#no but like i really cried when i opened them

[tactical-jellyfish]

Wisdom Teeth (drabble)

I've been mean to y'all. Too much angst. Take some fluff for the winter (me having a test this week)

Warnings!: Wisdom tooth removal. Bloody spit, at one point reader is in enough pain to verbally request an opioid pill. Pain and pain medication. Fluffy <3 prob leads up to poly, they're fruitcakes about it.

The SAS teams have had to pause ops for a wide, wide range of reasons. The odd health complication is very much among them.

That being said, Price never thought he would have to pause a mission because one of his star players got a wisdom tooth infected.

You had been off on Tuesday, chewing on only one side of your mouth and not drinking anything that was even a little hotter than room temp.

Kyle gave you funny looks for it, but that was all.

Wednesday, you didn't leave your room for much at all, but that was fine. Resting up before an op wasn't uncommon. Simon did it all the time.

However, at some point between you disappearing and Johnny saying he heard crying from your room all bets were off.

The door was kicked in, to reveal a grown sergeant, teary-eyed and crying a little as they clutched their cheek with a hand.

Kyle was already at your side, trying to coax you to open your mouth for some painkillers. It wasn't working well.

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

You cried a little before the surgery. Maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of pain, but the nice nurse was kind enough to ignore it as she explained that you would be waking up in a few hours down four whole teeth.

She explained it to you as you sat in the stupid fucking chair, she repeated it as she gently tucked a I.V. with a small blister containing medicine into the veins of your arm.

"Alright, first the anti-anxiety drug will be administered, okay?"

She doesn't wait for your confirmation, but gently pats your shoulder and continues.

"You should start to feel a bit fuzzy, then, you'll sleep."

It takes a few sickening seconds for you to actually feel the drugs kicking in. You want to get out of this chair, to scream at something.

You never liked the dentist.

But then... the world starts to fade out. It's like you're being locked out of your body as your mind turns itself off.

You hear her counting with the surgeon–a much more awkward woman, though no less polite.

Three.

Two.

On-

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

The waking up is slow, and messy.

Cotton pads lie in either of your cheeks, and you can't do much but oblige as the nurse gently coaxes you into a wheelchair, giving instructions to the bearded man who's standing in the corner.

"Make sure they don't sleep for at least a couple hours, okay? I know it'll be hard, but try to have them keep pressure on the site."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Remember the usual course, and we're also giving you five opioid pills. Only in case it gets really bad."

"Affirmative."

You know this voice, but when you see the boonie hat and the slightly furrowed brows, a spark of muffled recognition fires off beneath the haze of anesthetic and misery.

"...Old man."

Your voice is slurred, foreign to even you at this point, but he seems to know it, because he sighs frustratedly before taking the chair by the handles and steering your down the hallway out.

"I swear to- mgh, olright. Better than Soap at least."

You're loaded into the back seat of the car with the most basic consideration.

Dumped in like a sack of flour, actually. Your butt hurts now, but there's Kyle.

He snorts when he sees you, reaches forward to wipe whatever is dripping from the corner of your mouth.

It's bloody spit, but he doesn't seem surprised.

The car ride back to base is quiet, but Kyle keeps you awake.

Beyond that, there's nothing you can remember. Not till the next morning.

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

Johnny is perched at your bedside, scrolling through his phone until he sees your eyes blearily opening, hears your groaning as you recognize a new pain in your cheeks, and he gently coaxes your mouth open to take out the bloody gauze.

"Och, there ye are, bonnie wee thing. You look like an eejit, just thought ye needed to know."

Your tired glare is met with a laugh, but followed shortly by a pat to the shoulder.

"A'hm kiddin', leannan. Just jokin' with ye. Brought ye breakfast."

He holds up a small container of yogurt, shakes it like one would cat treats to entice a stray. You grimace as much as your painfully swollen cheeks allow, but when you open your mouth to tell him off, there's a sharp twinge that makes you close it.

This seems to earn Johnny's sympathies, because he gently guides you so you're sitting up on the bed, holding one of your shaky hands as he peels back the foil on the cup.

"Easy. Still fresh, aye?"

Your wet-eyed nod is met with a sympathetic huff.

"Aye. Dinnae fash. I'll help ye."

You should smack him for implying that you need help eating yogurt, of all things, but... you kind of do need the help.

Your body is still lethargic, sluggishly stumbling through its tasks with hazy edges and poor motor control.

He raises a glass of water to your lips, and has you take a few sips.

Breakfast takes a long time, but before you fall asleep again, he gently sets a painkiller in your mouth, and tells you to swallow.

When you do, he smiles, and bends down to kiss your forehead while you drift back off.

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

So, here's something you didn't know before getting your wisdom teeth out.

You can't swallow for a couple days.

It's gross, yeah, but you're supposed to drool out the bloody spit in your mouth, so you don't get dry socket.

Thankfully, Kyle is there for this.

He sweeps your hair back as much as possible (to the point of getting bobby pins from the corner store for the baby hairs), and rubs your back as you drool out your toothpaste.

"I feel disgusting."

"I know, luv. You're not gonna feel good for a while."

Still, his mother's cure is the only thing he trusts himself enough to use on you. Warm, salty water. A childhood staple.

He's sympathetic to your plights, rubbing your back again as you clumsily swish it by turning your head to the sides, cheeks too swollen to move properly.

"Good job. One more."

A firm, warm hand pats your back again as you "spit" (if you can even call it that) for the final time, offering a sweet smile just for you.

"Perfect. Now you can lay back again, yeah? Nice n' easy."

You're not suffering like you were yesterday. It's new.

Your motor function is back, just sluggish.

No, no, your biggest issue right now is the swelling. Your cheeks were so puffy it hurt, and you had them on ice as often as you could.

This is where you have to thank the lord for John Price. Your captain, distant as he can be, must have at least three sets of cheek-size ice pads, because every time you come into your room, there's a new, fresh set waiting for you.

Kyle gently guides you to sit in your bed, offering a sympathetic smile as he eases you backward until you hit the pillow-ramp Johnny had built so your head would be upright.

"You wanna sleep, luv?"

"No."

Your voice is still quiet, limited by your stupid cheeks, but he smiles anyway, and sits next to you.

"You wanna hang out, then?"

"Yes."

The afternoon is good, for you.

Kyle is there. The whole time.

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

Of course, every surgery comes with the odd fuck-up.

No one should be up, but you're going insane with pain.

It's a sharp, stabbing thing, focused in the gum of your lower right jaw. Almost as sharp as the tooth's initial infection, but more than enough to bring significant distress.

Simon is an odd man, and you two have never been the closest, but when he opens your door in a t-shirt and boxers, you don't even care a little bit.

"Wha's happenin'?"

The Mancunian gruffs concernedly at you, watching as you hold your cheek and shakily take in vain breath in the hopes of calming yourself.

"Get an opioid, Lt. Please."

"Fawk."

Right after that, he's off like a horse to the races, and you're in the silence again, holding your cheek as you try to ignore the way your eyes swim with tears that you refuse to shed.

It's a mercifully short two minutes, even if it feels like half an hour.

Simon's hands are gentle, opening your jaw and setting the horse-pill on your tongue, looking into your wet eyes as he raises the glass to your lips.

"I know, I know. Jus' swallow."

He stays with you as you pant for the breath you've lost, wide, scarred hands on your shoulders.

He exaggerates his own breathing so you see the clear rise and fall of his chest. His lips lose their frown as you slowly start to mimic it.

The dispersal of the pain med is fast, thank goodness, but then Simon has a tired you to deal with, still trembling in the fingers from the sudden spike of debilitating pain, though you can't feel it.

"Are those skeleton boxers?"

He's starting to think your favorite pastime is asking stupid fucking questions, but still, some part of him feels relief.

You could have asked about the lack of mask, but you didn't. You just wanted to know about the halloween boxers.

"Sergeant."

His voice isn't as firm as it should be, but when he sees your exhausted look, he still sits down on the mattress with you.

"Stay. Jus' till I fall asleep."

You don't have the balls to ask for it. Not when you're this vulnerable. So you treat it like an order.

Simon won't be chewing you out for it.

Not now.

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

Kyle and Johnny stand in the doorway to your room, snickering to themselves.

Never thought they would see big boy Lt with the firecracker that drove him up the wall, surely.

Still, after taking a couple pictures (blackmail for Johnny, photo album for Kyle), they just... stand and stare a little.

"Ye ken... we could jus'... join in?"

Johnny poses the question. Kyle nods.

"Yeah. To make sure they're sleeping well."

They both know damn well that's not why. But fuck it, a cuddle pile never hurt anyone.

Especially not you, considering how gentle the pair are when maneuvering your sleeping form.

If Simon opened his eyes and just so happened to see this buffoonery in action, he closed them right back up after.

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

Price sighs in exasperation when he sees it, but smiles as he tips down his cap just a little.

"Fuckin' rookie. Gonna be the death of me."

But he knows you won't. Because he sees the way Simon's lips curve up in sleep, or the way Johnny and Kyle cling to you.

He should call Laswell, finalize your placement.

The boys wouldn't complain.

[ts-janus-rp-blog]

The younger one curled into a ball as Emile rubbed his back. He stuffed his face into emiles side as he cried. His hands gripped onto him, and it didn't seem like he was letting him go anytime soon.

The middle one flinched and hid behind the bigger one when emile opened his arms. But when he didn't move again for a while, he slowly itched away from the bigger one. He slowly made his way to emile. He sniffed his arm once but then he jumped as Emile spoke. He yelped and whimpered, his ears going flat and his body stiffening... But when nothing happened he went back to sniffing emiles arm...then he slowly put a paw on emiles leg. Slowly... Slowly...

The older one, on the other hand, wasn't moving an inch. Instead, he was curled against the leg of the table, his eyes watching the others in case Emile hurt them. But he wasn't moving an inch. He seemed...very scared and frightened to get near a human at all, but he made himself out like he was a tough one whenever the others were cowering against him. He had this tough act going on, but really...he was more terrified than the others were.

"Will he be able to go places without you? Most likely not, Virgil, because you're a control freak and a pervert! You'll need to know where he is at all times! And will you help him be able to protect himself? Will you give him pepper spray? Or teach him moves so he can protect himself? No, you won't, cause again, you're a control freak. He won't be on an episode of true crime, he'll be on the news once he runs from you and tells someone that he's being held against his damn will, Virgil!! Will you let Roman have friends outside of your buddies? Will you let Roman talk to a stranger? No, you won't!" Remus growled again, "Virgil, you are a sick freak. You're sicker than Remy and I didn't think that was possible. I swear to fucking God. I'm... I'm done talking to you. You're going to make me sick if I talk to you anymore. Are we done here? Are we done with the threats? Cause if you think the threat to emiles life is going to stop me, Virgil, it's not. I'm still coming for Roman and your damn head."

Patton knocked desperately at the strangers door, praying someone, anyone was home. His heart beat as fast and loud as the rain thundering against the sidewalk. He was sure he was being followed, they were going to catch him. They were going to drag him back. He wasn't sure if whoever lived here might be worse, but he was willing to risk it at this point. Anything to escape.

{@moralpuppylover2}

Janus didn't know who would be at the door. It was late, but his master won't surely be home at this time. He normally doesn't get home until the sun starts to come up.

So, as the dog hybrid walked up to the door and opened it, he wondered who it could be. And if he should open it at all... Who knows, he may get in trouble with his master for opening the door. But, his curiosity was getting the better of him-

He stopped when he saw the soaking wet cat standing at the doorway. He could tell that this cat needed help almost immediately. Well, if his poor state of clothes were anything to go by. His eyes flickered up and down the sidewalk before he grabbed pattons arm and pulled him inside.

"are you alright?" Janus nervously asked as he grabbed a towel from the mud room. "Well, that's a stupid question, of course you're not alright! Are you...running away from your owners?" As Janus walked, the collar around his neck would jingle loudly. And even though it was cold outside and even in the house, he only had a pair of boxers on. Because of that, Patton would be able to see the numerous large scars that covered his body...and the countless amounts of fresh bruises.

@moralpuppylover2

[bewaryofpity]

hihi! can i request #19 smut with nico hischier?

thank you for requesting ! 🩶

19. “Who would have thought that this is something that you’re into?”

.

You wouldn’t necessarily consider yourself a brat, but when you realized you never really pushed Nico’s buttons to their limit, you decided to be one for the day. He couldn’t be this calm and collected all the time, there had to be something that would break him. And so your teasing began.

It started with joining him for his morning shower, then opting to wear one of his shirts and completely ditching panties, running your hands up and down his arms, chest, back, brushing your bare ass past him while cooking breakfast, bending over so your pussy was on display. Then when you went out for dinner, foot poking his thigh dangerously close to his dick, pressing fleeting touches to his bulge in the back of an uber. All while feigning innocence.

But Nico only gave you stern looks, silently telling you to stop, but the frustration and enjoyment from his lack of response was driving you more insane, more desparate, more needy. And your last move seemingly broke his facade and you started to regret it.

You didn’t have much of a choice when, as soon as he closed the front door, he grabbed at your neck pulling you back forcefully, your hands trying to pry his fingers off of you. Not even the small whiny sorry, I’m so sorry that left your lips was going to get you out of the mess you created. His hand never left your neck as he walked you towards your shared bedroom where his hands then moved towards the zip of your dress, ripping it open and leaving you naked and bare in front of him. 

You were shamefully turned on at the way his neck flushed in anger, sat on your bed with his thighs spread open and motioned for you to sit on them, or rather lie on them. And that was when the first slap unexpectedly hit, a gasp leaving your lips. You tried to get up taken aback by the gesture, but he pushed you down, hand coming back to wrap around your neck. The chuckle that left his lips sent a cold shiver down your spine, his hand massaging your cheek when his fingers felt the drip of arousal coating your inner thighs.

“Who would have thought that this is something that you’re into?” His voice was harsh, just like the hand that landed on your ass. “Fucking slut, that’s what you are.”

Spank after spank came and you felt your skin starting to burn, sure that his handprint was loud and clear against your skin, yet the wetness pooling between your legs kept him going. Your whines and cries and moans just riled him up even more.

“Only a slut like you could enjoy such punishment.” He said, showing no mercy when he felt your tears wetting his pants, only slowing down his spanks to tend at your pulsing clit once in a while. You were going insane, desperate to chase relief but your pleas kept falling on deaf ears and you knew this was going to be a long night.

[kashverse]

umbrellas are, without a doubt, mankind’s magnum opus. rain? blocked. sun? deflected. want to look like a brooding protagonist in a slow-motion film sequence? pop that thing open and stride dramatically.  a/n: read till the end to see choso's temu collab <3

unfortunately, this universal truth is lost on gojo, who believes his infinity is a catch-all solution to every problem in life, including weather. does it keep the rain off him? sure. does it do the same for you? absolutely not. but does he realize this? of course not. so while he’s smugly holding you close, humming some dumb love song and talking about how "this is just like those k-dramas, huh, babe?" you are actively getting drenched. fast forward two days later—you’re curled up in bed, tissues piling up like a battlefield, and gojo is wailing as if he’s the one on death’s doorstep. “my baby is dying,” he cries to shoko over the phone, who is ignoring him as she eats her lunch. it doesn’t matter that you told him it was just a mild cold. gojo is now hand-feeding you soup with the solemnity of a man who thinks he is on his last day of service. *“i should’ve—sniff—bought an umbrella.” you have half a mind to hit him with the spoon.

geto, on the other hand, is a man of preparation and, for some reason, exclusively stocks clear umbrellas. like, exclusively. open his closet and you will find nothing but a neat, borderline concerning collection of transparent umbrellas, stacked like they’re waiting for a government-distributed evacuation plan. does he use them all? yes. does he need that many? no. when you question him, he simply shrugs and says, “it’s aesthetic.” but the aestheticism fades a little when the two of you are forced to walk under the blazing summer sun, grumbling like old men because the clear plastic is offering exactly zero protection from UV rays. "we’re gonna get so tanned,” you whine. “we’ll be fine,” he reassures, though he looks about one minute away from passing out. why doesn’t he just buy a regular umbrella? you may never know.

toji, meanwhile, gives you the slow blink of a man who has never voluntarily used an umbrella in his life. if you ask him where his umbrella is, he will blink at you like a lizard sunning itself on a rock and say, "what’s an umbrella?" except he’s joking, but also not really. the thing about toji is that he fundamentally does not care about the weather. if it rains, it rains. if it shines, it shines. he has completed jobs in typhoons, sprinted through downpours to reach you in the middle of the night when you were anxious, and once walked through a literal snowstorm to buy a six-pack. weather is an inconvenience only for the weak. that is until his philosophy backfires and he ends up with a sunburn so severe he’s walking around the house hissing like a vampire, or with a cold so bad that every time he blows his nose, he sounds like a goose fighting for its life. and now he’s grumpy about it. "should’ve used an umbrella," you tell him sweetly as you rub aloe on his peeling shoulders. he grumbles something unintelligible and sulks like a big, overgrown toddler.

nanami is the only one among them who has fully mastered the art of umbrella ownership. you don’t even have to ask if he has one; the answer is always yes. he has one for every occasion. he carries a primary umbrella, a backup umbrella in his bag, and if you check his office drawer, there’s probably another one neatly folded away just in case. he whips it out at the farmers' market, during evening strolls, and most impressively, in a street fight. if you’ve ever seen a man turn an umbrella into a lethal weapon, nanami is that man. he can and will beat the shit out of someone with it. “it’s a tool,” he says simply. and honestly, who are you to argue?

choso, however, is firmly in the raincoat camp. umbrellas make his hands hurt, so he skips the struggle entirely and commits to full rain protection like a man on a mission. the problem arises when he starts browsing for new raincoats and sees children wearing character-themed ones. next thing you know, he is holding up two sanrio-themed raincoats from temu, grinning ear to ear. "they glow in the dark when they get wet," he says proudly. they allegedly glow. allegedly. you do a quick google search and find out they might actually contain enough lead to take down a fully grown man. "choso, you are not wearing that." but he already bought it. and now he’s standing in the rain, in a kuromi-themed raincoat that is possibly a biohazard, smiling like he’s the peak of fashion.

sukuna, much like toji, does not give a single damn about rain or shine. it could be pouring or blisteringly hot, and he’d still be doing whatever he wants, unaffected and unbothered. however, if the weather starts personally inconveniencing him—like preventing him from stretching out in his favorite sunspot like some oversized demon cat—he will glare at the sky itself and, somehow, it will fix itself. it doesn’t rain if sukuna doesn’t want it to. the sun won’t shine if he says so. when you ask him how he does it, he just shrugs. "i just do." you don’t push for answers. you’re a little scared to.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four

“What?” Steve’s on edge, he doesn’t mean to snap, it just comes out that way. Eddie’s gone from never looking at him to...always looking at him. And the scrutiny is...it’s so fucking judgemental. Eddie has a horrible little smirk on his face as he fucking stares, eyeballing the drink Steve is pouring for himself, Steve is on the edge of just...screaming at him, or something.

Eddie huffs, rolls his eyes, but still doesn’t say anything.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep calming breath, and reminds himself that absolutely none of this is Eddie’s fault. They’re alone for the first time in a while, so Steve takes his chance, “I’m really sorry, about what I said, okay? I’m sorry I...tricked you. It was wrong, it was absolutely a dick move, I had no right to know, and I’m sorry.”

Eddie does look away then, deflating a little, Steve’s apology seems to have knocked the wind out of his sails, or something. Diluted the anger a little, at least.

“It’s…” Eddie shrugs, staring the shit out of the kitchen floor, “my Steve didn’t drink.”

Steve scrunches his nose up, surprised, “what, at all?”

Eddie shrugs, “glass of wine with dinner maybe, if we went somewhere just the two of us but...no. Not really,” he keeps picking the label off his own beer.

“But why?” Steve asks, so incredulous at the revelation that he forgets to be pissed off.

Eddie won’t look at him now, though, tinking a ring against the glass bottle. The moments long enough that Steve knows Eddie’s debating if he should tell him at all, but eventually Eddie sighs, “when Ronnie was tiny, she got a cough. She was like...fine, we didn’t think anything of it, just thought she was being grizzly or whatever. And Steve had a drink, and I hadn’t, so it was fine but, I checked on her, and she was fast asleep but like had a raging temperature. And it didn’t matter, we had baby meds in the house, we were prepared but...Steve got so worried. He was like but what if we’d run out of meds or...or they didn’t bring her temperature down and she needed urgent care or whatever. I mean, she was absolutely fine, we changed her out of her footie jammies and the medicine worked just fine so...literally nothing happened but...Steve still got so worried about it. So he decided he needed to always be able to drive just in case and he just...stopped. Drinking.”

Steve wants to open his mouth and dispute it. Wants to tell Eddie he’d never fucking do that, that he isn’t the paragon of perfection Eddie dreamed up while his body was busy beating the crap out of every one. That he can’t possibly compare...but he can see it. He wouldn’t miss it, he knows he wouldn’t, and it’s the logical way to make sure his kid is fine then...yeah. Steve would, the thinks. He thinks he would do that.

“He sounds like a good guy,” Steve answers softly.

And Eddie, Eddie smiles before biting his lips together. He closes his eyes and swallows, thick and slow, his voice breaking when he speaks, and Steve knows that Eddie’s fighting a loosing battle against the tears, “he was.”

“Do you want…” Steve holds his arms out, and Eddie all but falls into them, “I know I’m not him, okay, I know that, but I’m here, if you want me to be here.”

Steve thinks he feels Eddie nod, as he sobs against Steve’s chest, curled up so Steve can hold all of him. And Steve cries too. He can't keep the tears inside. Eddie’s pain is palpable, and this isn’t about Steve, not really, Eddie’s Steve was real to Eddie but...the details. The details of Eddie’s story are gutting to listen to. He had a child, and she grew up, and Eddie...he remembers all these little details of their lives.

“Why are you crying?” Eddie chokes out through a sob.

“The footie pajamas,” Steve manages through his own tears, “you had a little girl Eds, you had a little girl and you-” Steve can’t finish it, it’s just so horrible. So unbelievably cruel. Steve can’t even imagine, not really, “I’m so so sorry you went through this. It’s my fault, if I’d taken you with us, if I’d gotten you out, I didn’t know Eddie I swear I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know. Stop it. I probably...I’d be dead now, if you- although I don’t know if that would be better.”

“Jesus,” Steve drags him close drags him into a rib crushing hug, tries to press Eddie inside him, “don’t say that. Jesus Christ, please don’t say that.”

“I...okay.”

Eddie becomes his shadow, which is...kind of weird but also not. Steve doesn’t mind Eddie being there, not at all. He keeps feeling...strangely guilty, about the whole thing. Like it’s, at least, in some way, Steve’s fault, no matter what Eddie might say. Logically Steve knows Eddie’s right, and isn’t that ridiculous, that Eddie has been reassuring Steve? But Eddie is right, Steve couldn’t have known what would happen, no one could, and...Eddie was dead. There was absolutely no way to predict what could have happened but...Steve wears it anyway.

Not to mention the fact that Vecna must have chosen Steve to be Eddie’s imaginary husband for a reason...he must have...liked Steve, for that to work right? Before everything, it must have been realistic to Eddie’s mind that Steve was the one. At least, the thought must have been present enough for that to...take root. Steve doesn’t know, not really, but it haunts him anyway, a loose tooth that, although is painful, he can’t help fiddling with. Even though it’s nothing to do with him, not really.

Eddie stops drinking. He has his last beer, he in fact makes a point of telling Steve that it’s his last one, and not to buy more. So Steve gets one too, they chink them together, and drink them. Then, without speaking, Steve gathers the remaining seven beers out of the fridge and they stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder, pouring them away. It feels kind of poignant, and a little ceremonial. It feels like an important moment, one Steve will look back on, “you still could have had them,” Eddie points out quietly.

“Nah.” And then that’s...kind of it.

Steve can tell when Eddie really wants a drink. He gets antsy, the kind of restlessness that comes out as destruction, and Eddie gets snappy and bitchy and...hard work, to be around. Sometimes. He swears a lot, gets angry over nothing. There’s a lot of slammed doors and angry clanking and music played loud enough that Steve winces and leaves the house for a while, not really caring what the neighbors think.

Steve lets it wash over him, or at least, does his best to, at first. But finding Eddie shredding the pages of a note book, one at a time, and then getting shouted at for simply asking, “you okay?” Steve starts to figure this isn’t sustainable.

He honestly feels like he’d be taking his life into his hands if he dared suggest Eddie go to some sort of therapy – and who could he talk to, anyway? How could Eddie tell someone on the outside that he’s lived a full life, that he’s lost an adult child and been married for like, thirty years by the age of twenty one?

Steve ducks the notebook as it wings passed his head, watching as Eddie stomps out the back door, slamming it behind him.

“Am I...uhm, gonna’ get anything thrown at me?” Steve doesn’t come too close, just in case. A torn up notebook cover might not have hurt, but the beer bottle still stands out in Steve’s memory. He wonders vaguely if he should have called one of the girls to do this, but it feels cowardly.

Eddie shakes his head, gesturing vaguely with his burnt out cigarette. There’s a neat little row of butts and a scrunched up packet next to Eddie’s boot. Steve pulls up a lawn chair next to him, “sorry,” Eddie says quietly, pointedly not looking at him.

“Yeah, it’s okay-”

“No it isn’t.”

“No...probably not but...I get that you’re hurting, is what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, vaguely, “sometimes something just…” Eddie sighs, and after a few minutes Steve realizes he’s given up and isn’t going to say anymore.

“Reminds you?” Steve tries.

“Yeah,” Eddie gestures again vaguely, running his hand through his hair. It’s looking a little greasy, but Steve knows that at least Eddie stood under the water this morning so he will take what he can get. His clothes are clean today, at least, and that’s a little win considering can go days with no interest whatsoever in his own personal hygiene.

“Do you...want to tell me?”

Eddie sighs a big sigh, “I wrote a song for Steve, for like, our seventh anniversary. Something like that. I wrote it out, to check I still remember. I do.”

“Oh. That sounds...really nice.” That is...very romantic. It makes something flutter a little, inside Steve, because no ones ever done anything like that for him, put in work. It doesn’t take much for Steve to see that Eddie is absolutely that kind of guy. The all in kind of guy, “I bet he really appreciated that. I bet he loved it.” Steve knows he would.

“Yeah,” Eddie rasps, “yeah he did.”

[hamzaheaven]

hiii, would you be willing to write something about the reader having endometriosis and struggling with it a lot, hamzah finds her in pain after filming with martin maybe? if you’re not comfortable with writing this it’s all good❤️

a/n: ahhh as a girly who has been seeing doctors for years to try and figure out why my uterus acts the way she does, i love this idea <3 

warnings: mentions of endometriosis??? idk

SFW <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

it was now the second day of your period, also known as your own personal purgatory. the days leading up to your menstrual cycle starting had been a clear, foreboding storm, brewing in your body, making itself ruthlessly known with every cramp and pinch. it left you clutching countertops, eyes squeezed shut with shivering knees as they threaten to buckle underneath the weight of your agony. 

but you were never one to complain or make your pain known; hell, most days you felt like a wimp for even taking a painkiller. 

ever since you had gotten your period first, you knew something felt off. you seemed to always sit on the sidelines as your girl-friends functioned normally while it was their time of the month. but for you, it was hard to even stand up sometimes during when it was your turn. and after years of switching birth control, doctors, wrong diagnoses and medication, you finally figured out what was ‘wrong’ with your body; endometriosis. 

you’re sitting on the couch in Hamzah’s apartment, desperately focusing on breathing through the cramps swirling in the lower half of your body. your knees are pressed flush against your chest, one of your palms on your abdomen. the dull sound of blood rushing in your ears mixes with the pounding of a relentless migraine, when the front door suddenly swings open, causing your eyes to snap open, almost unwillingly. 

“I’m back!” Hamzah exclaims cheerfully, holding his hoodie in one hand as he spreads his arms like a child waiting for a hug. Red and Blue softly meow at his arrival, brushing against his legs, but he doesn’t immediately pay them attention. His dark eyes scan the room for a moment at the lack of a response, before his gaze locks on you, as you sit crawled into the corner of the couch like a wounded animal, basically motionless. 

in the haze of the pain your body was in, you completely forgot what time Hamzah would come back home from filming with Martin. you swallow thickly, slowly turning your head to Hamzah, trying your best to hide the grimace on your face. 

slightly defeatedly, he drops his arms at the sight of you, bringing his eyebrows together. “you okay?” he asks a little gingerly, dropping his hoodie on the couch. he carefully eyes you for a moment longer, but is quick to catch on when you remain silent once more. he picks at his fingernails as he manoeuvres his way over to the side of the sofa you had been sitting on, still clutching your stomach. 

Hamzah had always been like this; unsure what to really do when someone was in distress in his immediate surroundings. he never knew what to say or do when someone cried, or where to put his hands when someone was in pain. it was a trait you found endearing about him, even in this moment, right now. “What’s wrong?” he quietly asked, sinking down on the empty spot beside you, seeming to be afraid to make any harsh moves, as if you were made of an expensive porcelain. 

you exhale shakily, turning your head to face him. a thin sheen of sweat glimmers across your forehead, your cheekbones colored an angry red from the frustration and the agony in your body. parting your lips to say something, all you can do is wince slightly, before simply shaking your head. 

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles a little cluelessly. “Uh, fuck… where are the painkillers?” he then mumbles to himself, getting up from the couch again to rummage through his slightly messy kitchen cabinets. you two hadn’t been together for all that long, but he knew about your monthly struggles with the painful condition all too well. you were pretty sure you kinda traumatised him the first time he found you curled up on the bathroom floor, clutching your stomach.

resting your head against the back of the couch, you continue to focus on your breathing, keeping your warm palm against your stomach to try and alleviate some of the cramping.

a slight gasp tumbles from your parted lips as you feel a cold rag gently being placed on your clammy forehead, your eyes opening tiredly, straight into two dark brown ones looking back. a bottle of ibuprofen rattles in his other hand as he carefully places the rag on your skin, his fingers a little unsure, as if any touch could and would hurt you. a weak smile pulls at the edge of your lips as you study his focused expression for a moment before he sits back down next to you, offering you a glass of water and two painkillers. 

he gently places his warm hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers behind your hair to help you sit up a little to swallow down the medication. you inhale sharply at the sudden shift of position, but manage to gulp down the ibuprofen regardless, before sinking back down into the cushions of the sofa. absentmindedly, you lean into Hamzah, who’s still sitting beside you, one of his arms resting on the back of the couch behind you. 

“why didn’t you say anything when i left earlier?” he asks softly, carefully brushing a few damp strands of hair out of your face. he snakes his hand to your back and underneath your shirt, gently placing his warm palm on your lower back. you can’t help but shiver, a silent hiss passing through your teeth at the feeling. the gentle pressure feels heavenly, the strain in your muscles slowly starting to melt a little. 

you shrug, inhaling his cologne mixed with his laundry detergent as you rest your head on his chest. “i didn’t think it was gonna be this bad,” you mumble, your voice a little hoarse. the muscles in your stomach continue to contract every so often as the painkillers slowly start to take away some of the harsh edges of the pain. 

he simply nods, gently pulling your body flush against his, hoping some of his body heat will alleviate how uncomfortable you are. “better?” he quietly asks, unsure what else he could do to make the pain less. all you do is hum, nodding quietly, your eyes strained from the amount of energy the pain had drained from your body. 

 he carefully grabs your chin, tilting your head back a little to press a kiss against your lips. “since i didn’t get one when i came in,” he murmurs mindlessly, gently letting go of your face as quick as he had grabbed it. 

you stifle a chuckle, trying to ignore the relentless cramping in your stomach. “forgive me for being preoccupied with feeling like i was just trampled by a herd of elephants,” you quietly semi-joke back at him, keeping your eyes on him. his eyebrows are furrowed ever so slightly as he looks down at his phone, the drawstring of his hoodie in between his lips. he flickers his eyes over to you for a moment, his expression softening mindlessly. “you’re forgiven,” he mumbles, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "I'll go run you a bath."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n: ok idk how i feel about this but i want to write him as accurately as i think he would act irl lmfaooo like he's so awkward about everything its so funny anywhoozles my requests r open !!! thank u for sending this req anon <3

[judesmoonbeauty]

A Day With Jude Jazza: "25:00 - Epilogue"

Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

CW: Awkwardly translated smut. I'm sorry. Additionally, I chose to use an explitive where I felt it was allowed.

The moon is still revoltingly far away.

Kate: Nngaah.

Jude: Yer mouth’s flappin’ open like a fish.

Kate: Whose fault is that -

Jude: Ya can’t breathe right when I kiss ya, so it’s yer fault.

Kate: Mmm

She can’t breathe because I capture and torture her tongue; and whenever she turns away to catch her breath, I torture it again.

She’ll grip my shirt tightly and then loosen it when she reaches her limit, and when that happens,

I’ll release Kate’s lips for a moment, she’ll take a shallow breath, and then I deprive her of it all over again.

Kate: I…can’t….kiss…anymore.

Jude: Seem pretty excited ‘spite sayin’ that.

Perhaps, because of all the teasing, Kate’s already soaking wet down there,

And like they were begging to be touched, I pinched her nipples through her clothes.

Kate: Ahh.

Jude: Hurts so much it ‘n yet feels good does it, Princess?

Kate: Mmn, that’s not true.

Jude: Ain’t a bit convincin’, who’d believe that?

Kate: AHNN!

When I flick my girlfriend’s nipple, she cries out so sweetly,

(Yer a real masochist.)

Driven by sadistic feelings, I shove my finger through a gap in her knickers.

Kate: Oh!

Jude: Look, ain’t even touched it, but my finger’s already slipped in.

This literally translates, “Look, I haven’t even touched you, but my finger’s already inside.” I felt the alteration flowed better.

I lifted Kate up, and had her look between her legs,

Kate: D-Don’t show me!

Although on the verge of tears, she glared at me with a flushed face, and I couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Jude: I’ll put another in……here.

The finger I inserted into her made a wet sound, and I felt a slight clench.

Jude: Ya almost came just from me puttin’ it in.

Kate: No, I - Aaah!

I suddenly pressed firmly onto Kate’s sensitive spot, while she gripped my arms, her body quivering.

(No matter how many times I do it, her reaction’s good.)

When I teased her by pumping my fingers,

Kate: —!

Kate came silently and leaned into my body.

A sweet scent from her neck lifts from her body, seducing me like a poison.

(Why’s it smell so good?)

While I strip off her clothes, I bury my face in her neck and leave numerous marks behind,

I carve them into her body, so Kate can’t leave me.

Kate: Jude…..

Jude: Yeah?

Kate, with her flushed cheeks, watery eyes, trembling voice and body,

Kate: Can it be a little rougher….?

The instant I was coaxed, my body grew extremely hot.

(Blindly provokin’ me.)

Her trembling hands try to remove my belt, but I stop them and hold them.

Jude: ‘Though I teased ‘n tortured ya, ya wanna be tortured some more?

I quickly undo my belt and press myself against Kate’s pussy.

The kanji literally translates as “private parts/geni****,” I hate the "g" word. Anyway, EN server might translate it as entrance….but not me.

Jude: Ya really are a masochistic pervert.

Kate: AAAH!

The second I pentrate her without hesitation, her back arches and I latch onto her waist as Kate comes instantanesouly.

Kate: Wait, I just came!

Jude: Don’t matter if ya wanna wait or not.

Kate: Mmmm.

Like giving chase, I ram myself into her over and over, and each time I smash into her depths she climaxes, and then I repeat the movements without stopping.

Kate: J-Jude.

Jude: Haaaa…

Whenever I do that, Kate goes mad from coming and starts to cry,

So, I’ll pull out and pin her onto the bed, as she tries to escape upward.

But the way I see it, it’s like she’s stoking me by offering up her hips.

Jude: Ain’t no way I’d let ya escape.

Kate: AAAHN!!

I grip her thighs again and thrust into her hard, her body’s exhausted and sinks into the bed.

Laying on top of her, I put my lips to her ear,

Jude: Toldja.

Kate: Oh…..

Jude: I’ll take real good care o’ ya.

Once again, I drill deep inside her.

Wrapped in white sheets, I wipe away the remaining tear stains with my thumb.

Kate’s passed out sleeping.

(It’s more fun bullyin’ Kate, than hurtin’ nobles.)

I realized that my amusements had changed before I knew it.

Noticing the marks that I left on her stomach, I reach out with my fingers.

(Such a thin belly…..probably’ll die as soon as it’s stabbed.)

The red marks on her pale, flawless stomach stood out.

Jude: Won’t forgive if ya get any other injuries ‘sides these.

When I look up, I see the gemstone on her chest reflecting the moonlight.

(When I saw this, first thing t’come to mind was Kate’s face.)

At first glance, Kate, whose meddlesome, earnest, and stubbornly refuses to give up, may not look like the moon.

Jude: But, yer like the moonlight t’me.

Although I wanted to give up everything, I couldn’t end it, but I also couldn’t turn back and my life kept festering.

You’re a being that’s like a pale, gentle light guiding me in the darkness.

Jude: …..If it weren’t fer ya, I’d have stayed like that.

Unable to go to the moon, and fated to die.

That day might have come sooner.

Jude: You ‘n I both started likin’ troublesome people.

Jude uses ‘suki’ here, but it does not appear that Kate heard him at this point. Further, I opted to translate this as ‘like’ instead of ‘love’ because saying the word ‘love’ is a no-no for Jude atp (even though he does love her), and I feel like Kate would’ve made a huge fuss over it if she had heard him say it.

I murmured as I held Kate tightly in my arms.

Jude: ……Fer the rest o’ my life, I’ll never let ya go, so when ya leave, kill me off proper.

Kate: ……Please don’t let me go for the rest of your life.

Surprised by the reply, I loosened my arms, and Kate, with her eye’s still closed, laughed with a carefree look.

Jude: Awake were ya?

Kate: I just woke up….

When she touched the necklace, Kate thinly lifted her eyelids,

Kate: Until we go to the moon, I will be the closest moon to you.

Kate: A moon just for Jude……

She mumbled in a relaxed voice, so I stroked her hair.

Jude: If ya don’t shine right, then I can’t reach ya.

Kate: Hehe….Leave it to me. Love’s a curse, right?

Kate: This necklace has placed a curse on me again, so I can’t leave you Jude.

Despite being cursed, Kate smiled happily,

Jude: Yer the one who’s cursed me more.

Kate: Hmmm? Then we’re in the same boat.

You robbed me of my choice to give up hope, and cursed me so I can’t die until I fulfill my promise.

(Just how big d’ya think this curse is?)

But, she probably doesn’t realize just how big it is.

And that curse, is as gentle and warm as the moonlight.

Jude: Hurry ‘n sleep, ‘cause ya gotta fight paperwork tomorrow too.

Kate: That’s what I want.

Kate smiled joyfully, closed her eyes and fell asleep instantly.

Jude: Ain’t that too quick?

The gemstone rises and falls on her chest, catching moonlight again and sparkles.

The moon is still revoltingly far away.

(But…..)

Jude: No way I’ll give up.

As long as the moonlight in these arms shines like a beam of hope, this festering life,

—Each day, I’ll move forward to fulfill my promise, because tomorrow will continue to occur.

[Event Master list]

T/L Note: Full disclosure, this was the a roller coaster to translate, my brain is fried. Good luck to the EN team if this comes to the EN server. Anyways, I just want to say that I'm pretty sure Jude is into cervix play, because although it doesn't explicity state it word for word, he was basically smashing into her, and that makes sense because in the Drunk CE, he asks Kate if she wants to be fucked straight to her stomach basically. Jude's smut goes two ways, he can be extremely gentle (like we saw in his BD event), and he can go full on yakuza boss who fucks his woman until she's brain dead. Either are fine with me. I may write my full thoughts on the event later because I have a lot to say.

So, what did you all think???

If you wish to be added to my translations tag list, and are +18 YO, then please comment below! If you wish to be removed, please do the same.

Tag list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne

[goldfades]

WNBA CHAMPS ───── LUKA DONCIC (crashout couple)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.8k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (request for my baby jo, @wanderlusturous) luka and reader at the wnba finals after the liberty win it for the very first time

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but fluff!!! luka being a proud husband<3

You don’t hear the buzzer. Not really.

Not over the chaos, the explosion of sound from the packed Barclays Center, not over your own blood rushing in your ears, drowning out everything except the echo of the shot you just made.

A logo three. Your logo three.

Ball arcing high, perfect rotation, the kind of shot that makes the crowd inhale as one—and then the net barely ripples as it drops through. Clean. Filthy. Forever.

It takes a second for reality to catch up, for the scoreboard to register what you already know in your bones: it’s over. Liberty, WNBA Champions.

And then everything breaks.

Your teammates hit you like a tidal wave. Someone tackles you—Sabrina? Betnijah?—and you go down, the weight of a whole franchise crashing over you in screams and tears and flying water bottles. The confetti starts before you can even process it, gold and seafoam raining from the ceiling, getting caught in your lashes, in your braids, in the sweat still cooling on your skin.

Your chest is heaving, heart sprinting, and when you finally claw your way out of the dogpile, searching for the first person you need to see, he’s already there.

Luka.

Front row, arms flung so wide it’s like he’s trying to grab the whole damn moment in his hands. His mouth is open, screaming something you can’t hear but absolutely feel, something loud and ridiculous, probably in Slovenian, probably something that’ll get clipped and memed by tomorrow morning.

He’s been a problem all night. Worn your jersey like he was on the team, talked shit to the refs, nearly got ejected from his courtside seat after he and Breanna Stewart’s wife started chirping in Spanish at each other in the third.

And now, he looks—god—he looks like he just won, too.

Like you just hit that shot for him.

Like you’d do it all over again if it meant seeing him like this.

Your legs move before your mind does. You shove past the cameras, the interviewers, the mob of celebration, sprinting full-speed toward the sideline, Luka already stepping over security like they don’t even exist. He barely has time to open his arms before you’re in them, legs wrapping tight around his waist, his arms locking around you like there’s nowhere else on earth you belong.

"You saw that?" you gasp against his ear, laughing, crying, shaking.

"I saw everything."

Luka is shaking.

Not in the way you’ve seen on the court—bouncing with adrenaline after a game-winner, vibrating with the last remnants of competition. No, this is something else entirely.

His grip on you is tight, almost desperate, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear into the confetti storm, into the chaos of cameras and screaming fans. His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts beneath your hands, like he can’t catch his breath. Like he just ran the length of the court in your shoes.

You pull back just enough to see his face, to take in the way his eyes shine under the bright arena lights. Luka never cries. Not after wins, not after losses. He swears he did once—after the 2018 EuroLeague championship—but you’ve never seen it yourself, only heard the story in passing, a rare glimpse at the part of him that cares so much it hurts.

But right now?

Right now, there’s a dampness at the corners of his eyes, his lips parted in something between awe and disbelief, his whole body still buzzing, like he doesn’t know what to do with all the love, all the pride, all of you.

"You really did it," he breathes, voice thick, uneven.

"You doubted me?" you tease, but your own voice shakes at the edges.

His fingers curl into the fabric of your jersey, gripping at your waist like he needs to hold onto something real, something solid. "Never," he murmurs, shaking his head, pressing his forehead against yours. His skin is warm, damp from the heat of the arena, and for a second—just a second—it’s just the two of you. No cameras, no noise, no legacy-defining moment. Just Luka and you, caught in something bigger than either of you can name.

And then—before you can say anything else, before you can laugh or cry or whisper some smartass comment about how he’s gonna be even more unbearable now that you’ve got a ring—he moves.

Luka lifts you.

Easily, effortlessly, like you don’t weigh a damn thing, arms locked under your thighs as he spins you in the air, laughing through the crack in his voice. The world tilts, gold and green and electric, and you let yourself go with it, throwing your head back, hands tangling in his hair as he carries you in a wide circle, parading you like his trophy, like he just won right alongside you.

"You’re a fucking champion!" he shouts, voice breaking mid-sentence, too full of joy to care. "The best! The best!"

It’s ridiculous. It’s over-the-top.

It’s him.

And when he finally stops spinning, when he sets you down, eyes wild with something uncontainable, you barely have a second to react before he’s cupping your face and kissing you.

It’s not neat. Not soft.

It’s everything.

A crash of lips and teeth and breathless laughter, his hands shaking where they frame your face, your own fingers curled in the fabric of his t-shirt, holding him there, here. The arena is screaming, your teammates calling for you, the trophy waiting, but for this moment—this one, infinite moment—it’s just Luka and you, caught in the aftermath of something neither of you can control.

"You’re gonna be insufferable about this," you gasp when you finally pull away, forehead resting against his.

He grins, dimple deep and cocky. "Oh, you have no idea."

You roll your eyes, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before shoving at his chest. "Alright, alright—I gotta go celebrate with my actual teammates."

Luka groans, dramatic, swiping at his eyes like he wasn’t just on the verge of tears. "Fine. Go. Leave me here. Broken. Forgotten."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, but you’re laughing as you backpedal, fingers lingering in his grip for just a second longer before you let go, let yourself be swallowed back into the mass of bodies waiting for you.

The last thing you see before you disappear into the sea of jerseys and cameras is Luka, standing courtside, watching you with that same stunned, stupidly in-love expression.

Like he already knows—win or lose, on or off the court—you and him?

You’re always playing for the same team.

ESPN | “WNBA HISTORY: NEW YORK LIBERTY CLINCH FIRST TITLE IN THRILLING FINALS WIN—L/N SEALS IT WITH LOGO THREE” Barclays erupts as Liberty star delivers championship moment—husband Luka Dončić loses his mind courtside.

Luka Dončić doesn’t stop smiling.

Not once.

Not when he takes his seat, not when the reporters fire off their first questions about his game last night, not when someone brings up his recent dust-up with the refs—nothing. He’s all grin, his dimples carved deep, eyes still carrying the afterglow of something far more important than basketball.

It doesn’t take long for someone to bite.

“Luka, your wife just made history tonight,” one reporter starts, barely getting the sentence out before Luka practically vibrates in his seat. “What was it like watching her win her first ring?”

His whole face lights up.

“Bro.” He drags a hand down his face, like he still hasn’t fully processed it. “You don’t understand. I am—” He pauses, exhales sharply, shakes his head. “I am the happiest man alive.”

A chuckle ripples through the room. Luka leans forward, elbows on the table, still grinning like he won the damn championship himself.

“I lost my mind. Gone. Brain—poof.” He makes an explosion motion with his hands. “When she hit that shot? I was gone. Finished. I mean, you saw it, right? Best shot of the whole playoffs. Best player. Best moment. Ever.”

A few reporters laugh, already knowing this press conference has completely derailed.

“People are calling you the ultimate trophy husband after your reaction,” another journalist teases.

Luka beams. “Good! Yes! That’s me! Put it on a t-shirt—I’ll wear it to every game.”

The room cracks up. Someone asks if he’d actually wear a “Trophy Husband” shirt, and without missing a beat, Luka goes, “I’ll wear it to her ring ceremony. Front row. Say I won’t.”

The internet is already eating it up. Twitter is flooded with clips of his reaction, memes of him clapping like a proud PTA mom, videos of him looking like he was about to storm the court himself.

And he did almost storm the court.

--

You’re still on the floor, still in the haze of celebration, the weight of the championship sinking in by the second. The trophy’s been passed around, champagne’s already been popped, and your voice is hoarse from screaming—but you’re still looking for him.

It doesn’t take long.

Luka’s back on the court, despite security’s best efforts to keep him at bay. He’s already in your jersey—where the hell did he even get one that fast?—the name on the back stretched tight across his shoulders.

The moment you spot him, he spots you.

“MY WIFE’S A CHAMPION!” he bellows, arms wide, grin even wider.

“Oh my god,” you groan, but you’re already laughing, already jogging toward him as he moves fast in your direction, ducking past staff and reporters.

The second you reach him, he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, spinning you in the air again because once wasn’t enough, because he needs to hold you, needs you right there in his arms.

You cling to him, laughing, hands in his hair as he presses a long, over-the-top kiss to your cheek.

“MVP!” he yells, still holding you. “BEST IN THE WORLD! BETTER THAN ME! BETTER THAN EVERYONE!”

“Luka, put me down,” you giggle, swatting at him.

“No. No, you won, I won, we’re winning everything.”

“You didn’t win anything,” you tease.

“I won you!”

You groan, half-exasperated, half-melting because god, he’s ridiculous. Perfectly, beautifully ridiculous.

By the time he finally sets you down, you barely have a second to adjust before he cups your face again, tilting your chin up so you see every ounce of joy written across his.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, steadier. No more yelling, no more antics—just him. Just you. “So, so proud.”

Your chest tightens.

He’s seen you at your lowest, held you through every late-night doubt, every failure, every moment where you didn’t think you’d get here. And now—he’s still here, still holding you, still yours.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His whole face softens.

“Love you more, champ.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can argue, your teammates call for you, dragging you back into the celebrations, into the history you just made.

Luka watches you go, hands still outstretched like he wants to pull you back in.

Like he’ll never get tired of celebrating you.

Like he already knows—he’ll be right here, courtside, for the next one.

[sky-scribbles]

(A veilguard daemons!au. NB: Taash's pronouns change as they work out their identity.)

—

Harding

The thing is: dwarves don’t have daemons.

That’s a truth, sure as stone. Just like it’s a truth that dwarves don’t dream, and can’t do magic. Lace knows how things work.

She stops knowing how things work, after the ritual.

The statue falls, and the Fade tears open, and Varric tumbles down the steps and lies there, empty. And then there’s the dagger, and the stone that moves to her command, and the first notes of a song ringing deep in her soul.

Lace should probably run from it. She doesn’t. She runs right to it, dives in headfirst, curious, questing. It's who she is, scouting into the dark to flush out the answers, and she needs to keep moving (because when she stops, she remembers the knife in Varric’s chest and the limp loll of his limbs and – no. Keep moving. Keep moving.)

She absolutely stops knowing how things work after she starts having dreams.

On the nights she stays up late, and the mornings she wakes early, she thinks she sees... something. A shadow lingering beside her. A flash of something not-quite-real, not-really-there, moving when she moves – but whenever she tries to look closer, it’s always gone.

She stays up late, digging her garden, running the soil through her fingers (it’s always felt like home, the earth, and now more than ever.) She learns the truth – what Solas did, what he fought alongside her and Varric for a year without saying – and something in her snaps and bares its teeth. The dreams get darker, fiercer: the stone, the song. Red, burning light.

She follows the stone. She finds the truth. She looks her own rage in the face.

And, after, as her breathing settles and she pulls out of the circle of her friends' arms, she feels it. A final fragment of that Titans’ dreams, pulling away from that crystalline shade and into her. A missing piece, freed, falling into place.

Lace realises the others are staring. ‘Uh,’ says Taash. ‘There’s, uh – ’ And Lace follows their eyes and sees it. Sees her.

Her dreams, given form and blood and voice. Petra. Lace knows the name, knows it from somewhere inside her, a truth as sure as stone.

‘Hi,’ says the soil-brown ferret, blinking up at Lace with bright and ready eyes. ‘Wow. This is weird.’

Open-mouthed, heart pounding, Lace opens her arms for her soul.

—

Emmrich

They pull him from the wreckage, dust-caked and howling, reaching out for parents who will never reach back. Cordula shifts flicker-fast, every new form giving a new voice to her wild and futile cries. When they take Emmrich below the ground, Cordula winds around him as a snake and clings on; when he looks up at the looming bone statues and monolithic graves, she presses against his face as a cat, lets him clutch her close as the fear wrenches the breath from his lungs.

Vorgoth finds them there, one evening, curled together in a corner, recovering from the choking grip of fear. They don’t ask any questions; they don’t chide. Instead, they take Emmrich into the gardens, and put a taper in his hands.

He lights the candles. He intones ancient words and hears his voice grow steadier. He rings the bells.

His breathing settles, and so does Cordula.

A great many Watchers have scavenger-daemons. It’s just one more reason for the ignorant to look at them with dread, to write grotesque depictions of scheming, skull-bedecked mages flanked by flies and jackals and crows. And. Well. Watchers certainly are skull-bedecked. But as Emmrich learns in the Lighthouse, those beyond Nevarra really don’t seem to understand what a scavenger is for.

‘It’s just. You know. A vulture,’ says Harding, her face scrunched as she examines Cordula’s glossy wings. ‘When I saw her, I thought you’d be… I don’t know. Not you.’

Emmrich swallows a sigh. ‘Are you aware of what happens,’ he asks, ‘without vultures?’

She shakes her head.

‘There was a village on the edge of the Silent Plains back in the Blessed Age,’ he says. It's a story he's told his students so many times. ‘Their cattle were poisoned, and the vultures that ate them succumbed as well. Without them to dispose of the bodies – to take what was left of the dead, purge corruption, and return the corpses to the cycle of things – disease ran rampant. Death visited freely. Vultures – ’ He shares a smile with Cordula – ‘tend to those left by death. They mark its passing. They check its spread. By disposing of the dead, they preserve the living.’

‘Oh,’ says Harding, and then, ‘Oh! That… makes a lot of sense, actually.’

And Emmrich smiles, a little sadly, because no one in the Necropolis would have eneded an explanation. A vulture-daemon was something to be admired, there, and Emmrich tries, he truly does, not to be wounded by the looks that strangers out here give Cordula. He cannot expect them to know that behind the bone-piercing beak, the vulture is the gentlest of the birds of prey; that they are so very clever, and blessed with the keenest senses. There’s a holiness about them, Emmrich thinks, when they crouch before the dead, heads bent low in reverence.

Cordula – she’s always rather been the braver part of him, the part that was less afraid to spread her wings beyond the Necropolis walls. Wasn’t afraid to fall in love. Emmrich, surrounded by warmth and voices in the Lighthouse library, the world open before him, starts to realise: he has not listened enough to what his soul wanted.

Still. Never too late to make a beginning.

—

Lucanis

Lucanis knows, before he’s old enough to have a knife put in his hands, what is expected of him.

More to the point: he knows what is expected of his daemon. Crows have killers for daemons, a fact he cannot forget growing up under the eyes of Caterina’s imperious eagle-daemon, and Lucanis trains and practices and trains again, because if Amleto does not settle as he should – if he is not a true Crow’s daemon – Lucanis will have failed.

But he does not fail. He is a Crow. He is Caterina’s favourite. He is a Dellamorte.

Caterina has nothing but praise, in the end, for the form Amleto takes. Wings for diving and talons for cutting, a black-and-white little lightning bolt made for one purpose alone. An osprey is the perfect Crow daemon, and Lucanis, thirteen years old, is relieved. He became who he was meant to. He did not fail. He will not.

He does not think about what it means, that Amleto speaks so rarely, even to him. He does not think about it. Whenever it occurs to him that it seems wrong for him to hear so seldom from his own soul, he forces himself into another round of exercises. He is a Crow. He’s good at being a Crow, and he likes being a Crow, and so he grows, and he kills, and he is the little talon he needs to be, until –

(Ospreys, sometimes, dive too deep. The water chokes their feathers, and pulls them under.)

Spite does not understand Amleto. Can’t seem to tell him and Lucanis apart. ‘You have. Wings,’ he tells Lucanis, rattling around their shared head and shared cell. Maybe that’s why he grows his own, as they fight their way back to the surface, like he’s trying to capture something Lucanis has lost.

And then there’s open air above them, and the kiss of wind against his face, the soft touch of rain. Amleto opens his wings and tips his head back to the sky, as if drinking its endlessness in.

‘Free,' he says, and Lucanis has never heard joy in his daemon's voice before.

It’s… not easy, settling back into freedom. But when Lucanis starts to slip – when the water closes over his mind and everything in his head starts to drown and drown and drown – it’s Spite who sinks his claws in, refuses to be pulled under. And Amleto is speaking more, these days, ever since Lucanis found people to cook for and buy gifts for and kill for.

An osprey will spread its own wings over its nestlings, put its own body between them and a storm. Lucanis, with Amleto on his shoulder and a demon giving him wings, thinks he’s finally starting to understand what he’s for.

—

Bellara

She’s not a hummingbird.

Cyrian’s surprised, and honestly a little disappointed, like he’s mad at himself for not reading his sister one-hundred-per-cent right. Which is kind of sweet, really.

Anyway – not a hummingbird. Still a bird, though, because you know, mage, and just as pretty as any hummingbird could ever be. Dirthara settles as a little bundle of energy and jewel-bright feathers, chest splashed with azure-turquoise almost the same colour as a power crystal, her face and back streaked in bronze and gold. ‘A bee-eater!’ Bellara yells, when she finds the name for her soul in a book, and Dirthara beats her wings in delight and knocks a bottle of ink off the table.

(Cyrian still calls her vora’shivan, though, and that’s still sweet.)

Bee-eaters are a lot of things. They’re quick and bright and happier when they’ve got a flock around them. And they’re builders, most of all, smart enough to use beak and wings to steady themselves while they dig nests out of mud. Not just for themselves, either; they’ll help birds beyond theirmselves and their mates, help dig nests for eggs that aren’t their own.

Bellara thinks of that, as her hands learn the workings of crystals and ancient golden spinning things. It feels like what she’s doing, when she gets some old thing ticking again. Digging out a home for all her people, even the ones she’ll never know. Carving out a space where they have a future.

And then she loses Cyrian. And gets him back. And loses him again.

She lights the funeral fires, and utters ancient words, and holds Dirthara close to her heart. She’s touched her people’s oldest secrets, now, and felt them bite her fingers and claw at her heart. That future she was trying to dig out feels so dangerous, and so big.

But that’s okay. She’s a bee-eater. She’s not afraid to go after something with a sting.

—

Neve

They could have left Dock Town. Except that they never could have.

You might think Invenio would fit right in among the other daemons of the Minrathous Circle. Mages have birds, and the Circle is a sparkling aviary, rainbow parrots and iridescent starlings and ink-dark crows. And Invenio, poised and graceful as any of them, neck held curved in a serpentine curve, long slender legs picking their way through the sly words of Neve’s peers. A heron with triple-coloured feathers, white and slate and purplish brown, a snowy plume behind his head like a fancy little hat.

But here’s what’s different about him: the other apprentices and their daemons look up, toward the sky, spreading their wings in the direction of the Magisterium and its power. Invenio and Neve look down, down at the murky waters of the place that bred them.

They were always going to come back to their roost.

At first, no one looks at Invenio and thinks he’s something to be afraid of. But Neve stays up nights, making notes, spotting patterns, watching the swirling water that’s her home. Her eyes follow the eddies. She tracks every movement. Sometimes, she places bait on the surface, waits for a Venatori to bite.

She strikes.

Doesn’t mean it’s easy. She gets stuck in the questions, sometimes, because if there’s one thing herons are prone to, it’s stillness. But she walks her streets, a snappily-dressed detective and her snappily-feathered soul, and Maker help the Venatori who forgets that Invenio’s face is an ice-sharp spear. She watches, and Invenio watches, all their shared focus waiting to explode into movement. Into all that feeling that Neve can’t switch off.

They could never have left Dock Town. Invenio might be slick and pretty, but he was made to walk in the muck. 

—

Davrin

Davrin’s something of an expert at not fitting in.

He doesn’t fit with his clan. That’s partly because of him, because he’s restless, and prefers the weight of the sword in his hand to that of a bow. But mostly it’s because of Varen. Which… probably means it’s still Davrin that’s the problem, but. You know.

No one else in the clan has a cougar for a daemon. Varen looks like she belongs somewhere else. A proud flow of golden fur and flicking tail, made for jagged hills and silent hunts and fresh prey-blood under her claws.

She’s the one who keeps standing up and walking away, pulling to the very edge of her bond, looking back over her shoulder and waiting for Davrin to follow. And one day Eldrin tells him to follow where his soul leads, so he packs his sword and he goes.

It helps, having a cougar-daemon, when you want the whole monster-hunting thing to work. Partly because people take one look at her and assume Davrin knows what he’s doing. And also because she’s made for this: to stalk, to ambush, to sink in teeth and claws and not let go til the body drops. She’s the one who gets between Davrin and his first Hurlock, gets her teeth right into its throat. When an ogre bellows at her, she only lashes her tail, unruffled and ready. She bares her fangs at Ghilan’nain’s face in the clouds while everyone else is still figuring out how to kill her.

The archdemon dies, and hundreds of Wardens die, and Davrin… doesn’t.

It’s not right. It’s not the oath he made: in death, sacrifice, except not really. He sits by the fire and slices at wood until there’s nothing left but shavings, and puts his head in his hands.

Varen regards him. Then she tackles him down onto the rug and curls herself over him. Assan muscles in too, crooked ears bouncing. Tomorrow, Davrin knows, Bellara and Lucanis will cook breakfast, and Emmrich will want to check all his injuries, and Taash will drag him outside for stretches and a jog around the courtyard. And Davrin will get up and put himself in front of them all on the battlefield, shield up, Varen a blaze of gold at his side.

(A cougar will throw itself at anything, a hunter, a bear, one of its own kind, to protect its cubs. Davrin clutches Assan close, thinks of his friends and all the stolen griffons. In his head, he gathers them all up, puts them safe behind his paws.)

Davrin falls asleep in a purring pile of feathers and fur and he thinks, here. Here, we fit.

—

Taash

Daemons don’t get names under the Qun.

Oh, and Taash isn’t supposed to call them daemons. That’s the word that bas use, the word the Rivaini use. Asala, says Shathann, every time Taash slips, and then she instructs Taash’s nameless soul how he mustn’t speak in front of others (because good asala don’t do that) and not to speak to anyone except Taash (because good asala don’t do that) and not to go more than a step away from Taash (because good asala, blah, yeah, Taash gets it.)

Except she doesn’t get it. And she doesn’t get why the she part feels wrong, either.

Her daemon – asala – feels wrong too, somehow. Calling him he fits loosely, like a jacket tailored for someone else. Axes fit, though. And running with the Lords. And dragons, shit, dragons feel right, and Taash sinks her (ugh) claws into every book and scroll she can get her hands on. She learns how to scrap with something ten times as big as herself.

Her dae – asala – stops bothering to walk the neat half-step behind Taash that Shathann tried to drill into them. He talks when he wants, in front of who he wants. Taash ties the dar-saam every morning, because she’s Qunari, and ties gold onto the ropes and into her hair, because she’s Rivaini, and her daemon – asala, whichever, both – wakes up one day and he’s settled as… something.

Big. Lots of fur. Lots of claws, too. Isabela calls him a wolverine (and she probably knows, because she’s been all over), and Taash reads some books and asks some spirits and learns that wolverines don’t take shit and brawl with bears, and, yep, that sounds right.

Also, his name is Daaranda. So, there’s that.

Shathann doesn’t like it, but Shathann doesn’t like much of anything Taash does these days. Besides, it’s not like she and Daaranda did it on purpose, he just had a name suddenly, and what can you expect? Rivaini daemons have names, and Taash is Rivaini as much as she is Qunari (which is to say, she’s crappy at being both, but she is both. And also, Daaranda’s name means firestorm, which is fucking great.)

But Daaranda still doesn’t make sense. And he should. Blunt and powerful and almost-fearless and everything Taash is – he should make sense. But he doesn’t, and Taash doesn’t, and then she’s in the Lighthouse, wanting to crawl right out of her own skin, and Rook and Neve are saying kind things and suggesting to Taash, so fucking gently, that she might not be she after all –

And. Oh.

It’s like a flash of fire. A warmth, a brightness, a sudden blaze buried deep. Their name is Taash. They have an asala; they have a daemon; and their name is Daaranda.

Daaranda is... different, after. They run laps of the Lighthouse, play-tussle with Assan and with Davrin's big cat-daemon, let Bellara's little gemstone of a bird perch on their head.

Taash watches and thinks, huh. They never knew their soul could play.

They have a soul with a name, because they’re Rivaini, and that name is Qunlat, because they’re Qunari, and that soul is Daaranda. Because Taash is a wolverine, all toughness and teeth and temper – and no one gets to tell them who they are.

[frogemeat]

Back on my shit for my relativity falls AU where Stan goes missing because I can!! And no one can stop me!

So let’s actually dive into the characters a bit more this time and their reactions to Stan’s disappearance.

We’re going to start with Mabel because I feel like in any universe Mabel and Stan have a special connection, one where they just understand eachother, y’know?

In my relativity falls au, Stan is reluctant to open up at first to Mabel. Surprisingly it was Ford who warmed up to her first. Stan, at first, is very distrustful of adults and people in authority in general (when I get you Filbrick, when I get you-) so he keeps distance between himself and Mabel at first.

He’s his usual rambunctious self, loud and unapologetic about, but he doesn’t rant to her about the latest addition of his favorite comic, he doesn’t let her look at his drawings and anytime she wants to spend one on one time on him he would turn her down. Eventually he warmed up to her, which is more my actual relativity falls au then this, so I won’t go into it (unless someone wants me to 👀).

So when I say Mabel worked hard, she worked hard to get Stan’s trust. And she’s proud of that dammit!

To her Stan is such a bright star who’s often overlooked by his genius of a twin brother (something she can heavily relate too) and she wanted to nurture his creativity. And she did!

She displayed the weird Frankenstein taxidermy he made in the shack, she taught him how to knit and sew and he even started to let her watch “the duchess approves” with her!

They grew close and Mabel started to see both the twins as her sons. She had suspicions that their home life was… less than good and she was SUPER unsure about sending them home after summer ended. She didn’t think the decision would’ve been made for her.

Weirdmaggdeon was over. They won. Steve (Bill’s replacement in this AU) is gone. But they weren’t celebrating. The only thought the three Pines had was…

Where’s Stan?

They searched the woods for him long at the r the sun set. She had to drag Ford back home when he started tripping over his own feet, his exhaustion evident. Ford tried to insist he was okay, that he could keep looking, that he needed to keep looking, that Stan was out there, he needed to continue. Stan would keep looking for him if their roles were reversed.

All Mabel could do was shush him as he cried against her shoulder.

Dipper stayed behind and kept looking and both Mabel and Ford went home without their other half. Long after Ford had passed out Dipper had finally come home, empty handed. They spent the rest of the night talking about what to do. They would check town first thing in the morning, they had decided. Maybe in his daze he had wandered out of the woods and one of the townsfolk’s found him. If not, they would go to the police, see if anyone had reported a small brown haired preteen wandering around. (

They also discussed the possibility of Stan being dead, but Mabel couldn’t even stomach the thought of it. They quickly stopped when Mabel started to cry.)

She had just met the twins, only known them for three months, yet they were hers. Her boys. Her babies. Her peanut and walnut. And Stan was gone.

The boy she swore to protect, the boy who pretended he was tough when he was really the sweetest kid she ever met.

Days go by and still no Stan. Ford refuses to talk to anyone, Dipper is out of the house for most of the day searching, and Mabel is left alone, surrounded by half finished knitting projects and echoes of a boy who’s laughter warmed her heart.

She cries a lot. That’s all she does for the first few months.

One day, after Ford’s parents (not Stan and Ford’s, just Ford’s, because apparently no one remember’s her little peanut outside of Gravity Falls) drops off all his stuff for his apprenticeship with Dipper, she’s pulls herself together, makes her famous Mabelcakes, and starts to rebuild. Dipper had done amazing keeping them together, but it was time for some Mabel magic.

Three years pass and the Stan shaped hole in their family doesn’t get smaller. Ford still turns to his right whenever he gets excited, Mabel still hasn’t watched the season finale of “the duchess approves” (she couldn’t finish it without Stan, not when he was so excited to show it to her), and Dipper sometimes still goes into the woods to search.

Ford is turning 17 in a few weeks. June 15th. She’s in Greasy’s after deciding that a snack sounded good after buying birthday presidents for her walnut and instead of Susan greeting her and taking her order like she has since she started working there, she was greeted with a new face.

A familiar face.

Even older, more pimply, and with a beanie pulled down so far it almost covered his eyes, she would recognize him.

Her peanut.

[etherealrin]

♬⋆.˚ intro: summer

warnings: none // wc: 724

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:00 TRACKLIST: next.

itoshi rin sighs as he clicks the post button, slumping back onto his bed. his obsidian black electric guitar lays neglected in the corner of his room, still hooked up to the amplifier. his headphones are still plugged into his dimly glowing computer, keyboard still connected, and around four unreleased tracks remained rotting in his files.

he had been looking forward to this break all year, finally out of school—where he could stay up late watching horror flicks with no plans for tomorrow. but rin wonders if he’ll be able to enjoy his three months of summer vacation at all, staring at the pitch darkness of midnight outside his open window. the constant buzzing from his phone, screen alight with thousands of confused replies, isn’t helping his worsening mood.

but he convinces himself it’s better this way, better for him to give up this useless little hobby now; he had more pressing matters to focus on. because that’s what sae had meant, what his words echoed before he left for spain, right?

“you should just quit. it won’t get you anywhere,” he’d said as he headed off for law school in spain.

hyprocite: the only word rin can think of to describe it all. wasn't he the one who encouraged me in the first place?

he manages to drift into a dreamless sleep, phone set to do not disturb, tossing and turning while the quiet june night passed on. it was calm and unperturbed, until a loud crash awoke him. the sound, coming from outside of rin’s house, was a screech of metallic cries. it was eerie, unsettling and only served to amplify his restlessness.

now awake, the soft breeze blowing through his room reminds rin that he had left his windows open, and really, he should close them before he catches a cold. so he pulls back the flimsy black blinds, and his heart drops at the scene he’s greeted with.

it’s haunting yet beautiful; you’re crouched over the sidewalk, illuminated by the pale moonlight, you look like a ghost from his past. the way your fingers trace over the broken electric guitar, a tear slipping down your cheek, you remind rin of how he used to be.

rin’s sure that he’s never seen you before, but something stirs inside him; recognition. you two are the same, aren’t you? he hates it, hates how he feels bad for you as you sit there in mourning, though he just swore never to play the guitar again. he wasn’t one to sympathize, but there was just this inescapable pull to you, magnetizing and alluring.

against all better judgement, rin finds himself heading out his door, in the quiet of the early morning, when the sky is still a bleak gray and the birds aren’t yet singing. everything is wrong; rin was sure he swore off music, passion, even his own happiness. he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be approaching you still huddled over the broken instrument. as he draws closer and closer, rin hears a faint echo of that melancholic melody, one he knows too well.

it’s almost deja vu as he stares at it, the fender damaged beyond repair; hasn’t he seen this sight more than once, that night where it all went wrong?

“broken guitar?” rin asks, stating all the obvious. it's silent, completely still except for him and you.

“yeah,” you sniffle, looking up. your eyes glimmer with tears and it makes rin’s chest ache. he knows how it feels, too. “i just moved here, and the movers dropped it.”

“i…” he trails off, unsure if he really wants to do this. but he’s already out of his house, on the street here with you, so he might as well. “i live right there.” he points to his home, a squarish blue two-story. “i can probably get you a new one tomorrow, if you want to.” rin hurriedly adds the last part.

you look like you’re going to cry again, which startles rin. had he said something wrong?

“that’s really nice of you,” you finally say, standing up. “i’ll hold you to that offer?” your words phrased like a question, unsure. rin takes the moment to study you further: there’s a delicate sadness in your eyes, and it gets his heart thumping erratically. how odd.

“just knock tomorrow morning, or afternoon, i’ll be home.”

itoshi rin’s uneventful summer vacation might turn out to be something more after all.

ılılılılılılı TRACKLIST. ALL ALBUMS.

open taglist! comment for add. @levihanmyotp @megumismyhusband @shumeow-h @suksatoru @kaz-0e @chuurinnie

[guardian-of-harmony]

Cracks of Fire

Now I'm doing Dragonberry's part! I did say we was gonna have one for every Neobeast. I wanted to try Dragonberry because she seems like she don't play, even though she can at times.

Don't worry, Vanilla FloTea will come back.

AU by @cuppajj

She wondered if her mother will ever be back to how she was before her switch.

Minty Ice Berry Cookie didn't expect Hollyberry Cookie to become... well, Dragonberry Cookie. She could sense something was wrong, but not to this extent. The Dragon Cookie could only watch in horror and helplessness as her brethren were captured and used in battles against their will. The royal family was safe for the most part, but Minty Ice could see how controlling Dragonberry was behind the scenes...

And it made her sick to her dragon core.

Ever since she served the kingdom as a maid, she watched the fall slowly. The half-dragon Cookie stayed in her Cookie form in order to avoid suspicion, but the princess, knight, and Grand Queen knew her secret.

To be honest, it was a miracle she wasn't targeted next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day, Minty Ice walked the hallways once filled with cheerful chatter and warm memories, now dark and full of watchful eyes. The soldiers all glanced at her quietly as she walked past, their stares making her feel uncomfortable.

Arriving at Princess Cookie's door, she knocked gently, before a sad voice replied. "Come in..." Minty opened the door and slowly walked in, when Princess Cookie ran up and hugged her from behind. The maid froze in surprise, before calming down and closing the door gently, patting the little girl's head.

"I thought she would take you too..." Princess whimpered, crying into the maid's skirt. Minty's raspberry-colored eyes softened in sadness, her heart aching for the little girl. The poor princess had witnessed her grandmother's descent into madness, becoming power hungry and into a happy, yet deadly manipulator. It hurt seeing her mother figure go down this path.

Knight Cookie then came up and spoke to Minty Ice. "Ms. Ice Berry, I heard the Grand Queen talking to her soldiers earlier. She ordered them to keep a close eye on you, but didn't tell them your secret."

That scared her. Why have the soldiers watch her when she was only doing her job? Minty had the idea that Dragonberry was just waiting for the opportunity for her to slip up. But, she wouldn't do that... right? She was basically her adoptive daughter; she wouldn't just throw their relationship away like that!

Then again, Dragonberry captured Pitaya Dragon Cookie and twisted their relationship into master and slave. The ice dragon Cookie took a shaky breath as she put a hand to her chest, calming down her nerves. She was NOT going to think like that. She'll be okay.

Princess Cookie hugged her waist tighter, shaking. "I don't want her to take you away from me! You're my big sister; I can't lose you!" Knight Cookie also came up and held Ice's hand like a scared child. "Ms. Ice Berry... Will you... really be taken away from us...?"

The maid sighed shakily, bringing the children close for a hug. "L-let's not think like that. I'm still h-here, aren't I? Besides, I-I would never leave you two. You're my family... I w-would not be pulled down that easily..." Her gloved claws patted each of their heads, holding in a scared sob.

She couldn't cry in front of them. Not when they needed comfort in this twisted kingdom.

Muffled cries from the dragons below shook the room, making Minty Ice bring the little ones closer. She could hear Pitaya Dragon Cookie's pain in their roar, imagining the tests and battles her older sibling had to endure. As dragons, the cry that would ring in the air would hold the emotions of the animal. In this moment, the cries were filled with sorrow and anger.

Minty Ice Berry Cookie's thoughts were filled with worry. She could only hope that the Grand Queen was merciful enough to her.

[whimsypjm]

Piss Baby ── J.JK

summary ── trying out watersports with jungkook.

content warnings ── sub Jungkook, mean dom reader, Watersports, dom/sub play, overstimulation, cock stepping, sadistic reader, masochist Jungkook, Kink Shaming, jk lowkey kink shames reader, Jungkook is a Brat, Crying Jungkook, Dacryphilia, making jk piss himself, Belly Bulge from water, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, gender neutral reader

word count ── 1.1k

note ── would love to hear any thoughts and comments <33 mwa

One more drink.

That’s what you told him about five drinks before, he was looking at you with wet eyes and a bloated belly that he had encased by his arms. You could give him mercy, let him release it all but the sadistic side of you wanted to push more. So, you did. You held the full glass of water to his lips, watching his lips form into a pout as they didn’t open, a protest because he swore he just couldn’t take anymore.

“Come on, one more drink. I know you can handle it, baby.” You told him but he didn’t believe it, shaking his head.

“Can’t.” He whined.

“Oh, but you can. Need you to be healthy, remember? Let’s drink some more water.” You told him, the cup pressed against his reddened lips from where he bit them to keep in all the frustration bottling up. Jeongguk whined against the cup but open his mouth, allowing himself to drink more but it didn’t flow easily, some dripping down his chin as he tried his best to take the glass full.

“There you go.” You cooed and once he was finished, he desperately kept a hand on his cock, putting as much pressure as he could, attempting to control his bladder but it was spiraling with the added liquid. He was trying to blink away the tears.

“Please, please, I have to- I really have to go, please.” He begged, your name falling from his lips soon after but you simply sighed and moved farther from his reaching hands and motioned for him to follow. “I-I can’t,” His voice going hush, “I’ll piss myself.”

“I know.” You said, a grin on your face that he couldn’t help but want to slap off right now, the pressure against his bladder was only getting worse, pain well on it’s way as he attempted to get up, hands immediately flying to you to stabilize himself. He could stand on his own but if you were going to make him this way, then you had to deal with it. He glared up at you from his slouched position, a sudden gasp of pain had him weak, knees bucking from their hold and you almost scolded him. “Come on, I know you can be better than this. You act like this is the first time you’ve been full, it’s pathetic.”

“And you’re an ass.” He barked back and you narrowed your eyes.

“What was that?” Your tone was enough of a warning but he didn’t take it, instead he continued on.

“The only reason I’m like this is because of you. Fucking asshole, you’re getting off to my pain, sick bastard- angh!” He struggled to stand when you put pressure on his stomach, feeling it really kick in and he couldn’t help the little leak of piss that dribbled from his cock, gasping and fighting desperately to keep it in because you hadn’t said he could release it just yet. Instead, you watched with bored eyes, even if the evil glint shined bright in them. “Oh, no, no, no, please! ‘m sorry, please. I have to- I got to piss so bad, please.” he cried out and you helped him up onto shaking legs.

“Well, we’re not doing it here, are we?” And he had to think for a few minutes about your question until it clicked and he shook his head.

“No, sorry.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “It’s okay baby. I know you get all dumb and mean when you’re like this. Just a pathetic dumb baby, huh?” He nodded along to your words and clung onto you, tears now falling as his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He desperately attempted to move with you and when you finally got him where you wanted, you let him fall to his knees, head resting against your thigh as he tried to focus on his breathing, hand still stuffed between his thighs and against his aching cock. He hated this but apparently he also loved it, if his erection was anything to go by, this was only going to make it harder to piss as he so desperately craved.

Your hand went to his hair, combing through it gently in an attempt to sooth until he relaxed and you gripped his curls in your hand, pulled his head back until he arched to look at you. Wide watery eyes were enough for you to want more of them. You used your foot to press against his stomach, his body trying to move from your touch but the grip you had on him kept him in place.

“Oh, no- Please, I’m going-”

“Go ahead, I know just how badly you want to.”

His hands gripped your leg, nails digging into your pudgy skin but it wasn’t enough, he pushed up against your foot, mouth open and resting against your thigh with weak gasps until you heard it before you saw anything, he was completely done for as he started going limp, pissing all over himself, a small hushed sound of him echoed throughout. “Look at you, my filthy baby, making a mess of yourself. Just had to go so bad that you couldn’t wait, huh? So pathetic, here you are, on your knees and pissing yourself.” You laughed but he whined, shaking his head against your thigh. “Oh now, don’t lie.” You scolded.

“’m sorry.” He breathed out, hips tracking up to meet your foot for the pressure to move where he now needed it. He hated the feeling of the wet jeans on his skin, he wanted nothing more to get out of them right now and get what he wanted but he had to take what he was given, he knew that. You didn’t move your foot away and allowed him to continue his ministrations, pathetic attempts of humping against the sole of your shoe.

You laughed at him again and he tried not to focus on the mocking sound, continuing with the chase of his high that built within him, pooling heat deep within his stomach, moments ready to snap. His hands tightened again until he couldn’t take it anymore and he finally orgasmed, feeling the hot-white pleasure flood his veins and his body shook from over-stimulation as he cried out your name.

But, even as he stopped, you didn’t. You moved your foot against him, adding a painful pressure until he sobbed out your name, different from his orgasm cry. “Oh, did you think we’re done, baby? Aw, I’m just getting started. After all, I’m just a sick bastard, I need to get these craving out, right? And it just so happens you’re right here.” You smiled, adding pressure.

[reomikagekin]

Maybe alnst characters w/ a reader who self harms (IF THIS ISNT SOMETHING YOUD DO IM REALLY SORRY AND YOU CAN JUST IGNORE IT!!)

Ofc i can do one hehe! You didn't specify which characters so I just did all of them if you wanna ask for specific characters js my check my pinned post😌 and keep the requests coming hehe

Some tw?: self harm mention

Starlight in the Dark

You thought you were good at hiding it.

The long sleeves, the careful positioning of your wrists, the smiles you forced when the cameras were on. In a competition where every move was scrutinized, you had mastered the art of deflection. But some people are too perceptive for their own good.

Ivan

He notices first. Not because you told him—he just pays too much attention. At first, it’s subtle: he watches you a little too closely, lingers when you adjust your sleeves. Then, one night, he corners you backstage, his usual smile in place but his eyes unreadable.

"Why do you do it?" His voice is unsettlingly soft. You freeze. "It’s not fair," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your wrist, "if you want attention, you should just ask for mine."

Ivan isn’t gentle in his approach. His obsession with you makes his concern overwhelming, suffocating. He offers solutions in the way he knows best—giving you all of him, demanding all of you in return. If he can be the reason you stop, he’ll take it.

Till

Till is different. He’s the one who doesn’t force you to talk, doesn’t pressure you to explain. When he notices the fading scars, the too-tight grip on your sleeve, his response is quiet.

"It must hurt a lot," he says one evening, hesitant but genuine.

You expect pity, but there’s none. Just understanding. He won’t pry, won’t push, but he stays. His presence alone is comforting—like a steady heartbeat in the chaos of the competition.

Mizi

Mizi cries when she finds out. Not in front of you, but later, when she thinks you’re not looking. She’s too honest, too open to hide the way it breaks her heart.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Her voice wavers, and her hands tremble when she takes yours.

She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to fix this. But she wants to, more than anything. From then on, she holds your hand tighter, smiles brighter, as if sheer willpower alone can replace the pain you carry.

Sua

Sua doesn’t say anything when she sees the scars. No gasps, no lectures, no pity-filled glances.

Instead, she sits beside you and starts talking about nothing—the competition, the lights, the way the audience stares at her when she’s on stage.

"It’s funny," she says idly, "how people never really see what’s right in front of them."

There’s an unspoken understanding. She won’t force you to stop, won’t tell you what you should do. But she’ll be here. Always.

Hyuna

Hyuna is heartbroken. She’s affectionate by nature, but now? Now she refuses to leave your side.

"You’re not going anywhere alone anymore, got it?" she declares, pouting.

She clings to you—grabbing your wrist (gently, always gently), throwing an arm around your shoulder, demanding your attention in the most Hyuna way possible.

"You’re my favorite person," she says with all the sincerity in the world. "And I don’t like seeing my favorite person sad."

Luka

Luka is the one who doesn’t bring it up directly.

Instead, he subtly alters his performances, choosing songs that speak to pain, to survival, to resilience. It’s deliberate, just like everything he does.

"You’re stronger than you think," he murmurs after one such performance.

His words aren’t meant to soothe—they’re a challenge. A dare. And somehow, that helps.

Dewey & Isaac

They’re softer with you after they find out. Dewey still teases, still grins, but it’s less sharp, more careful.

"You know," he says casually, tossing a snack at you, "if you need a distraction, we could always cause some chaos."

Isaac, meanwhile, doesn’t joke about it. He just stays close—offering an easy presence, a quiet sort of support that doesn’t need words.

Hyunwoo

Hyunwoo is the one who outright tells you that you deserve better.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he says, voice steady, gaze warm.

He doesn’t try to stop you—he just makes sure you know that he’s there. That he’ll always be there.

They all react differently.

Some with softness, some with intensity, some with quiet understanding. But one thing is clear:

You are not alone. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to keep going.

Hehe credits for the divider: @vastpostin

If you're currently struggling with self harm, you are not alone!! You're so strong and I believe in you. Get some help from other people so you don't feel alone.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

A Cluster of Burning Stars - Chapter One

in which Tails hacks into government systems

{ao3} {tumblr}

Over the last few years, Shadow had gotten used to the sound of Sonic’s zoom. He didn’t even flinch at the sudden noise, and didn’t even glance back at the blue blur that slid beside him. “What did you do?” 

“My dear Shadow.” Sonic said in a faux offended voice, gasping dramatically and putting his hand over his heart. “What makes you think I have done anything?” 

“Because you’ve always done something. Now spill, before we both get in trouble.”

Sonic sighed, before jumping onto the edge of the desk. “Okay, so, like, they wanted me and Amy to do some kinda test together, but I didn’t want to, so I hid in the vents for an hour.” 

“Wrong.” Shadow said. “You can’t stay still anywhere for an hour.”

“I can if I’m running around the vents! You wouldn’t believe the places we could go if we just traveled through there more often. Also, did you know we have a lot more bombs onboard than they told us about? Those are definitely some kinda hazard.” 

He continued to prattle on, and Shadow glanced around their room. It had been his room for the first several years of his life, but Maria had helped them set up a triple bunk when the other hedgehogs moved in, and now the area was, well, very clearly all of theirs. Amy’s art lined the walls, in bright colors and decorated with hearts and stars. Sonic’s books were scattered all around, unorganized unlike Shadow’s perfectly-lined shelves, and scuff marks lined the floor from when the blue blur slid to a stop too soon. Shadow probably should’ve minded the mess, he was a bit of a perfectionist, but… well, it made the room look a lot different from the labs. So it was alright. 

Shadow held up a hand to halt Sonic’s ramblings. “So are they looking for you?”

“Naw, they gave up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pfft, I’m not you, Shadow. They don’t care what I do.” 

He slid off the desk, immediately stretching out his arms. Shadow rolled his eyes, and muttered, “So long as we don’t get in trouble for it.”

“It’ll just be me, you know it will be. And Amy’ll get complementary chocolate for having to deal with my bullshit.” 

“Language.” Shadow said instinctively.

“Amy’s not around, we can say ‘shit.’” 

“If you get used to saying it, you’ll let it slip around her. Then she swears in front of someone important and we all get yelled at.” 

“You’re so uncool.” 

Shadow leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Says the hedgehog who cries on poetry nights.”

“So do you!” 

“Yeah, but I hide it better.” 

They both jumped, then, as the door opened, and then relaxed considerably when only a young girl skipped in, pulling her blonde hair back into a ponytail. “And what’re you up to?”

“Maria!” they both cheered. Shadow leapt from his chair, hugging onto her legs, as Sonic began to run circles around her.

“Mari-ri!” Sonic called. “Did the new book shipment come in? Did the new tapes? Can we listen to a new story? Or read one? Or–”

“I finished our schoolbooks for the week!” Shadow said, looking up at her excitedly. “So we can play at any time! They were really cool, and Grandfather said there’s a sequel to Oz, do we have it? I wrote a little if you want to–”

“Slow down, my boys.” Maria giggled. She knelt, then, running a hand over Shadow’s head and scratching his ear.

“I don’t slow down! Ever!” Sonic declared, before flopping onto the ground and kicking the air. “Never ever ever!” 

Shadow overdramatically rolled his eyes, and brightened when that succeeded in making Maria laugh. She hadn’t been laughing a lot recently, and it was a sound they all loved to hear. 

“Well, I just came in to see if you want to meet with the botanists to learn how to play a new card game.” Maria said. “Amy’s bothering Dr Bailey for a new dress, so it’d just be us three.”

“And all the botanists.” Shadow said hesitantly. He bit his lip, considering. “I don’t think they like us very much.”

“You’re just anxious. I promise, they think you’re the shit.” 

Sonic leapt to his feet, pointing triumphantly. “See, Shadow? She says it!” 

Maria laughed again, and Shadow turned to punch Sonic in the stomach. Sonic dodged, running to the other end of the room, and so Shadow began to give chase, a smile cracking on his face as he did. 

---

Shadow stood at the window, glaring out at the morning sky as the conversation carried on behind him. 

“–we may not need to deal with finding the Master Emerald at all. According to Shadow, we solely need to gather the seven Chaos Emeralds.” 

“So we got three already.” said the voice of the bat. “One from me, one from you, and the one Shads swiped on the way.” 

Shadow flinched, his ears flickering, and he said a little too loudly, “Don’t call me that.” 

Rouge didn’t seem to notice his tone, as she just laughed. “Relax, kid. Anyway, Doctor ‘botnik, I can get you some pretty nice, shiny emeralds. I’ve been trying to track them forever, so if you could just give my tracker a little boost…”

“I can do far more than that! It’ll be unbreakable by the time I’m done with it.”

“Wonderful.” she hummed.

Shadow looked up at the clouds. They’d never seen clouds like these on the Ark. They’d seen drawings, and blurry photos in grays and browns, but seeing them in real life was… strange. He hadn’t realized that they could be so many colors. 

Amy would love it. So much. 

He remembered her fascination with Maria’s arts and crafts hour. Dumping all the paint onto a table, slapping her hands into the splatters, ignoring the brushes and just dragging her fingers over the paper. Shadow used to think it was immature, as he sat across from her with his finely-pointed brushes and careful lines. But as he looked at the Earth sky, he realized it looked so much more like her paintings than he’d ever thought. 

Shame it wouldn’t last long. But if Amy was gone, then that sky should go, too. 

---

“Okay, Tails,” Knuckles said, walking into the workshop and immediately putting his head in his hands, “What the hell just happened?”

For a second, Tails didn’t even look up from his computer system. The workshop hummed with electricity, both from some kind of automated project on one end and from the computer circuitry from the other. Finally, he turned around, raising his goggles slightly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Tails. I don’t have time for jokes.”

“Since when do I? Do you wanna know about the military base, the ‘botnik drones, or the–”

“The hedgehog, obviously! I didn’t even know people could do that kinda stuff.” Knuckles walked up beside Tails, then began punching the air absent-mindedly. “The teleporting, the chaos energy blast–”

“Okay, good, so you recognized it as chaos energy, too.” Tails nodded. “If I got it wrong, I’d have to redo all of these calculations.” 

“So? What do you know?”

“Not much. Robotnik seems to have released him from that GUN facility, and their files are hard to hack into.”

“So?”

“So it took me about ten minutes. But even then, everything on what they called ‘Project Shadow’ was heavily encrypted. Thankfully, it seems Robotnik decrypted it before us, so I’ve got some of those on this screen.” He gestured to one of his multiple monitors, which was scrolling impossibly fast through some kind of document. “It’s still processing, but it seems that he was a GUN-sanctioned experiment. Hoping to create a living weapon.” 

“They did a good job. That guy sure packs a punch.” Knuckles smirked, then. “Not as much as me, but–”

“Yeah, yeah. There were three prototypes reported to GUN. Technically four, but the first one ended quite quickly, if these notes are any sign. Something about a big lizard.”

“There are three of those things?” he stiffened. He could probably beat that first one if he had time to prepare, but three at once would be… difficult.

“Easy, Knux. I’ve already gotten into the system that held his cryo-pod. It looks like it doubled as an escape pod from the lab that created him. Labelled ‘Space Colony ARK,’ so they had that shit floating up above the atmosphere. These four monitors over here are all trying to track similar energies from the pod. It let out a specific frequency at the time it must’ve opened, and I think that frequency might’ve been a call to the pods of the same link.” 

“Tails,” Knuckles said very slowly, “I need you to remember that I don’t know how computers work.”

“Any escape pods from the same colony would’ve been linked together,” Tails rolled his eyes. “Since it was common back then for the landing coordinates to be a bit off, it serves as a tracker for where any pods might’ve gone. If the ARK still exists, we can’t get into it, obviously, but I might be able to get into the tracking system and find the other pods.” 

“You think they exist?” 

“I know they do.” Tails waved at one of the screens. “GUN reports that all three prototypes were sent to the planet. They only found Shadow because his pod defaulted to the lead scientist’s home coordinates. But the others must’ve gone off-route, and are still unaccounted for.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Fifty years.”

“Fifty years?”

“In cryo, he wouldn’t have aged physically or mentally,” Tails waved his hand. “So to him, this all happened, like, half a day ago. You know how people act when disaster strikes. Explains why he’s so pissed.” 

Knuckles nodded. In the last several years he’d been fighting Robotnik, he’d seen… a lot of disaster. It was jarring, going from a peaceful but isolating island to all the chaos that the badnik army caused. Sometimes it seemed like it was endless, like they’d never be able to push back the robots enough to get the planet back to its natural state. He didn’t want to think about how there were probably several villages– hell, maybe entire islands– that would never be recovered. He didn’t like to think of anything as a lost cause. If he started thinking of things as lost forever, he’d never get out of the hole that would put his mental state into.

“So you think you can track the other pods?”

“Much better than GUN.” Tails smirked. They’d butted heads plenty of times with the government agency in the past; despite the fact they should all be battling Robotnik together, GUN didn’t like when these renegade mobians got in their way. Knuckles, meanwhile, didn’t like any form of government, and Tails didn’t like anyone at all. 

Knuckles bit his lip, thinking for a second. “How about Angel Island?”

Tails minimized a window on one of the closer monitors, before opening another that showed a blip on a map. “Still mid-Pacific. My shields and defenses are still online. Hasn’t been found yet.” 

“Good.” he didn’t like being away from home for so long. It wasn’t really like he had a choice, though. “When this is over, we’ll check it over again. Maybe I can finally convince you to relax in a chao garden.”

Tails rolled his eyes. “Not going anywhere without wifi.” 

“Maybe you could build a defense around the garden. That’d keep you entertained.” 

“We have to get through this first. Other than Shadow, the only thing missing from GUN’s database is a chaos emerald.”

“No surprises there.” Robotnik kept trying to use those for whatever reason. 

“I’ve already sent the Chaotix after one in their area. One’s in a museum, so that should have security, but you know human security. It sucks. I’ve already got a message towards Seira to put that thing on lockdown, and I’ve sent the rest of our contacts off with a tracker to find the other two.” 

“Any ideas on what Robotnik’s plan is?”

“Knowing him, Death Egg.” 

“Do you know that for sure or is that a guess?” 

Before Tails could answer, a specific, long beep sounded from a far monitor. Tails’s ear perked up, and he sat up swiftly, kicking against the desk to roll his swivel chair over to the computers. He typed at an extended keypad, paused, and then said, “We’ve got one of the pods.”

“Holy shit, you’re a genius.”

“I am, aren’t I?” the little fox finally smiles. “And I can see why it took GUN so much trouble.” He pulled the map back, and gestured to it as he spun around, letting Knuckles see. “That’s Christmas Island. Been abandoned for decades, reeks of chaos energy. That’d be interfering with any and all homing devices. But with the neutralization energy from my Master Emerald systems, and the amount of times we’ve worked with the other emeralds? That shit’s child’s play.”

“Awesome.” Knuckles punched his palm. “What about the other pod?”

“No sign yet. I’ll leave the computer running, we gotta get to that island before Robotnik can. Not that he’d be good enough to track these things, but maybe Project Shadow has some kind of homing lock on the other prototypes.” 

“Like a hivemind or something?”

“No idea. Again, most of what they have on Project Shadow is either encrypted to high Heaven, or completely wiped from their systems. It really did not end well.” Tails rolled back to his normal station, gesturing again at a screen of text. “Seems it was too powerful for them to contain. So, of course, their response was to put it on ice until they found a way to control it.” 

“Even though that ‘it’ was alive?” Knuckles bristled. 

“Come on, Knuckles. We already knew the government sucked.” 

“I’m moving to the woods with Sticks when this is all over.” 

“Just lemme know if you ever want me to blow ‘em sky high.”

“Tails, we’ve been through this. We’re not doing an international war.” 

“For now.” Tails got out of his chair, stretching his arms, before swinging out his sore tails. “Get in the Brontide. We’re going flying.”

---

Knuckles liked flying. It made him feel closer to home, being up in the sky, near the clouds, seeing everything down below as something small. If he unfocused his eyes, he could pretend anything he saw on the land beneath had nothing to do with him. Shapes and colors that weren’t bothersome. He could pretend he was still on his island, on the top of a ruined temple or on the edge of a cliff, looking over at the world outside and wondering why anyone would want to go there when Angel Island had everything already. 

Of course, he wasn’t on Angel Island. The plane made sounds loud enough to pierce through the headphones Tails gave him to stop him from complaining so much whenever they took off, the metal beneath him was cold and lifeless, and he had to be belted in to “ensure his safety” or whatever Tails said. It felt like being trapped, which was a sharp contrast to the sight of the world around them and the feeling of wind pushing against his spines. It was like being halfway out of a cage, one foot in and one foot out. Or being chained to a tree in an open field. 

One of Tails’s tails brushed against his face, his signal to Knuckles that they were about to land. Knuckles resisted the urge to reach forward and pet the fluffy tail– that would get him drop-kicked into the ocean– and instead pounded his fists together, straightened his shoulders, and began bouncing his sleeping leg so that it wouldn’t feel so numb and tingly when they landed.

He was so focused on that task that he didn’t look over the side of the plane to get a look at their landing zone until the plane’s wheels had already hit sand. He shut his eyes, in case anything flew up into the air, and then turned to look at where they’d ended up.

“Oof.” was all he could say.

“Yeah. See why GUN didn’t wanna hang out here?”

The beach itself was relatively normal. Beyond it, though, was what appeared to be a completely decimated, open field. It may have been a woodland once, considering the occasional stump that could be seen, but it was mostly filled with choppy rocks, slim sticks and slabs of wood that might’ve been trees once, and piles of dirt that was somehow the wrong shade of brown. 

“What happened here?”

“Not a lot of knowledge on it. But again, reeks of chaos energy. Probably some kind of emerald explosion. The pod probably landed aboveground but might be under some levels of earth by now.” Tails pulled out his Miles Electric, tapping on the screen for a second. “I’ll get us there, and you dig.” 

“Finally. Been a while since I’ve been able to tunnel.” Knuckles said, trying to find some optimism as they looked at the grim views around them. 

Tails flew his way out of his seat, while Knuckles struggled with the seatbelt for a while, before giving up and letting Tails unbuckle it for him. (The fox had expressed distaste for Knuckles snapping it in two the first few times that had happened.) Then Tails hovered just a little above the ground, following the slow beeps of his tracker as Knuckles kept near him. He kept himself stiffened, eyes darting around the decimated land for any kind of approaching threat. The good news about being in such an open area was that there was nowhere for enemies to hide. The bad news was that it gave them nowhere to hide, either.

It took about twenty minutes of silent walking before Tails held up his arm to stop Knuckles. He then directed them down a slope to a slight valley. As Knuckles slid down to a stop at the bottom, kicking up dirt and stones, he finally spotted what appeared to be some moss growing from the ground. Finally, a part of the island that was healing. He knew the signs of life returning had to be somewhere. He let his shoulders relax slightly as he smiled at the moss, before returning to attention as Tails called for him.

“Okay, Knuckles. See this rock-pile?”

Knuckles turned, glancing up and down the pile of stone that seemed four times as big as he was. “Looks like an avalanche nobody cleaned up.”

“I’ll trust you on that. Pod should be somewhere down here. Probably a little below surface-level. Try not to break it.” 

“What’s the plan once we get it?” 

“We play keep-away until we got the Doc and his new friend under control. Now hurry it up.”

Knuckles sighed, cracked his fingers, and then leapt headfirst at the ground. 

Tunneling was always nice, but the dirt here really did just feel wrong for some reason. In this place, it felt less like building a nook and more like getting the earth as far away from him as possible… despite surrounding himself in it at the same time. Ugh, things were so confusing when he wasn’t home. Everything made sense on Angel Island. And everything was quiet. His hand found stone, but with a swing of his fist, it shattered in front of him. Tails had told him multiple times that his strength was something unusual, but that was something else that always seemed normal when he was alone. He was the only one there, so everything he did was normal. It was just him, the chao, the critters, and his Emerald. And the sky.

How long had it been since he’d been there, anyway?

After what seemed like ages of pounding, he felt something metal ahead of him. Instead of shattering it directly, he tunneled up, marking his position, and then tunneled around, tossing the dirt into the air to make an indentation around the pod. He only spared it a glance or two– he usually had his eyes shut while burrowing– and it was just enough to establish to himself that, yes, it was some kind of pod, and that it had definitely seen better days. A dent in the top, cracks in the glass, and that rust probably wasn’t supposed to be there either.

When he finally had enough of a break in the dirt to consider the pod “unburied,” he got to his feet and whistled. Tails flew his way down and began inspecting it, letting out a whistle. “Old tech, but effective. Even with all this damage, the cryo’s still active. The interior must’ve been prioritized over the exterior.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do we do with it now?”

“Carry it to the beach. I can hook it to the Brontide and we can fly it back to one of my labs. I’m sure this won’t be a problem for you– shit!” 

Tails tripped over some of the scattered stone, landing with a thud on the side of the pod. Knuckles ran to him to help him up, then jumped back as something shot open on the pod’s side. He raised his fists, waiting for an attack. “What’s that?”

“It just opened a keypad, Knux. You know what those look like.” Tails groaned, rubbing the side of his head. 

“Keypad?” 

“Ugh, hold on.” Tails began kicking the smaller stones away from him, watching as they flew over the horizon. “Yeah. You need a password to unlock the pod. GUN records show they didn’t even have the password til Robotnik poked it in.” He kicked another flurry of stones; apparently the motion made him feel better. “‘MARIA,’ apparently. Guess the head scientist was Catholic or something. Nobody cares.” He did a spin and sent another batch of rocks into the air, watching intently as they landed high on the piles Knuckles had left behind.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Tails’s shout was far too late, as a hissing sound began emitting from the pod. Knuckles, who’d been poking at the keyboard, instantly leapt back, fists raised again. 

“You said you needed the password to unlock it!”

“What did you think that meant?”

“Unlatching it from the ground! Like unlocking chains?” 

“You blockhead, it’s unlocking the system! It’s gonna open now!” 

“It’s what?” 

“Shit, shit, fuck–” 

Knuckles raced in front of Tails, pushing the fox behind him as the pod door slowly, slowly, began to rise. Tails let out a huff of indignation, and said something about how he could defend himself fine, but Knuckles wasn’t going to take any chances after seeing what the first Project Shadow could do. 

“We can probably still shut it down, let me get to the keypad–”

Steam rose from the pod, as air rushed inside for the first time in fifty years. Knuckles watched as Tails ducked under his arm, scampering to the side of the pod. Knuckles ran after him, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back as another cloud of steam burst out, blinding them for a second. 

After several seconds coughing and blinking rapidly, they looked up, and saw a silhouette of something sitting up in the pod.

“Aw, fuck. Too late.” Knuckles muttered. 

The silhouette turned to face them. For a tense moment, Knuckles raised his arms, hunched his shoulders, and let out a warning growl. Tails, meanwhile, pulled one of his multiple guns from wherever he stored them (Knuckles didn’t care to ask) and aimed.

The silhouette stood. And then fell face-first onto the ground.

“Ah!” came the creature’s pained cry. “Dang it! What the… ow!” 

Knuckles lowered his shoulders, confusion overtaking his prior fear. “What?” 

Tails hesitantly lowered the gun and stepped forwards as the steam began to clear. He stopped in front of the creature, and then slowly put the gun away.

“Ow, shit. What the…” Knuckles heard the sound of claws scrambling at dirt, and then falling back down to the ground. “Ow, ow, ow. My legs huuuurt.” 

“Well this one’s… less intimidating.” Tails said carefully. 

Knuckles made his way over, just as the thing looked up at Tails. “Wha– who are you?” It scrambled back, hit itself against the bottom of the pod, and let out a string of curse words, reaching up to grip the back of its head. 

Knuckles squinted at it. It sure looked like Project Shadow. Nearly identical, in fact. The same hedgehog shape, though his larger quills went down instead of up, same hedgehog nose, and very similar shoes, though these were a dark brown and lacked the shining rings that their first opponent had. But the dissipating steam soon showed that he was a very different color– a faded blue, with a light brown chest, as opposed to Shadow’s black-and-red quills and white fluff. He was skinnier, and with less muscle mass, at least from what Knuckles could tell. 

The two adventurers shared a confused look, before Tails let out a sigh, knelt down, and said, “Are you okay?” 

The hedgehog looked up, and Knuckles was surprised to see his eyes were a stunning, forest-green. Not the angry red he’d seen before. 

“I don’t think I have a concussion?” the blue creature said. “But my legs feel heavy.”

“You’ve been in an unstable cryostasis for a long time. A lot of systems would have gone to keeping the stasis in effect, but it may have had the cost of your conditions being suboptimal upon awakening. Your legs should be fine once they adjust.” 

“Right, right.” The hedgehog sighed, content with that answer, and shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the cool, metal pod.

Then, after a second, his eyes shot open, he sat upright, and he screamed.

“Holy shit, Maria!” 

He tried to launch himself forwards, only to fall again. This time, Knuckles grabbed him, helping him up.

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down, bud. He said you still needed time to adjust.” 

“No, no– maybe there’s still time! We need to…” he glanced between Tails and the pod. “Where are we? We need to get back to the ARK. GUN’s gone insane, but we can- there’s still- there has to be a way to get to her– what the fuck is that?” 

It took Knuckles a moment to realize what the hedgehog was pointing at. “The… sky?” 

“In the sky!”

“That’s… that’s a cloud.” 

“That’s what clouds look like?”

“Oh, we got a dumb one.” Tails muttered. 

“I’m not– I…” the hedgehog took several deep breaths, then slowly turned his face back towards the ground. He turned it from left-to-right, his eyes darting around at first, and then slowly focusing. Like he was trying to take in everything he saw. “Holy shit,” he finally said, eyes wide. “Am I on Earth?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Tails said. 

“I’m… I’m…” he took several more deep breaths, before turning around to look at Knuckles. He jumped. “Oh, you’re like me, too.” 

“Like you?”

“Mobian, I mean. There weren’t really any others on the ARK… we need to get there, we might still have time–”

“Knuckles, sit him down.” Tails said.

When the duo went to disaster areas, Tails was usually in charge of the shell-shocked civilians. Not because he had better social skills than Knuckles– far from it– but because he’d read enough psychology books to understand the correct things to say. Usually, they’d bring one of their more people-friendly teammates, such as Mighty or Vector, but when it was just the two of them, Knuckles defaulted to Tails’s knowledge. It was something he did in a lot of other situations, too.

Knuckles sat down, carefully positioning the hedgehog beside him. Eventually, he leaned on his shoulder, letting the red echidna hold him up with his arm. He looked down, and said, “Whoa, your hands are far out.” 

“‘Far out?’” 

“Off the hook, really.” he reached his hand upwards and ran his fingers over Knuckles’s spikes. “What’re these?”

“Do not touch them.” 

The hand retracted extremely fast. “Sorry! I’m sorry,” he said, even faster. “I didn’t know, I… sorry.” 

Tails sat across from the hedgehog, and waited until he looked him in the eyes. “Hi. I’m Tails. This is Knuckles. What’s your name?”

The hedgehog looked between them. Knuckles spotted a fear in his eyes, which he realized with a jolt was from his earlier warning to leave his hands alone. Did he sound that scary? Or was the hedgehog just gaining his mental processes back, and remembering whatever happened before he was trapped in cryostasis? Because surely it couldn’t have been good.

“I’m…” he took a deep breath, and put his hand against Knuckles’s forearm instead. “I’m Sonic.”

“Sonic. Okay.” Tails said. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Maria.” his voice broke slightly. “Please. She got hurt. We can still save her, if we get to the ARK…” 

“Sonic,” Tails said slowly, “What year do you think it is?” 

Sonic froze over so completely that for a moment, Knuckles thought he’d stopped breathing. 

“No,” Sonic shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no…” 

“I’m sorry.” Tails said. He reached forward, putting his palm over Sonic’s; now both of them were grabbing onto Knuckles’s arm, which he chose not to mention to them. 

“No, no, no. She’s not gone. She’s okay. They have to have… she’s okay.” And, surprising Knuckles once again, he realized the hedgehog had started to cry. His voice shook, as he turned to Tails and asked, “I was out for a long time?” 

“Yeah.”

He took a breath, as if hoping that would slow the tears. It didn’t. “H-how long? Do you know?”

Tails squeezed his hand. “Fifty years.” 

“No. No, no, no. This is a bad dream. This is a shit dream. I need to wake up. I need to get to Maria. She’s okay. She has to be okay–”

“Sonic, take a second.” 

“She’s okay!” 

With the cry, something sparked against Knuckles. He leapt back, releasing the hedgehog, fast enough to see a blue flare rise from the hedgehog’s quills. A burst of something. Knuckles steadied himself again, remembering a similar glow from Shadow as he’d teleported– chaos energy. He grabbed Tails, again pulling him to the side, but Sonic didn’t seem to be preparing to fight.

Instead, the flares dimmed, and the hedgehog dropped to the ground and began to violently sob.

---

{ao3} {tumblr}

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

Ed-Coded Mountain Goats Songs Part 1

The other day I was thinking about how many songs by the Mountain Goats remind me of Our Flag Means Death's very own Edward Teach, and I decided to challenge myself to assign a Mountain Goats song to each episode Ed appears in. It's going to be a series of posts because for some of them I have, uhhhh, a lot to say.

S1E3 - A Gentleman Pirate

The song that I've chosen for this episode is Animal Mask, from the album Beat the Champ aka "the one about wrestling." The album deals with themes of identity, masks, showmanship, and knowing when to quit. So it's a pretty good Ed album already.

I chose this song for a few reasons, the first being that I just really love it. I referenced it in my wedding vows—I think it's one of the most romantic Mountain Goats songs (serious goats fans out there, yes, I know that the song is about JD's kid being born, shhhh, that's not important, it's romantic TO ME).

The song is about a professional wrestler fighting through a battle royale to protect someone they don't really know. This is how they meet.

Eighteen man steel cage free for all Through the noise I hear you call for help You can't protect yourself Frog mask and yellow cape So desperate to escape I came to you, hands wrapped in adhesive tape That was when we were young and green In the dawning hours of our team

Sound familiar?

The second verse reveals that the narrator has been paying attention to the person in the frog mask and yellow cape. From a distance they saw someone interesting, someone new.

Seen you backstage once or twice Animal gimmick pops real nice Elbow sweep and tiger dance Little extra fighter's chance

Ed is interested in Stede before he even meets him. Finally, here is someone doing something different. Ed is bored, stifled, lonely.

"Hold on", I cried, "I'll be right there" Pull your mask down through your hair They won't see you Not until you want them to

John Darnielle has said a lot about this song but one thing that really stuck with me is this: "This is a song about how, from the moment of your birth, you don't owe anybody a look at your true face." (source) I think about this in relation to masking—for good or for bad it's something people learn in order to protect themselves. And if it's true that you don't owe anybody a look at your true face, it makes it all the more beautiful when you decide that you want someone to see your true face, that you feel safe enough with them to try.

Ed and Stede are both people who struggle with identity. Who they are vs who they present to others vs who they want to be. They're both guarded in very different ways. Stede's ostentatious coats and bravado hides a deep well of insecurity—he is simply convinced that he is not enough. Ed has spent so much time being Blackbeard that he isn't sure who he is outside of that. But when they're together, all of that turmoil melts away. Ed and Stede get to be Ed and Stede. They just... see each other. They open up. And that doesn't magically resolve their identity issues, or make them brilliant at communicating. They struggle to turn their implicit understanding of each other into the kind of healthy communication their relationship needs, because neither of them have any practice with that. But that safe space between the two of them gives them both a place to figure things out.

"What's it like to be in love?"

"It feels... easy. It's just like breathing. He understands my idiosyncrasies, finds them charming even. We expose each other to new things, new ideas. And we laugh a lot. We just pass the time so well. I'd call those things love."

That's what is romantic to me about this song, I think, the sense of safety. You are safe to be vulnerable with me, because I will not reveal you unless you want to be revealed. We may be surrounded by a battlefield but you and me? We're a team.

And for Ed and Stede, this is the early days. The dawning hours of their team. While Stede's "Well I was gut-stabbed..." story intro in later episodes is a funny bit, it's clear that Stede looks back on this moment as a warm and happy one. I think Ed does as well.

Which brings us to the chorus of the song:

Some things you will remember Some things stay sweet forever