I’ve got a joke,” he said. “Why don’t dishwashers ever get lonely? They always have a full load.” She paused for a moment while removing her gloves, trying to get the joke. “Oh, come on, it’s funny!” Bob complained. She finally laughed and playfully hit him on the bare arm. “You—you’re the funny one.” He laughed along with her for a minute before realizing that she was in direct contact with him.

༒︎

He panicked and promptly asked her how she was feeling which made her confused when she looked completely fine. “I am fine, Bob. Can you settle here on the couch?” but he didn’t listen and kept walking around while talking to himself about being cured and healed. She is on the edge of contacting Bucky to ask for help since she didn’t see this coming and wasn’t even oriented. Hours after, the team arrives from their mission. Even looking exhausted they first check on Bob, while he welcomes them like a kid missing his father.

“Okay, Bobby, we can’t understand if you are rapping.” John.

“Breathe first, Bob.” Bucky said, “So what happened now?”

“W-we- We touched.” Bob.

“Oh little Bob, You are a man now. I am so proud of you.” Alexie.

“That is not what he is talking about, old man!” Ava. Yelena directly went to check on her. “Are you okay? What did you see?”

“I am fine, why you all overthink?” Based on their reaction, they didn’t expect her answer.

༒︎

The team discussed the possibility of Bob being healed or if the Void already did vanish. Bob has never been so at peace even though they haven’t confirmed it yet. “We should still test it when he is already, Let’s give him another week of rest. Testing it would be stressful for all of us.” Bucky discussed which all of them agreed with.

In the other room, She was kept to be monitored for any symptoms of ‘contagious disease’ they said to her, but freed before the evening.

༒︎

At dawn, she heard her name being called by a calm, soothing voice, compelling her to follow it. Feeling lightheaded, she obeyed, wandering through the halls in her pajamas. The voice led her to a dungeon-like room, where only darkness awaited. “Who are you?” she asked, standing barefoot at the entrance, unafraid.

“I am... nothing. But come closer if you want to know better,” a no emotion voice replied.

Her mind felt blank as her body moved forward on its own, stepping into the darkness turning her into a shadow and consuming her entirely. John and Yelena witnessed it, having been drawn to the eerie, familiar sound—Void.

“Bob?” First thing she saw was him in an attic of a house where she was directed. Bob paused for a minute but not surprised anymore, he knew he’s not cured and the Void was still in him. “H-hi”

“Where are we?”

“My world haha, Welcome anyways, I haven’t prepared any warming gift for newbies here.” He joked while playing rubik's cube. Bob gave a brief explanation of what is happening and where they are.

༒︎

Outside the void, John and Yelena are arguing on who is going inside the void and who will stay. “I know I’ve been there infinite time, that’s why it's your turn. Are you afrai-”

“I am not!”

“You’ve been there like 2-3 times, what’s the big deal in saving our friend?!”

“Fine! Fine! I got into a room where he is touching himself, happy now?”

“Oh goshhh Walker, Every adult did that! Just ignore it. You must understand that, you even made your own baby!” Yelena.

“Still!” John.

Yelena left no choice but to enter the void while John waited outside for the others. As she stepped in, she was directed to her shame room- bathroom where she was lying drunk. “Not again.” but none of it was moving. A familiar presence she felt from her back going towards her “Lena tsk tsk…. I can’t let you intrude but only to watch.” Void himself.

༒︎

“You are supposed to have your own shame room actually, no idea why the Void decides to direct us to my shame room. I even have no episodes these days. He's so unpredictable.” Bob explained to her. Now she understands why thunderbolts are so possessive of him. Now they are just waiting for any doors to open to lead them to other rooms till they exit the void. Bob was already used to it as he knows what to do in every room they’ve been in. “Glad you don't feel heavy here.” Bob said

“Maybe I am used to episodes? Not so new to me.” She replied. Bob knows she is different, she does have a shame room, no episode in direct contact with him and doesn’t feel a burden in his void. “May I ask, what were you doing before you came here? You said you're working for Valentina, right?” Bob asked.

“Valentina, who’s that?” She asked.

༒︎

Meanwhile, Void made Yelena watch every room they are passing by through the mirror of her shame room. “What now?”

“Don’t be impatient, Lena. You are lucky I didn’t make you join the maze and just let you watch here. Also maybe you should know.” with a blink of an eye, the mirror went bigger and showed outside the void with two John. “I am improving… I can now let anyone go outside the void as an illusion.”

“Mel, yes, hello? Remember the intern you sent here, She went inside the void. Don’t let Valentina know about this-” Bucky made a quick call to Mel to advise her and to check any records they can have about her past. “Bucky, it’s 2am. What are you talking about? We have no intern sent there.”

“What did you say?” Bucky looked at Alexie with full of confusion.

༒︎

“It doesn't usually have this kind of count of rooms, It looks like Void is bringing up other traumas we’ve been, even to the smallest anxious times.” Bob explained, their hands were comfortably intertwined to each other without noticing- seems like used of it- or more on does in usual. “Are we just going to run and run?” She asked as she noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to the rooms and only running to escape it. “This is how we do this thing, just follow.” Bob's response.

“Aren’t you tired of it?”

“Of course, I do. But this is how I manage it”

“Running away?”

“.....”

“Bob…. this is not the answer. You should face it.” that made him stop when he’s about to open another door. Bob knew that would be a great help for this issue with Void but he was too weak to control and overcome it. “You don’t know him”

“I know you, I know him.” Echoing in the empty hospital hallway.

༒︎

Yelena was forced to watch John along with Ava to fight with Void John who was wearing a military uniform. “Fine! You proved yourself, You can now unleash the void version of ourselves, you can manipulate it not only inside the void. Can you stop the Void John?” Void actually enjoys kicking John and Ava’s ass since he’s still questioning why Bob cares over John when he is an asshole. “Fine” sighed and snapped which made void John stop and walk back to the void entry.

“You are no fun, Lena, tsk tsk. Let us just watch Bob again, shall we?”

༒︎

“I can’t recall this place. If I am going to face Void, I should know what room I go to.” Bob said while keeping her on his back. They’ve been wandering in the hallways and rooms of the hospital like it is infinite and no end. There were only a few staff but some screams could be heard from the end of the hallways.

After almost an hour running through the hallways and passing the rooms, they were able to find Bob in this shame room. They were trying to open the door, but Bob was peacefully standing in the center of the room. “Are you dancing alone?” She asked.

“I don't know how to dance, and I don’t even know this place.” He replies as he was trying to open the glassdoor. The other Bob inside the room, which they thought is the Void, continues to slow dance and reveal someone hugging with. “B-bob.. Why am I here?” It was her.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Void asked Yelena who was confused with what they were watching. “W-why? Who really she is?”

“Watch, just watch, Lena.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really know.” Bob cannot believe what they just saw. They were both slow dancing in hospital gowns. So peaceful, so quiet, yet, the affection is visible as how Bob handles her. It was love in an unexpected place. He kissed her forehead and placed his chin on top of her head while continuously slow dancing with no music on.

“You should go now, Bob.”

“No, I’ll be staying here, wth you”

“We have talked about this, Bob, Please…”

“But, I just can’t let go of the most beautiful thing that happened in this miserable life I have. This is.. like ending my life too.”

༒︎

“She….. She was supposed to be the Sentry Project and I was just a test subject.” Void started without leaving eyes in the mirror watching Bob and her. “She had this plan to escape from the facility after taking the serum but I need to go first, and there’s no assurance if she can really take it or not. They only know how her blood was.”

“Does it mean that all this time, what we had was an illusion from the void?” Yelena asked.

Void chuckled. “I just want all of you to meet her, but I enjoyed that too much I guess. Too bad, can’t keep her too much outside the void either.”

༒︎

“Bob?”

“Please don’t ask me questions, I really don't know. This is also exhausting for me.” He was on the edge of losing his shits when he felt a gentle cold touch on his face. As he opened his eyes, he saw her standing in front of him in the first room where they saw themselves. His hands on her waist, while her arms wrapped around his torso.

She looked into his eyes,“You should go now, Bob.” With that, his lost memory flashes on his mind, he now recalls her, the love of his life, the only person he considered as his other half, the woman who gave his life meaning, his everything. “No, no no- don’t say that. I’ll be staying here, wth you, my beautiful”

“We have talked about this, Bob, Please…”

“But, I just can’t let go the most beaut-” Without completing his sentence they were tossed to another room where he was laying down in a hospital bed, and she was busy getting medical tools that she needed to transfer her blood to him. “I know this, I know this- Please no! Don’t! Please!” He screamed out. He can now recall every minute of that day, on how they were supposed to escape but ended up transferring her blood to him to pass the inactivated Sentry serum.

“Please, Void! No! Not here on the rooftop.” He pleaded, but it was too late and everything was supposed to happen. The door opened and she was running to him to activate the Sentry Serum in his body. Gunshots are fired and her body catches it from her back.

“Bob…” She managed to take out the activator and injected it right to his veins. She looked at his eyes for the last time. “This ending was only meant for me, not for you. Go and fly. Look for the purpose, My Bob.”

Void Bob appeared with Yelena in the scene while Bob was quietly sobbing. Yelena immediately comforts Bob while Void Bob watches the body of her consumed by darkness.

“So long, my love.”

#thunderbolts #new avengers #bob reynolds #robert bob reynolds #sentry #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #ava starr #john walker #alexei shostakov #yelena belova #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu

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misssassylover · 11 hours ago

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꧁𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐰?꧂

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: After months of distance, you and Matt reunite for a bittersweet day filled with tension and unresolved love. As you drive home, the question still hangs between you. Where do we go now?

24th Street

Where you held me, grabbed my arm

What a mental fire alarm

'Cause a lot of that felt wrong

Like I miss you

But when I kissed you back, I lied

You don't know how hard I tried

Had to fake the longest time

It starts on 24th Street.

You shouldn’t have come. That’s what your gut tells you as your boots scuff against the cracked sidewalk, city sounds muffled by the weight in your chest. But the text had been simple.

“Meet me where we used to get bagels?”

And your feet had moved before your mind caught up.

Matt’s already there, leaning against the brick wall like time never passed. Hands buried in his hoodie pocket, head tilted down like he’s fighting something he won’t say out loud. You stop a few feet away. Close enough to feel him but too far to fall again.

He looks up. You see it in his eyes. The mix of nostalgia and something darker. His hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around your arm just above your wrist. It’s gentle, but your muscles tense anyway.

“You remember this place?” he asks, voice quieter than it used to be.

You nod, eyes not meeting his. “Yeah.”

The air feels tight. When he leans in, your lips meet his for a split second. A second too long. And you hate yourself because it feels like a lie, like you’re watching someone else’s mouth respond. You used to mean it. Every kiss, but this one tastes like memory, like ash.

You pull back. He doesn’t chase. Good. Because if he did, you might’ve broken all over again.

Where do we go now?

You both walk in silence. No bagels this time. Just the stretch of sidewalk and a question hanging between you like smoke.

Where do we go now?

You almost ask him if he still calls his mom every Thursday, if he still sleeps with his socks on when he’s upset. But that would feel like pretending nothing broke.

Matt kicks at a pebble. “Do you ever think about us?”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t, but because when you do, it’s always during the quiet parts of the night when your chest tightens and your hand reaches for a phone you don’t have the courage to use.

The silence makes it worse. The weight of “what now?” is heavier than the past. You catch his reflection in a store window. He looks older, tired. So do you.

Where do we go now?

It loops in your mind like a broken chorus. Neither of you has the melody anymore.

You look hopeful

Like we're supposed to work somehow

Can't you tell our light burned out?

Got a lot to cry about

There's nothin' left here

All our best years are behind

What a brutal way to die

But you choose it every time

Matt’s house is still filled with sunlight at five in the afternoon. You sit at opposite ends of the couch, like strangers stuck in a waiting room.

He watches you like he’s looking for something. Like he expects a version of you he used to know to show up at any moment. You can’t give him that.

“You look at me like we’re still… salvageable,” you whisper.

Matt’s brows knit together. “Aren’t we?”

Your laugh is dry. “We had a spark. We also had shouting matches at 2 a.m., doors slammed, nights apart when we were supposed to be together.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

You stare at the old photos still framed on the shelf. One of you in matching hoodies, blurry and warm. Another on the beach, eyes shut, sunburned, smiling. Your throat tightens.

“I cried more with you than I ever did alone,” you say.

“I know,” he replies. “But I also made you laugh more than anyone else.”

“That’s the part that hurts.”

Matt looks down. His hands curl into fists on his lap. “I chose us every time, Y/N.”

“And every time, it ended the same.”

We could meet down the line

After all of the time

And give an actual try

I can't promise you'll like it

I know I changed overnight

So I can't blame you for fightin'

And I'd be losin' my mind

If you lived in your writin'

You sip the cold tea he offered when you walked in. It’s bitter, but you drink it anyway.

“I used to think a lot about you,” he admits. “Still do.”

Your heart skips.

“I know.” You look out the window, watching a couple argue across the street. “You thought about me like I was some savior.”

“You were,” he says quickly.

You shake your head. “You fell in love with an idea.”

He doesn’t argue. He just breathes slowly, like he’s trying not to cry.

“Maybe in a few years,” you say, “we could try again. If we’ve grown. If it doesn’t hurt to see each other anymore.”

He nods. “And maybe I won’t have you in my thoughts all the time”

You smile. Not the kind that fixes anything. Just the kind that knows it’s too late to undo what’s already done.

“I changed,” you say.

“I know,” he answers. “So did I.”

And for a moment, it feels like you’re talking to someone new. Not the boy who loved too loudly and your not the girl who ran. Just two people trying to make sense of the after.

'Cause now I'm half of myself here without you

You're the best in my life and I lost you

And we had no control when it fell through

It was one-sided, hate how I hurt you

If I could, I'd have changed every feelin'

Reservations were up to the ceilin'

Guess the space was the thing that I needed

But I miss you

Matt offers to drive you home, and you walk together to his car.

The sun is lower now, painting the sidewalks in orange and gold. Your shoulder brushes his and neither of you move away.

“I didn’t know how to need you without depending on you,” Matt says.

You nod. “And I didn’t know how to stay when I felt unseen.”

There’s a pause.

“I miss you,” he adds, like a confession.

Your breath catches. “I miss you too.”

Matt stops walking. You turn to face him. There’s something honest in his expression. No walls, no defenses.

“If we could go back,” he begins, “I’d choose you differently. Softer. Smarter.”

You smile, eyes wet. “If we could go back, I’d let you love me. Fully. Not just the parts I liked.”

And for a second, just one, it feels like maybe the pain was worth the knowing.

Where do we go now?

You both sit in his car. The same car that used to hold late-night laughter and fast-food wrappers, now too quiet. The engine hums, but neither of you speaks.

Matt’s fingers rest on the steering wheel like always, except he hasn’t turned out of the parking lot yet.

“You want music?” he asks.

You shake your head. The silence feels truer.

The drive starts slow. City lights blur past, familiar roads stretching into something that feels like an ending and a beginning all at once. He doesn’t ask for directions. He still remembers how to get to your house without GPS.

Your hands are in your lap, fingers twisted together. You feel his glance every so often, but he never says what’s sitting on the tip of his tongue.

He pulls up outside your house, the porch light casting soft shadows across the dashboard. You both stay there for a moment, suspended in the in-between.

“I used to love dropping you off,” Matt says, voice low. “Not because it meant goodbye, but because you’d always turn back at the door and smile like you wanted one more minute.”

You don’t say anything. You just look at him. Eyes tired, but soft. Present.

“I still want one more minute,” he admits.

Your throat tightens. “So do I.”

But you reach for the door anyway. Hand on the handle, not moving.

“Matt?”

He turns toward you, like he’s bracing.

You don’t kiss him. You just rest your forehead against his for a breath or two, eyes closed, fingers barely brushing his jaw.

“Maybe someday,” you whisper.

He nods, and the smallest exhale escapes his lips. Like he knows better than to make promises now.

You step out. The car stays parked as you walk up the front steps. This time, you don’t turn around at the door.

But he’s still watching when you go inside.

And in that pause between leaving and letting go, the question lingers again, softer now, like a thread between two hearts still figuring it out.

Where do we go now?

You don’t know.

But maybe, not yet, isn’t the same as never.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #spotify #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x y/n #matthew sturniolo #gracie abrams #where do we go now #good riddance #Spotify

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