#projects onto them like a fucking madman

[plaguedcupid]

vw icons! — like/reblog if use/save

[afsosville]

Shen Jiu, if he was actually a competent shizun

My HC for how Shen Jiu is like with kids without trauma/healed trauma and shit: Honestly with a person like Shen Jiu, I can only see his interactions with kids going one of two ways, him being so very fond of them, and ofc, how he's like in canon. Ok look, in the third book under Shen Jiu's character description, it said that Shen Jiu definitely had more reasons to relate to Luo Binghe than to hate him yet he still chose violence for some fucked up reason. So yes, I for one headcanon that when he's in a better place mentally, he would choose to be doting and fiercely protective. We've seen that he's capable of being like that with Ning Yingying (and Qiu Haitang), and it's not outwardly obvious, but we can see it with the way she behaves around Shen Yuan when she thinks that's still Shen Jiu. She definitely acts like a spoiled younger sister/daughter who looks up to her guardian and shows a great amount of trust in him. So just imagine if that was extended to all of his disciples.

No coz if he was spared enough kindness for him to actually want to do better, he would choose the first option and emphasize with LBH instead BECAUSE smn gave HIM a chance and emphasized with HIM. LBH and SJ are parallels, and so whatever happens to SJ, it would be reflected onto LBH.

I am dead. I am so dead. I'm bleeding out so fast and goddammit it HURTS- SJ and LBH's whole story hurts sm.

Anyways-

I kinda like to imagine that when Shen Jiu's heart settles on the fact that maybe, just maybe, bleeding on ppl who didn't cut him and taking his hurt out on LBH is a no good very bad idea, he's going to end up over compensating for his whole fucking childhood and the way he projects on him is completely flipped.

"I'm going to treat you the way I wanted to be treated and ur going to feel loved and safe do you hear me?!?"

"Yes shizun (*＾v＾*)"

Here's the thing, he may be fond of his disciples, but he is still shit at taking care of them. He was robbed of his own childhood, so he doesn't know what normal kids act like in the first place. And he has no idea what the typical stages of development are and he would totally underestimate how dumb kids who didn't grow up like him would be. So yeah, shit at babysitting but loves them anyhow, for the same reason he would hate them in canon. (They remind him too much of himself). Idk, him being bad with kids regardless of trauma is so funny to me.

That moment when it clicks for him that he may not hate them after all: "oh gods these brats actually like…me? Me? Fuck what the hell do I do?! This is why no one should trust me with kids Aghhhhh!! Still think they're brats tho :( but they're my brats >:) "

He'd be like Shifu from Kung Fu Panda as a shizun. He's strict, harsh as hell and shows no mercy when training, coz becoming a cultivator/martial artist is fucking hard and requires alot of discipline anyway. So he really is doing his best to make sure his disciples come out on top. Shen Jiu is a prideful person by nature, it's just that his disciples are his pride. He's always there for them when they need him, and he will make sure that none of his disciples will ever have to go through anything he has. He wants to be the reliable adult that his disciples seek out. (He will never let it be known that he seeks his disciples' approval and validation as much as they seek his.)

Really fucking specific but idgaf. My social teacher brought chocolate bars to class and gave them out one time. After a few moments she asked if everyone was enjoying themselves. After she heard us agree she went on a lesson about slave labour and the production of goods in underdeveloped countries. Shen Jiu. Would do this. Because he’s a madman.

And Binghe. He would still end up a little unhinged. Like sure being under a master that abuses you will fuck you up one way but if you had a guardian who will start genocides and watch cities burn for you… It does things.

Shen Jiu is morally ambiguous as fuck and that rubs off onto his disciples. He is still a terrible role model, but his kids wouldn't trade him for the world:)

Would be the type that gives 5 yr olds knives for birthdays, bc he had a shit ton of them hidden away on his person when he was that age and knew how to use them when he was on the streets.

“What? It's an appropriate gift! The kid needs to have smt to protect herself! Yeah I know she didn’t grow up on the streets so what? No need to rub it in. Ok fine! I’ll teach her then just shut up. Let’s go Yan-er, some people just don’t appreciate the value of giving practical gifts WAIT PUT THAT DOWN-”

Is this lowkey self indulgent? Yes. Do I particularly care? No. I just want my favourite blorbos to be happy, is that too much to ask for? My Roman Empire is that SJ probably could've been a crazy good shizun if he had a chance to heal. If you've read The Hidden Flower, then you know exactly what I mean.

I already made a post with all of the soft BingJiu fics ik. I could literally make another one rn where they're just chilling platonically, or even as an adoptive family bc I have no chill like that and read all the SJ fics there is to read.

It's already summer and all I have going for me is my job rn and I am sooooo close to going through all nearly 400 pages under the SJ tag coz I simply can.

[ghoultrifle]

mushy may day six !!!!

prompt: "you're blushing"

character: aurora/cumulus

word count: 700

summary: Rory being very cute but also very incapable of putting on her shoes

notes: the solution to the infantalisation of aeon is to infantalise aurora as well /hj

below the cut or on ao3 :))

She’s the definition of grace, hopping on the spot as she tries, to no avail, to get this goddamn shoe on her foot. Aurora pulls and twists all while nearly toppling over onto every available surface in the den, “Argh! Just. Go. On,” she cries, punctuated by the thud of her still-bare left foot against the floor.

With a hop, skip, and a jump she bounds into the kitchen, met by Swiss and Cumulus idly chatting, perched on the stools beneath the island counter. “Lus! Help me, please!” Aurora pleads, refusing to give up.

Cumulus giggles, the inexperienced ghoulette shuffling like a madman in her pursuit of… she’s not sure. “What are you doing, ‘rora?”

“Hnnf- Saw Aeon could put his shoes on standing up and couldn’t let him win,” she explains. The ghouls at the counter shoot her a confused stare, “You know, the bets?” Aurora is only met with more puzzled looks. “Whoever can master fifty human things first wins?” Swiss and Cumulus look at each other before Swiss pipes up.

“And you decided putting on shoes while standing upright is a trait so human that you’re having a competition over it?” He questions.

“Well, it’s not just that! We’ve also done throwing laundry in the hamper, making small talk, carrying the most amount of drinks without spilling them, loads of stuff!” 

“Don’t forget chugging the drinks too!” A distant voice calls out.

“Hi, Ae,” Cumulus shouts back before turning her attention back to Aurora. “So this is serious stuff, huh?” Aurora nods. “Well, I don’t know about you, Swiss, but I wouldn’t want to interfere with such a strict competition,” she says playfully but with a hint of sarcasm. Swiss nods his head in agreement.

So the multi ghoulette continues in her struggle, bending, stretching, at one point it looks like she’s doing the hokey cokey. “Really?! No help at all?” The others can only smile as they shake their heads. “Ugh, fine, I’m leaving.”

It would be a more poignant bite if she were able to actually direct herself out of the room, instead Aurora is stuck going in circles in an attempt to regain her balance. “Need a hand, sweetheart?” Cumulus jokes. That’s the push Aurora needs to steady herself and return to Aeon, foot still sitting halfway in the shoe.

“I don’t remember us doing anything like that when we were new summons, do you?” Cumulus asks.

“You’re blushing, Lus” Swiss grins.

“What? No?!” She says, flustered. “That’s not what I was talking about anyway. We were nev-”

“You have a crush on the new summon!” He says in a sing-song tone. “Look at you, you’ve gone all red and embarrassed, textbook crush behaviour!”

Cumulus only blushes harder, maybe she does have a thing for Aurora. The younger ghoul is just so playful and energetic; sometimes a bit of a loser but in the most endearing way; she’s sweet as a button but fierce too and- yeah Cumulus is fucked. “Okay, maybe yeah, but what about it? You’re practically welded to Aeon!”

“At least I own it, Lus,” he smiles, nudging her. “You should too.”

Aurora flies back into the kitchen, nearly sliding across the tile straight to the sink. She gathers herself and stands proudly, “Did it!”

“I can see, rorabug, well done!” Cumulus replies, sweetly.

“Uh huh! I’m on thirty eight now,” she grins excitedly. Cumulus has no idea why she’s so charmed by Aurora but she’s not complaining. She gathers some confidence before inviting Aurora over to where she’s sat. The younger ghoul is at the perfect height for Cumulus to place a delicate kiss on her cheek. It’s not much but she’s proud of herself.

“Oh, um, thanks Lus!” She smiles nervously, turning to leave the room.

After a gentle prod in the ribs from Aeon, that means she likes you too, Rory, do it back! She turns her body towards Cumulus and with an assertive stride she gives her a peck on the lips, “Join us?” She asks. Before waiting for an answer she runs away, giggling with Aeon. Those left in the kitchen can hear hushed whispers of celebrations and congratulations at their newfound knowledge of each other’s appreciation.

Swiss shrugs and puts his hands in the air, “I’m not stopping you, go get her!”

[quiddityg]

KLOKTOBER 2023

Day 4: favorite headcanon

I don't rlly have any super favorite headcannons? So I just kinda tossed some general headcannons I have for each character lawlz

More about each character cause some of the headcannons are rlly vague lawlz

Nathan:

Hes on the Aromantic spectrum, where although he wants a romantic relationship, hes never rlly comfortable in relationships. Hes heteromantic though, where any romantic feelings he may have are only for women, and he generally find women way more attractive than men, but he still has those moments where he finds a guy rlly sexually attractive (cough cough pickles)

Also hes so autism coded it's like not even funny. He probably has the worst sensory issues when he eats chips and gets all that residue on his fingers.

Pickles:

Transgender!!!! I like to think he got top surgery as soon as money started rolling in for the band, and he probably also got bottom surgery also so he can fuck groupies without having to worry about them outing him or smth. That or hes a classic strap on man, which would also be super real of him.

This man is totally bi, he doesnt rlly have any major preference, but just goes for women more often.

I also like to think hed got ADHD but thats also me projecting like a madman cause mwehehe

Toki:

I like to think he's pansexual but like, kinda doesnt rlly realize it? Like, he generally finds all sorts of people attractive, but doesnt elly act on anything, especially with other men cause he thinks it's too gay or something. All around he doesnt have a preference, and his attraction to people isnt bound by their gender.

I also like to think hes nonbinary, in the sense where he doesnt consider himself to be innately masculine or feminine at his core. That being said, hes like never heard of nonbinary people before, and hes comfortable enough as is, and knows who he is that he doesnt rlly care to put labels onto himself in that way. If he cared about pronouns, hed probably go by he/they/she

Hes also totally autistic, maybe audhd but idk

Skwisgaar:

I'm sorry, I cant see him as anything else but straight. I mean, I could see him fooling around with other guys, but I dont think he would have any real sexual attraction to them, it would just be for fun. (I know skwistok shippers are not happy with me about this but IM SORRY I JUST CANT SEE HIM DOIN THATT)

That being said, I also kinda see him falling under the aromantic spectrum, specifically where he may experience minor amounts of romantic attraction, but sees no real importance in either engaging in it, or being in a romantic relationship in general.

The dyslexia bit is kinda canon knowing how he has music dyslexia with sheet music, but I also like to think he struggles with reading in general. That being said, hes probably rlly good at counting knowing how amazing he is at guitar.

Murderface:

How I see him, hes a closeted bisexual, and I mean CLOSETED!! Hes probably entirely oblivious about everyone elses queer identities and sees his attraction to men as an aberration of sorts. I also like to think he may find men more attractive, but would never admit it as long as he lives.

Charles:

I fought demons here cause I legit see Charles as just, gay. BUT, after some thought I was like, erm, maybe he would take interest in some women?? So I just said he was bi with a major preference for men.

I also see Charles falling under the asexual spectrum, specifically where he does experience minimal sexual attraction, and isnt against having sex, but he doesnt see any importance it and is way too fucking busy. He has better things to do, basically.

[esoteric-terror]

Two sides of the same coin

idk. i think theres a Lot of room for these two to be interesting together under the cut is how i would make them interesting To Me/partial avos rewrite, assume everything i dont mention is the same

about a year and a half ago @/cheecats posted this and i like this idea! it started making its rounds in my brain again and in my brain it Shifted, just a tad, and now we are here w this! thus we begin my madman rambling

prior to avos, rowanclaw is not a frequent character, he mostly just shows up to be mean and xenophobic, im p sure he shows up in night whispers as a good parent to his kids but for the sake of this im gonna ignore it and double down on the meanness, so for the rest of this im characterizing him as selfish, stubborn, mean, and someone who doesnt like being held accountable. do those traits sound familiar? they should, because im also describing onestar

we come to rowanclaw becoming leader, i want them to be Scarily similar, i need them to clash badly and be explosive because of said clash

they definitely differ tho! its just internally instead of externally. the biggest difference is that onestar is full of shame, regret, and self hatred. he knows that he shouldnt have ever met the kittypets. he knows he shouldnt have turned down darktail and because of him several kits died because he was a coward. he HATES that tallstar just had to make him deputy because that led to mudclaws death and him inevitably cutting off firestar. and he deeply regrets how he treated his old friend but he cant do much now as firestars dead! and he knows deep in his heart hes letting tallstar down. but if he drops the tough independent guy facade now and show how scared and regretful he actually is could lead to windclan being chased off again.

rowanstar on the other hand, is just Mean because thats all hes been surrounded by, 2 evil leaders, another who had a questionable history, and no shortage of clanmates who are just complete assholes. he doesnt have to prove shit to anyone in his clan, but he has everything to prove to the other clans as a new leader. hes not gonna be soft to them, fuck that! shadowclan can stand on its own w no help they got their shit down and everyone else needs to know that.

rowanstars cowardice isnt really recognized until after the kin shows up. he claims that he let them stay because theyre clearly strong. but hed never admit part of the reason he let them stay is because after bramblestar informed him that the rogues fought off onestar and his patrol that ultimately took one of onestars lives and killed furzepelt, he got scared to tell them no in case he met a similar fate.

in this hypothetical rewrite id switch the order of onestars and rowanstars deaths, so rowanstar dies at the end of the third book and onestar dies at the end of the fifth. because of that the circumstances around rowans death is changed a bit

so in some confrontation with the rogues, with rowan, tawnypelt, and tigerheart on one side with the kin on the other, tawnypelt ends up dying protecting rowanstar, because he let her take the killing blow. this is the first time hes shown visible terror, and because he didnt want to admit, even to himself, that this fight was his fault, and that because he was a coward and couldnt say no, he lost his mate, who was nothing but loyal to him.

skip to the end of shattered sky. theres another confrontation with the rogues. in this rowanstar doesnt step down! he still cant accept and doesnt want to admit that he was a coward, so he says the reason this happened was because he was too kind to his clan and to the rogues. the he gets killed.

this throws shadowclan under full control of the kin, and naturally this news spreads to windclan. and onestar is terrified out of his mind.

after a lot of projecting onto rowanstar, onestar realizes something: if he cant admit his faults, if he cant get over his pride, he will end up shamefully dying like rowanstar. and he recognizes that while he cant change the past, he can make the future better.

and so he tells everyone that darktail is his son and he steps down as leader. and in a way its freeing, this secret thats been eating him alive for years is now out in the open. he never knew darktail became this monster, onewhisker acknowledges that if it werent for his bad decisions as a young warrior, darktail wouldve never turned out this way, and he was gonna fix everything.

and then the battle that kills both of them happens the same as it does in canon, just later in the arc

-

ALL OF THIS TO SAY: rowan and one could have an interesting dynamic and it could be a cool parallel and i think if the erins tapped into that id like avos a lot more

[toons-and-doom]

Imagine scraps accidentally killing goob in a swap au where scraps is dandy and goob is Astro 😭the angst is what makes things interesting

Fr Fr the angst is where it’s at

Under read more because goob fucking dies

- goob confronts scraps about the whole ichor operation, and the two get into a large fight. In a fit of rage, scraps accidentally pushes goob into a large vat of ichor.

- scraps assumes goob to be dead and panicked, covering the evidence as best she can to make it seem like a accident. She wasn’t thinking clearly, just overwhelmed by grief and fear.

- when the employees find out the next day, there’s grief all across gardenview.

- … scraps cannot look the others in the eye. She spends the next few days in her room.

- and the next few days

- and the next few days

- and the next

- scraps rarely leaves her room. She feels this deep shame she cannot get rid of. There is also this paranoia that the others will find out what she did and shun her to it-

- another way she copes is by throwing herself into her ichor project! She tries to burry the feeling.

- (let’s say in this au, Shelly, Vee, and Sprout swap with poppy, Boxten, and Teagan), even when her fellow toons reach out, she pushes them with a swap of her claws.

- they others leave her alone, try to let her grieve. Scraps continues to spiral, she figures she can make things up by recreating her brother from the ichor.

- she hides a box of goob’s old things. When she’s by herself she sits there and just holds the box.

- let’s make this worse. The gardenview employees redraw goob because they can’t just not have goob, he’s a main character!

- but this goob isn’t the original, far from it.

- he wants to be close to scraps- their designed to be siblings after all! But scraps pushes him away. She doesn’t want to hurt him again.

- and durring the game, when you buy goob, scraps just states ‘ please be careful with him, okay? ‘

- even while twisted, scraps avoids goob as much as she can. She doesn’t want to fail him twice-

- THIS IS MADE EVEN WORSE IF WE TRANSFER MY CHRONIC NIGHTMARE DANDY HC ONTO SCRAPS

- HOMEGIRLS HAS TO GET USED TO WAKING UP ALONE

Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna be pacing around like a madman thinking of this

[lyrablack1883]

I read another fic I would like to recommend. I found it while browsing through old works. The story begin right after the war, the trial and so on. Told from Draco’s POV. Not eight year fic but yes they return to hogwart, Draco to serves his probations sentence under Hagrid’s and Harry with Hogwart repair. It’s beautifully heartbreaking. Exploring the aspect of who deserves to be saved. Harry character in this is just beautiful. While Draco’s is more humane? exploring more on imperfection, his needs to make his father proud and how it affects him after. It has 30k words and finished.

List of parts that made me pause reading it for a second. This next parts counts as spoiler, so if you plan to read the fic stop after this part. It’s a long list

Part 2, this whole part right here just absolutely heartbreaking

“Dada?" Teddy ventured, little voice soft.

Draco watched in astonishment as Potter's shoulders began to shake slightly, as his throat worked within the open collar of his shirt.

"No, Teddy," Potter whispered brokenly, his voice thick. "I'm not your dad. I'm not your dad."

With those words, Potter began to cry.

Little Ted's head cocked to one side as he watched the man before him weep quietly into his hands. After a moment of silent contemplation, the baby pushed himself onto his hands and knees and crawled the short distance between the two of them. Using Potter's legs, Teddy gripped his jeans and pulled himself up until he was standing on his wobbly little legs. He then toddled the two unsteady steps it took for him to be able to grab hold of Potter's wrists.

"Dada," he said softly, and to Draco it sounded almost as if the baby were trying to comfort Potter. Potter stiffened, and choked sobs emerged from behind his hands. Draco's mouth fell slightly open in wonder when little Teddy pressed his forehead against Potter's and their hair, the exact same shade of shiny black with faint blue highlights, mingled. Teddy began to pat Potter awkwardly on the back of his head, and Potter reached around the baby convulsively, his blunt-fingered hands fisting in the back of the Teddy's blue romper.

"I'm sorry, Teddy," he gasped against the baby's chest, sounding suffocated. "I tried, but I was too late. I was too late, and I'm so bloody sorry...”

Part 4

“I still believe you're worth saving.”

Part 9

Potter, Potter could have saved his father, and instead had walked away. And Draco was right back where he started, caught between desperation and hopelessness.

Part 11

Actually this whole chapter is written so beautifully, so many parts had me choked to tears.

The first one

“Did you have a choice?"

Draco felt anger surging through him, and he was glad for it. It was cleansing, somehow, cleared the passion-induced haze from his mind, and allowed him to see clearly.

"I had as much choice in my role as you did in yours," he hissed, applying more pressure to Potter's grip, twisting, but he still wouldn't release Draco's arm.

"What does that mean?" Potter asked, his knuckles whitening, his own brow furrowing.

"It means," Draco said in exasperation, "that I had a choice of taking the Mark, or watching my mother die. I could do what I was told, or I could take the Cruciatus. I could torture and maim at the whim of a madman, or I could die, Potter. Those were the choices. So yes, I had a choice. But some of us aren't meant to be heroes.”

The second

“What?" Draco broke in rashly. "That we had... something? That we could be something?" Draco shook his head frantically even as tears filled his eyes. "Well, get a clue, Boy Wonder, because that isn't going to happen. The chasm is too wide, Potter, there's too much water under the bridge, the horse has left the chute. Think of every fucking cliche you've ever heard in your entire miserable life, because it applies to this moment, right here."

Potter went very still, but he didn't move away. "This is about the Mark," he said, his voice sounding hollow.

Draco shook his head, incredulous. "This is about more than just the Mark."

Potter took a step closer to him, his hand extended. "I don't care about the Death Eater stuff anymore, Draco."

Draco's eyes went so wide in disbelief that it was painful. "The Death Eater 'stuff'?" he parroted snidely. "The Death Eater 'stuff'. I'm still living with the repercussions of that 'stuff' every fucking day of my life, Potter. My whole miserable existence is about that 'stuff'. I chop ferret guts and shovel hippogriff shit and read letters from my mother where I can see her heart breaking on the on the page and wait for the day when my father gets his soul sucked from him because of this 'stuff'. And you want to know the best part? The very best part? I allowed this thing to start with you because I planned to use you. How do you like that?" He laughed desperately at Potter's stunned expression, even though he'd never found anything less funny in his life.”

The third,

“Draco," he whispered, "some people don't deserve to be saved.”

The fourth

“Who are you..." Draco puffed, bucking his hips and trying to kick. "Who the fuck are you to decide who deserves to be saved?"

"Your father tried to kill a bunch of fourteen and fifteen-year-olds, did you know that?" Potter snarled, locking Draco's legs to the ground with his knees. "He wouldn't have batted an eyelash, he would have killed us as soon as looked at us. He stuck a fucking Horcrux in Ginny Weasley's cauldron when she was eleven years old. He's a nasty, abusive bastard. For fuck's sake, Draco, he let that monster have his only child!"

Draco went very still as the words registered, and he stared up into Potter's eyes as the horror of what he'd said sank in. And yet he realized, even as he knew that it was the truth, it didn't matter. Not then. Perhaps not ever. "Potter, I don't know how to live in a world without my father in it," he whispered faintly.”

The fifth, Just once again heartbreaking confession

“You're the most powerful wizard of the modern age, Potter..."

Potter made a slashing motion with his hand. "I'm not!" he countered. "If I was the most powerful wizard of the modern age, I'd have been able to take Voldemort out sooner, before he did so much damage, before so many died. I didn't save Fred Weasley, or Colin Creevey, or even Snape. I didn't save Dumbledore, and Sirius and Tonks..." His voice broke and he closed his eyes. "I wasn't good enough, don't you see? I killed the monster, but not before he'd taken George Weasley's twin, and Dennis Creevey's brother, and Teddy's parents..." He opened his eyes, and Draco stared, stunned, at the misery in them. "They all deserved to be saved, and I couldn't do it." Potter took another step toward Draco, pulling his wand from his sleeve as he did so. Draco steeled himself, but Potter just stood there, wand in hand. "You're right," he said flatly. "I'm not the person to decide who should live or die. I don't have the credentials for that. So, here, you have to disarm me, but I won't put up much of a fight. Take the wand from “from the tomb. But understand something," he paused, swallowing heavily, his face the color of chalk. "If you take it, you're going to have to kill me. Because they're going to come after you, Draco, and they're going to kill you, and I can't watch that. I so wanted to at least... save you." Tears were filling the green eyes then, and the wand in Potter's hand was trembling violently. "So, take the wand, do what you have to do. But kill me first, because you may not know how to live in a world without your father," he lifted his chin but his voice still trembled, "but I don't know how to live in a world without you."

The ending

I won’t include parts from the ending. It reminds me of running on air ending and a little bit of pride of prejudice oddly enough. But it had a really good ending. I say it ended just the way it should have end.

[arielgobuss]

68. The world is in your eyes

The yearning to be near you I do what I have to do Deep within I'm shaken by the violence Of existing for only you*

Caught in the grip of despair, the mind searches for everything that could relieve suffering, transforming the things it cannot cope with into a feeling that is equally strong, but allows... to release the pain; to be free from the burden, even for a short while. Someone always has to be... guilty.

"You killed her, you son of a bitch! You are on their side!" Ron growled, piercing Severus with a look that had long since gone beyond insanity and was dangerously fast approaching madness.

George, Fred and Greg stared at Ron in shock. Ginny froze, looking at her brother as if he had suddenly started speaking a different language. They looked like actors placed on stage who suddenly realized that one of them had decided to completely change the script, and if they don't react quickly, the whole play will fall to pieces. Severus was calmly watching the eyes burning with hatred, staring at him, and he felt as if he was watching a play directed by a madman.

Ron's bloodshot eyes searched the ground and before anyone could stop him, he lunged for his wand, turning toward Severus and sending a paralyzing spell at him.

Severus had no problem deflecting the spell, which ricocheted and whistled right next to the Weasley. The girl screamed and immediately crouched down, covering her head with her hands. Fred and George rushed toward their brother, grabbing him by the waist and trying to take his wand.

"What are you doing, Ron?"

The boy seemed completely blinded, though. He broke away from them, elbowing one of the brothers in the stomach and punching the other in the face, and aimed at Severus again, shouting desperately:

"Reducto!"

The man quickly deflected the spell, sending a disarming spell toward the enraged boy, which hit him right in the chest and threw him back several feet. Weasley fell onto his back, a loud groan escaping his lips.

Fred and George almost immediately rushed toward him, grabbing his arms and pinning him to the ground so he couldn't get up.

"Ron, stop it! Are you crazy?" one of them asked, wiping the blood from his broken nose with his sleeve.

"No! Let me go! You know nothing!" Ron shouted, struggling and trying to break free. "He killed Aurors! I saw it! I'm sure he killed her! He's a traitor! A murderer!"

Fred and George froze and turned their heads. Severus felt several pairs of surprised glances at him.

Just great, that was all he needed...

"That's true?" Fred Weasley asked, letting go of his brother, rising from the ground and staring at Snape suspiciously.

Severus looked around. He saw the wands being lifted up. All three Weasleys and the Ravenclaw boy were standing next to each other, pointing their wands at him.

Ungrateful, unreasoning little brats! He should have gotten out of here as soon as they showed up. The Weasleys always brought nothing but trouble. He wasn't going to explain himself to them. Nor waste time on pointless fights.

"Ginny, come here," Greg whispered carefully, and as soon as Snape's gaze fell on the red-haired girl slowly rising from the ground and staring at him in disbelief, his predatory speed, practiced over the years, paid off. He jumped toward her, quickly grabbing her by the throat, putting his wand to her head and shielding himself from the wands aimed at him.

"Let her go!" Greg shouted, tightening his trembling hand on his wand.

"If I were you, I would put these useless sticks aside, unless you want to endanger your sister" he hissed, ruthlessly scanning the surprised faces.

"I told you he was a traitor! You crazy fucking bastard!" Ron roared, aiming at Snape with such ferocity that he seemed to want to incinerate him with just a look.

Fred and George seemed torn between the desire to attack Snape with their bare fists if necessary, and the need to keep their sister safe.

"Let her go, we're putting the wands away now," Fred said, raising his left hand in surrender and simultaneously lowering his wand.

"No, he's going to kill her anyway! Just like he killed Hermione! " Ron exclaimed, taking a step closer.

"Ron, calm down and put the damn wand away!" George growled, moving toward his brother, but at the same moment several spells shouted nearby reached their ears and sharp flashes lit up the air, and after two broken screams, Molly and Arthur Weasley emerged from the fog.

"Fred, George! You weren't supposed to go away!" Molly exclaimed, running to her sons. Her robe was muddy and torn, as if the witch had just made her way through a field of thorny bushes. "Do you know how long we've been looking for you? Ron! Thanks be to Merlin for finding you! Where's your sister--?" Her wandering gaze fell on Severus, who was slowly retreating. "Severus, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice filled with surprise, at the same moment that her husband pointed his wand at Snape. Apparently he was able to understand the situation much faster.

"Let go of our daughter, Severus," he said sharply.

Severus tightened his grip on his hostage's neck, yanking her back and taking another step. The girl moaned in pain.

"Your brats attacked me. In the future, I advise you to keep them on leashes, or I will kill them all."

"You will not threaten my children," Molly Weasley drawled, standing next to her husband and raising her wand.

Severus...

At first, Severus wanted to turn his head to look for the source of that very familiar, warm voice, but he quickly changed his mind. He can't let his guard down. Even for a moment. It's only illus--

Severus...

Merlin, how he wanted to answer him; to tell him to hold on; that he's getting closer; that he will find him soon...

"Severus!" Arthur Weasley's sharp voice pulled him out of the warmth, bringing him back to the battlefield strewn with bodies.

"Move away!" he hissed, retreating even further, and before either of them could make any gesture, the air was filled with curses flying from the smoke.

The Weasleys scattered, deflecting curses and hurling spells at the dark figures circling in the fog, but Molly Weasley seemed to see nothing but her daughter. However, Severus had no intention of getting rid of his hostage. Whether he leaves her and runs away or takes her with him, they may still follow him. But taking her with him would at least give him some sort of precaution.

He deflected the ricocheting spell and put his wand back to the throat of the girl, who struggling in his grip.

"Imperio," he whispered, forcing orders into her head.

Ginny immediately stopped struggling and froze motionless.

"Impedimento!" Molly Weasley shouted at him when she managed to knock down the Death Eater charging at her.

Severus raised his wand to deflect the spell, but Ginny was faster:

"Protego!"

Her mother's spell bounced off the shield the girl had conjured, and Severus was sure he wouldn't soon forget Molly Weasley's shocked and terrified expression.

"Good girl," he said, pursing his lips mockingly and backing out of range. However, before he hid in the clouds of smoke, he saw another four Death Eaters attacking the Weasleys. "Follow me."

The smoke was a great cover. He knew it would be a long time before the Weasleys dealt with the attack and began to chase him. Besides, he doubted whether they would be able to find him in this thick smoke.

He looked at the red-haired Gryffindor running next to him.

Especially since he had their daughter as a living shield and could order her to do anything.

*

He knew that stopping every Death Eater he encountered and asking them if they knew where Malfoy was - if of course he managed to knock them down or fend off his attack - was as pointless as asking them about the Dark Lord's whereabouts. He had to find someone more important, and force him to cooperate.

Bellatrix, Greyback, and Nott were dead. So who was left?

His eyes narrowed.

Yaxley!

And he suspected where he could find him...

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 4: Proposal

WIP: Partners Pairing: I’d like it to be Reagan x Ben, but it’s technically Reagan x Carolyn sigh Timeline: pre-Partners (I think, like, 1942 or something, probably around the time of their first kiss and I’ve definitely gotten something wrong in the timeline oops I can probably fix this) CW: Adult conversations? “Adult” conversations? Adult conversations between two absolute children lmao oh also Ben pines big time Rating: T Words: 1,103

***

Ben crashed through Reagan's bedroom door with so much unchecked and baffling strength that it bounced off the wall and whapped him in the face. He didn't feel it in the slightest, lungs full of air he used to put into a projected roar, hand slamming the door back open.

"What THE FUCK did you DO?!"

Reagan, in bed and already halfway deep into a heart attack at this outburst, peered wide-eyed over his shoulder at Ben. "Are you completely stupid, boy," he said thickly. "It is six in the mornin'."

Ben marched over to Reagan's bed, planted a foot between his knees, and launched himself up to jump around like a madman. "'Benny, Benny, she said yes! She said yes!'" Ben grabbed a pillow and shoved it onto Reagan's face, collapsing onto him and fighting his struggles. "'I asked her to marry me and she said yes, Benny! I didn't get any input from you but I proposed to her in the middle of fucking her and she said yes!'"

Instead of the usual reaction to being smothered, Reagan started to laugh. A hearty, boisterous laugh that almost displaced Ben entirely.

Ben yanked the pillow away.

"First," Reagan said when he could get air, "I knew you weren't fully awake when I told you that as it's been a full three hours now. Second..." He started giggling again and rubbed his eyes of sleep. "How'd you know that's what happened?"

Crossing his arms, Ben straddled Reagan's thighs over the thin sheet. "He says this like I haven't known him for thirteen years!"

"Yeah," Reagan sighed, pushing himself into a sitting position with his elbows. "Thirteen incredibly long years."

"You're avoiding my wrath," Ben said, jabbing the pillow at Reagan's chest. "You went and got engaged without talkin' to me about it first, shit-for-brains."

Yawning, Reagan nodded. "Uh-huh. Shall you flog me now or later?"

Ben paused as Reagan's face split into a sly grin and he angled it up to him. "This…this is a big step, Reggie. I wanted to know."

"I told you I was gonna do it. I told you last month that Carolyn and I were talkin' about getting married someday, and we didn't know when exactly, but..." Reagan bit his lip and arched a brow. "Also take into account the fact that I was kinda in the heat of the moment."

Ben slid off his legs and slumped beside him. "I ain't ever had sex that good."

"You ain't ever had sex with me."

"I ain't ever wanted to!" Ben squeezed the back of his own neck to force away the heat rising in his face. Things between them still hadn't gone back to normal after Reagan's most recent birthday. "…You get her a ring yet?"

"No. I was thinkin' you could help me with that."

In the shadows of the dark room, the highlights of the hallway lamp streaming in through the open door, Ben caught something crossing Reagan's face that he didn't expect. Something haggard, something broken and tired.

What Ben didn't realize was that he was practically looking into a mirror.

"You want me to?"

"Yeah." Reagan swallowed. "Wouldn't be fair to leave you out of every important part of this. You're gonna be my best man, after all."

"Your best man." Ben remembered he still held the pillow and looked down at it. "Sounds good."

"C'mon," Reagan said, throwing the sheet aside. "Sleep here. We got a few hours left yet."

Ben could feel Reagan stretched out alongside him. This was par for the course, natural for them, always had been, but now it held a different weight. Ben became too aware of the slowing breath behind him, the arm curled under the pillow he'd used several moments before as a weapon of potential death that now nursed his own head. He scrutinized Reagan's hand peeking out by his face. Stared at the ring finger. He wouldn't know until later that it wasn't the correct hand, but he pictured a thick metal band around that finger, pictured his best friend standing at an overly Christian altar in an overly Christian church and exchanging vows with Carolyn.

The first time Reagan told Ben he loved him was in a situation much like this. In 1935, the night before Reagan started high school, snuggled up next to each other, Ben half asleep as Reagan's fading Irish accent murmured three words that always meant something different every subsequent time they said it to each other.

And now, Ben wanted Reagan to turn over, wanted him to wrap his arms around him, to say it again into his ear. He wanted to be the only one who got to hear him say it. He wanted to hear him say it the way he said it to Carolyn. He wanted him to ask him to marry him the same way he asked her.

The hand on his hair was not a dream. Stroking it away from his forehead, singing softly to the back of his neck. He opened his eyes a little and only a hint of sunrise took a peek from outside. And he toed the line of sleep again; the Reagan that Ben wished he'd be kissed the skin under his ear, bunching the front of his pajama shirt in a fist. 

"I love you," he said, and this time he meant it in a way he'd never meant it before. Painted his body in a blush. Manipulated him with his palms, molded him out before him, hovered over him, lips parted against his, against him, the same breath that can conjure an inhuman melody at will warming his flesh.

Why was he so afraid of this? The images in his subconscious were the most beautiful images he'd ever seen. He'd never witnessed Reagan flush with passion but he could very easily picture it. Face, chest, more, warming pink under his touch, and he was afraid of this?

Ben awoke once more and it took a moment for him to notice the aggressive sunlight. It took another moment for him to comprehend that he was facing Reagan, who wasn't at all aware of anything. Brows bunched in consternation. Face soft with sleep. Absolutely nothing at peace in his mind, whatever was going on.

"I love you," Ben said.

Reagan nodded, groggy. "Mm. Love you too, Benny."

And he turned over. Asleep.

Reality crashed hard. Ben slipped out of Reagan's bed, padded down the hall, and crawled into his own without making a sound, forcing himself—like he always did—to just be happy with things the way they were.

[cortexreaver]

suck sess also it wasnt as insufferable as i remember overall the parts i remember cringing at before (general shithead geek writing; stuff i stopped finding appealing beyond age 14) barely phased me. know what hold up theres a readmore button you fucking madman USE IT

i actually found myself wishing it wasted less time fucking around and cracking jokes before getting to the actual qunari conspiracy plot which is the exact conclusion tallis comes to so i suppose thats intentional lol. speaking of tallis when she wasnt in quip mode i found her much less grating than i remembered her being and it owns that felicia day was so into the qunari. ive seen a lot of people complain that the player isnt given the ability to push back on tallis' beliefs, they can take issue with them and temporarily ditch her but you cant sway her or side against her─i found myself feeling the opposite, i found the fact that hawke's responses and phrasing in optional lore exposition branches during discussions of the qun tend toward dismissive verging on chauvinistic irritating as somebody who idk actually likes the rp part of rpgs* though thats a pointless detail to take issue with since hawke is a predefined protagonist in a more linear and rigid story than origins and all the player gets to do is project a personality onto them and choose which faction to agree with more even though that has no meaningful bearing on the plot lol ANYWAY tallis as a means of presenting a fresh view of the qun as a viddathari is interesting MotA is a tolerable experience and im sorry women (felicia day) for being a hater this time

*there was no good place to fit this into the rest of this sentence about hawke being predefined but i do realize that this would be a believable attitude for Thee Champion of Kirkwall to have especially as a human from bumfuck fereldan and tallis's origins and ideals are supposed to be the complete opposite like if i think of her and hawkes discussions of her beliefs as being between her and The Champion rather than her and Me The Player Character theyre more interesting─to me it reads on some level as prodding at the foundations required to uphold the concept of the patriotic hero, vanquisher of evil foreigners, which otherwise go mostly unquestioned in the main game and id imagine that subtle defiance from the writing is part of what some players dont like about those interactions beyond just simple lack of impactful choice. i am operating off recent (last night) memory instead of double-checking any of the text and was kind of buzzed by the time i got to that part of the story though so maybe im making something of fuck all here

all i have left of da2 is the endgame but i could get one more level in first if i played mark of the assassin................ the only drawback being having to play mark of the assassin

[dsmutp]

Double Time (C!Wilbur x Reader x C!Quackity)

You would have to talk to Quackity about soundproofing the walls in the casino.

You would have thought it would have been a priority, what with the amount of illicit activity that went on here. But no - the walls were unfortunately thin. Thin enough that you could hear when casino guests snuck away from the card tables to have some fun. Thin enough that you could hear when Quackity had to ‘take care’ of the occasional business partner. Thin enough that you could hear the shouting coming from your boss’s office now.

Quackity and Wilbur were at it again.

It wasn’t a secret what the argument was about - Wilbur wanted in on Las Nevadas, and Quackity just wasn’t having it. Anyone that worked at the casino knew it - how could they not, when it was almost every day? It wasn’t even fun to gossip about anymore really.

You rubbed at the crease on your forehead as the shouting picked up again. It didn’t help that your office was right next to Quackity’s - you had gotten unlucky in that regard. Trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you (the projections for next months earnings), you ignored the shouting. You were almost used to working in conditions like these-

Something slammed into the wall you shared with Quackity’s office, and you slammed your pen down onto the desk.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You muttered to yourself, pushing away from your desk so vigorously that the whole thing shook. “I can’t. I can’t work like this.”

You stomped over to the door, pushing it open and parading out into the hallway. It wasn’t a far march to Quackity’s office door, and you didn’t hesitate to raise a fist to the wood, intending to just knock.

Instead - as the door had been unlocked - you punched the door open, sending it slamming into the wall. 

Inside the office, Quackity had Wilbur backed up to the wall that you shared, one hand on his throat. Both pairs of eyes snapped to you as the door flung open, whatever argument that had been happening between them freezing for a moment. It was clear that things had been getting a little handsy - Quackity’s tie was coming loose, and Wilbur’s trenchcoat was pushed off one shoulder. You didn’t care all that much though, blinded by your frustration.

“Really?” You all but growled, standing in the door. “Seriously? This is what you’re up to? I am busting my ass trying to get the estimates for next months earnings done - because, you know, that’s my job - and you both are screaming your fucking heads off in here like there’s nothing else going on-”

“Y/N-” Quackity started, leaning back from where he was almost pressed chest-to-chest against Wilbur. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You said, pinning him with a stare. “I can’t fucking believe you - you’re disgusting. People are trying to work - for you! They’re working for you and what are you doing? Fucking the goddamn clients!”

The room fell quiet as you finished your tirade, and for a moment you just stood there, looking between Quackity and Wilbur as they just stared back at you. They didn’t even try to deny it - not like they really could when the evidence was right in front of you. 

You were just about to turn around and leave when Quackity spoke again. 

“I mean, if you’re that upset about it, you’re welcome to join.”

---

Your hands wound into the sweater bunched up on Wilbur’s chest, nails digging into the fabric as you rolled your hips against his, completely using him to get to your own orgasm. He seemed to be enjoying it though, his head tipped back against Quackity’s sheets as he panted out heavy breaths. 

Or maybe it was Quackity causing that, gripping Wilbur’s hips as he pistoned away into him. The way you straddled Wilbur’s hips caused Quackity’s chest to press into your back, and he took to opportunity to start laving kisses across your neck, sucking and biting at you. 

It was the most sensation you had had in a long time. Wilbur underneath you, whimpering and panting as he bucked his hips up into, pushing you towards your orgasm, and Quackity behind you - the slap of skin as he fucked into Wilbur and the sharp feeling of his teeth against your skin. You let out a gasp at a particularly sharp thrust, hands finding purchase in Wilbur’s sweater again.

Quackity broke away from your neck, instead moving to whisper in your ear, “Careful now.” You could feel his breath against your skin. “Wouldn’t want you losing your balance.”

One of his hands left Wilbur’s hip to come and slap against your back, knocking you down onto Wilbur’s chest and holding you there. Wilbur groaned as Quackity picked up the pace, the whole bed rocking with it now. Even with the slight change in position Wilbur still hit all the good spots within you, and you kept the rhythm of your hips in time with Quackity’s thrusts, using the momentum to your advantage. 

“Fuck...” Wilbur whispered under his breath. You slid one hand out of his sweater, trailing up the side of his neck. “Oh shit-”

He broke off into a moan as you wound your hand into his hair, pulling at the brown and white strands. It was that that pushed him over the edge, and you could feel as he came inside you, warmth spreading in your stomach.You made to sit back up - to let Wilbur out from under you now that he was done - but a hand on your back stopped you, keeping you pressed to Wilbur’s chest and sitting on his dick. 

“I’m not done.” Quackity gritted out, thrusting like a madman now, only focusing on his own orgasm. 

Wilbur grit his teeth, a whine sliding past his lips as Quackity kept going, pushing him into overstimulation. His dick still inside you (and still hitting all those nerve endings, even as it softened) combined with the way Quackity was shaking the whole bed now had you tumbling over the edge to meet him soon enough, shaking with your own orgasm. 

It was a few minutes more before Quackity finished as well, finally stopping his frantic thrusts. 

For a moment the room was quiet - the only sound being panting breaths as you all came back down to earth. Quackity removed his hand from your back, and you sat back up, rolling off Wilbur to plop on the bed beside him.

“So?”

Quackity was the first one to speak, running a hand through his hair.

You sighed, looking up to the ceiling. “I hate both of you.”

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

random dead poets society things from the fourth viewing by someone who’s been obsessed with this movie for seven months:

- “mr. keating’s spotify would be so boring it’s just ALL THE SAME SONG.” - my friends and i talking about keating and his obsession with the 1812 overture

- i just realized that when neil’s shirtless in the locker room he has a bunch of freckles on his shoulders which first of all,, 🥺🥺🥺,,, but also,, now i have a neil and cam freckle buddies agenda

- mr. dalton you are so bisexual it astounds me

- charlie’s projecting with the “to feel tall” reply i don’t make the rules

- there’s two scenes that i interpret as characters stimming and they make me so unreasonably joyful (the first one is charlie’s little jump at the end of the “then i saw the congo” scene and the second is neil smiling and stomping his feet a bunch after getting cast as puck)

- chameron being on the rowing team together <3 but also why is cam wearing a sweater while rowing that seems dumb,,

- this has been said time and time again but: neil fucking perry invented ‘no ❤️’ and i love him so goddamn much for it

- the scene where neil is telling everyone he got puck makes me absolutely feral,,,, the happy neil,, the supportive friends,,, the charlie and cameron in pajamas in their room together,,,, the anderperry,,,,,, it’s too much :,)

- charlie’s “TO INDEED BE A GOD” is my favorite thing ever,, he truly is one of the most Characters.

- god chameron is just. they are so. yeah. i love them. they are my everything.

- screaming and wailing and gnashing my teeth the sweaty-toothed madman scene makes me go insane

- but god do i wanna hear neil, cam, and charlie’s poems……… that’s what fanfiction is for

- forever and always thinking about the Neil Perry In Love face

- never in my entire life am i getting over the “poetrusic” scene,,, it’s just so good and i love charlie so much,,,,,, the energy of the bad saxophone with the good poetry and the franticness of the poem matching the sound and then the abrupt change to the smooth and beautiful music.. it’s so amazing <3

- i go a little bit insane when cameron, neil, charlie, or todd smile/laugh….. these boys just deserve everything and i would give anything for them to be happy 🥺🥺

- somehow i’d forgotten about the desk set scene and now i’m. :,). they are boyfriends your honor.

- charlie dalton is so important to me,,,, i know he’s objectively an asshole when he brings the girls to the cave but the way he chooses to resolve it.. with the phone call and everything that follows……… i have so many emotions about it and him,,, that’s my comfort white boy

- i think there’s a point where keating calls charlie ‘ace’?? and if i’m correct than that’s the cutest shit i’ve ever heard 🥺

- everytime i watch this movie i get a little concerned by how much i project onto neil,, as a sad gay theatre kid whose parents are more concerned about my academics than my acting opportunities…… it hits a little too close to home,,,

- even though i’ve watched this three times before, i managed to block the ending from my mind as i was watching until like,, the start of the play and then i just started panicking like ‘oh FUCK oh SHIT here’s where shit’s about to go down’

- i am constantly being destroyed by the neil and charlie friendship,, watching charlie be so excited to see neil in the play that he stands up upon seeing him hurts so goddamn bad when you know what’s coming… not to mention the “he’s good. he’s really good.”/“i was good. i was really good.” parallel because.. jesus fucking christ i can’t handle that!!!!!!!!!

- neil’s so happy right before he leaves with his dad… i hate knowing what that post-show high feels like, it makes it so much worse to see everything come crashing down around him

- i am forever thinking about how the music that plays as they go to their first dps meeting is the same music that plays during neil’s suicide. absolutely awful parallel, i hate it here.

- the amount of Thoughts i have on cameron not being there when todd finds out about neil’s death/not being in the snow with them all afterwards is…… Astronomical.

- charlie not singing at neil’s funeral is something that can be so personal.

- fucking hell the end of this movie is bad enough without shipping chameron, i do not need all this additional pain holy shit

- i really. Can Not Handle the fact that the last time we see charlie is when he punches cameron.

so yeah. agony, suffering, absolutely devasting, i love it so much, they make me so fucking happy.

[radioduo]

roses and riots: chapter 1

i could count the stars (wait until the dawn

notes: apoc au ^-^ this has been in the works for a while, so hope u guys enjoy! thanks to @b1rdza for the title and the letting me plan things w them :}

tws: blood, injury, violence, talks of death and zombies

Ranboo stared at his phone, slightly cracked and looking worse for wear, reminiscing over the photo on his lock screen. A picture from two months ago of him, Tubbo, and Tommy beaming at the camera. Ranboo returned the smile. Probably a picture Wilbur took on their moving day.

Two months ago, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo began living together. Two months ago was the last time everything was normal.

Ranboo leaned against the wall of the now crumbling apartment and laid his head back against the foggy windows with a sigh. He could hear Tubbo in the other room quietly singing a cheerful tune and fiddling with some new gadget on his own. Tommy still wasn’t home from the scouting trip he had left for hours ago, and as the minutes ticked by, more and more anxiety gnawed at Ranboo's stomach.

Speak of the devil, Ranboo thought to himself as the communicator next to him began to buzz. It was Tommy, unsurprisingly. Ranboo gingerly set the phone down and picked up the other device. “Hello?”

“RANBOO, GET - krzzkr - HERE, THERE’S - skrzzkz - FUCKING HORDE HEADING OUR - krzzssz - HELP-”

Ranboo flinched and held the speaker away from his ear as he sprang to his feet. “Oh god, alright. Hold on, Tommy, I’m getting Tubbo and we’re going. Where are you?” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the musty red rucksack that hung next to the door.

“WEST- kzzszrt - NEAR THE DINER-”

“Just stay calm, Tommy, find a hiding place, you know the drill,” he knocked on Tubbo’s door urgently, but there was no response. "Are you k- whatever," Ranboo threw open the door, muttering to himself. Tubbo yelped in surprise as the door swung open, flinging his arm out and knocking his project onto the carpet. “We’ve gotta go,”

Tubbo took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, bossman?”

Ranboo began to explain, but Tommy seemed eager to take matters into his own hands.

“TUBBO, THEY’RE FUCKIN’ AFTER - skrzztz - YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE - kryzztz - TO GOD I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF I DIE,” he yelled through the radio. Tommy was breathing heavily, and Ranboo and Tubbo could hear quick, heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

“Oh fuck, okay, we’re coming, Tommy!” Tubbo grabbed his yellow bag from the foot of his mattress, abandoning his gadget and nearly knocking over his trash can full of failed prototypes. “Where is he?” he asked Ranboo, straining as he tugged his shoes over his heels.

“West Elm, near the diner,” Ranboo said as he pulled his mask over his face, leading Tubbo into the kitchen and grabbing his crowbar from the counter. “We’re on our way, just stay hidden and stay put.” Ranboo ended the transmission before Tommy could keep shouting at him and pulled open the door. “Let’s go, Tubbo,”

Tubbo hoisted his bat over his shoulder and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Wordlessly, the duo slunk out from the crumbling apartment building and down the street.

Nothing new, Ranboo noticed as the two speed-walked around the dilapidated city. Broken glass lined the pavement in front of shopping outlets, rotting wooden planks covered doors and windows, and the smell of flesh and blood filled the air around them, pungent and nauseating. The acrid scent slithered through the mask over Ranboo's nose and snaked into his nostrils, and he fought back the urge to heave as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Rapidly rounding a corner, Ranboo tore his eyes away from the city scenery, stifling a gasp of surprise as he and Tubbo found themselves face to face with a gathering of the undead.

With bulging eyes and mouths lined with yellowed, broken teeth, the pack shuffled down the debris-covered road in the opposite direction, still oblivious to Ranboo and Tubbo's appearance. They seemed too busy tracking something out of sight to pay attention to the smell of fresh, unspilled blood nearby. Unfortunately, Ranboo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the thing they must have been searching for was Tommy, and to find him, he and Tubbo would have to make it through the horde of the starving dead.

Tubbo stared ahead at the mob, a sour expression painting his face. "Don't tell me-"

"We have to, Tubbo. Unless you want to leave Tommy to die over there."

"I'm gonna be honest bossman, that sounds pretty fuckin' appealing right now," Tubbo replied dryly.

"I really hope you're joking," Ranboo answered. "C'mon," he urged, gripping the crowbar in his gloved hands, and charged forward like a bull.

The zombies, luckily for Ranboo, moved slowly, giving him time to react between attacks. He swiped nimbly with his left hand, slamming the metal bar into the face of a corpse, taking its head off with a satisfying crunch. Ranboo heard a grunt next to his ear and rolled out of the way right as an undead creature swung at him, nearly grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He brought the crowbar down into the skull of his attacker and looked away as the creature made a strangled sound in the back of its throat. Bobbing and weaving through the sea of the undead, Ranboo slammed the crowbar into every shambling body he could reach, over and over again. He yelped as he suddenly felt something grab his arm, sending a wave of pain up his arm from the iron-like grip. He wrenched his hand away frantically and stabbed the crowbar into the zombie's eyes. Breathing heavily, he scrambled away from the horde and into the clear at last. Ranboo gripped his sore arm and anxiously looked over the sea of corpses. Tubbo hadn't come out of the mob yet, and Ranboo's stomach twisted with fear at the thought of something happening to him.

A loud smack came from somewhere inside the cluster of bodies, and at last, Tubbo appeared, waving his bloodstained baseball bat like a madman and shouting a string of curses at the undead hands grabbing at his clothes. He ran to Ranboo's side, gasping for air. "Don't ever fucking make me do that again, okay?"

Ranboo grinned, relieved that he seemed unharmed. "Alright, alright, whatever," he said, flicking a drop of blood from his face. "We have to keep moving or they'll catch up with us."

----------

Tubbo and Ranboo slid open the diner door silently, stepping over the upturned chairs and tables as they walked into the abandoned building. "Tommy?" Tubbo whispered. "Are you in here?"

"Tubbo?" A voice answered. A head of curly blond hair popped up from behind the counter, and an unmistakable look of relief swept over Tommy's face when he caught sight of the two. "Thank fuck," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his backpack with him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last." Crawling out from behind the counter, Tommy pulled his green bandana down from over his mouth again and faced the duo. "How'd you get through that giant fuckin' mob back there?"

Ranboo and Tubbo held up their crowbar and bat, respectively. "We managed," Tubbo said with a shrug. "That's beside the point though, why have you been gone so long? You were supposed to be back, like, two hours ago!" The three inched towards the door as Tubbo talked, slipping back into the streets and booking it in the opposite direction they came from.

Tommy huffed, trying to keep up with his friends. "Other than those dickheads back there keeping me away, I stopped by Phil's place for a bit to get us some food," he explained through deep breaths. "We haven't been able to get out much, thought it'd help." He held up his lumpy bag, obviously full of cans and boxes.

"Tommy, you know carrying food long distances is dangerous," Ranboo huffed, pulling ahead of the group as they rounded a corner. "Those things can smell just about everything, what made you think that was even slightly a good idea?"

Tommy made an indignant scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, ex-CUSE me, Boob Boy, for wanting to help out you and Tubbo. That's my bad," he said, placing unnecessary emphasis on the last two words.

Ranboo rolled his eyes with faux annoyance as the three of them kept walking. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?"

"Not enough clearly," Tubbo answered, amusement obvious in his tone.

"Oh my god-" A hand flew over his mouth as Tommy suddenly took a sharp turn and flattened him against the bricks of a rundown building. Ranboo bit back a pained grunt as his aching arm hit the bricks. "I can hear those fuckers nearby," he removed his palm from Ranboo's masked mouth, and the three of them pressed their backs against the crumbling wall. "Is there another way we can take?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth as he strained his ears to listen for the familiar groans of the undead. "There are only a few that won't take us, like, two hours," he whispered. "Most roads loop around the city, and-"

"-and there's no way in hell that we'd make it back alive if we travel in the dark," Tubbo finished bleakly. He stared at the ground, lost in thought as though he were hoping the answer would write itself on the sidewalk. "So what now? Just stay here and wait until the morning? Surely not," he looked up at the other two. "I mean, that's a death wish right there,"

Ranboo and Tommy nodded silently. "I guess there's always Phil's place, but that's a couple dozen blocks down the road," Ranboo suggested, glancing up at the sky. It was only marginally darker than when they'd left, but Ranboo knew the light wouldn't last for much longer - especially not with the luck they'd been having. He absently rubbed his sore arm, careful to keep something from hitting it again. "We'd have to leave now to be there before dark,"

"Don't tell me we have to fuckin' walk even more," Tommy griped loudly. "I just got back from his place, are you sure there isn't a faster way home?"

"We can leave you here with the horde, if that's what you prefer," Tubbo retorted. Slinging his yellow bag over one arm and hoisting his worn baseball bat over the other, he dashed down the street, calling to Tommy over his shoulder, "Hurry up, dickhead!"

"Tubbo, wait-!" Tommy shouted back as he and Ranboo followed suit, jogging down the sidewalk behind Tubbo to the safety of their friend's home.

It was nearly dark by the time the three came to the pale blue house. It sat on the city outskirts, barely safer than the houses on the inside but at least ten times cozier. Tommy rapped on the door raucously, and Ranboo and Tubbo cringed as the sound echoed, definitely alerting the nearby zombies to their presence.

They didn't have time to worry about that, thankfully, as Phil greeted them at the door, looking relieved. "You guys scared the shit out of me," he breathed as he ushered the three teens inside. "You can't just be out wandering and knocking on strangers' doors,"

"Phil, if you were a stranger, this would be very awkward right now," Ranboo said, kicking his boots off and shoving them in the corner.

"I'm- oh my god, you know what I mean," he replied exasperatedly. "Be careful out there, is all. I don't know what I'd do if you guys got hurt."

Silence fell over the group as they heard the subtext of Phil's words. 'If you guys got hurt again.' Ranboo peered over at Tubbo, whose hand had subconsciously drifted up to trace the burn scars that outlined his face. Ranboo's own hand had floated up to touch his bruised arm carefully. He wouldn't tell Phil about it. Not yet.

Coughing, Ranboo broke the silence as he drew his hand away from his injury and undid the clasp on his cloak. "Welp, uh, I'm gonna sit down if anyone else wants to come," he invited, plopping the heavy fabric in a pile with the rest of his things and wandering into the living room.

The fireplace was burning, and Wilbur laid next to the orange flames, half-lidded eyes staring sleepily at the ceiling. He blinked and sat up as Ranboo entered the room, still alone as Tubbo and Tommy followed Phil into the kitchen, discussing something Ranboo couldn't quite hear. "Hey, Rhombus," Wilbur smiled, holding back a yawn. "How goes it?" His eyes darted briefly to the yellow sweater Ranboo wore.

Ranboo shrugged, removing his mask and catching the brief smile that flickered across Wilbur's face. "Could be better, I suppose," he replied.

"I think you said that last time," Wilbur noted.

"Yeah, well, it's been hard to be great recently," Ranboo said, barely audible.

Wilbur nodded sagely nonetheless, shuffling away from the fire to sit on the carpet in front of the couch. "You're not wrong," he agreed. There was a moment of silence as Wilbur looked up at Ranboo, who sat stiffly on the sofa, clutching his arm lightly and staring blankly into the fire. "You all good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Ranboo answered, blinking himself out of his stupor and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Just- pain is all. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," he insisted. Ranboo could see the doubt in Wilbur's eyes, and it made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure why. "I'm alright, seriously," he repeated. "I'd let you know if I wasn't, you know that."

"Right." Disbelief laced Wilbur's words, but he didn't pry, nor did Ranboo want to offer an explanation.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn't get the chance as Tubbo peeped his head into the room. "Dinner's ready big man, if you're interested," he said, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the kitchen, the comforting smell of potato soup wafting through the house. "You too, Wilbur, I guess," he snickered.

Ignoring the lighthearted banter between the other two, Ranboo inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. It smelt like home, he thought, a small smile painting his face. Wordlessly, Ranboo padded through the doorway into the kitchen, where Techno, Tommy, and Phil sat around the table waiting.

"There you are," Techno greeted him, reaching for the soup spoon. "We were starvin' to death in here, c'mon man," he joked.

Ranboo huffed a laugh through his nose. "Sorry about that," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. "Been a long day." He caught Tubbo's eye, who agreed with a slight head nod.

"It's alright, mate," Phil assured him. He held the bowls as Techno ladled soup into them carefully. "We get it." Phil handed him a bowl, steaming and cozy, and Ranboo gratefully accepted. "Just hang out for a while, alright?"

The six of them sat around the small kitchen table, eating together and listening to the radio as songs old and new alike filled the air. Tubbo and Wilbur sang duets, and Techno and Tommy made increasingly strange parodies as Phil and Ranboo watched with amusement.

Tommy and Techno were mid-song about Phil when the music suddenly stopped, harsh static cutting through the joyful atmosphere like a knife.

"WE INTERRUPT YOUR PROGRAM FOR AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT," the prerecorded sample recited. "ATTENTION, ALL CITIZENS OF NEW LENSLING COUNTY: A MANDATORY EVACUATION IS BEGINNING TOMORROW AT 11 AM. ALL PERSONS LIVING IN THE CITY MUST RELOCATE BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK."

The once bright mood at the dinner table quickly sank, dread and icy cold fear replacing the warm feeling of family and safety.

"What the fuck?" Tommy murmured, turning the radio volume up to the max.

"COUNTY OFFICIALS WILL BE INSPECTING HOMES TO ENSURE THAT EVERYONE HAS EVACUATED. SAFE CITIES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ATTSTONE, WORWICKE, LANGSTEDSHIRE, SHANTOWSEA, AND SOUTH BIRBED. FURTHER QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED AT-"

Wilbur turned off the radio with a harsh slam. "Great," he growled. "What the fuck do we do now? Surely they don't expect us to just be happy with this!"

"All our shit is still at home!" Tubbo added, agitated. "There's no way we have time to grab it tonight, and it'll take ages to get back to the apartment in the morning!" He grumbled. "This is bullshit!"

"Calm down, you two," Phil cut in, trying to curb the anger bubbling in the air. "We'll figure something out, okay?"

Tubbo and Wilbur had the same disgruntled look in their eyes, jaws set and eyes shadowed. "Fine," Tubbo muttered, standing up to look at Phil. "Tell us then, what's the plan? Do you even know what's going to happen to us?"

"Tubbo," Ranboo warned. "Calm down. We're all figuring it out as a group."

Tubbo folded his arms and sat heavily in his chair, still irritated.

Techno was already rifling through his things for a map of the county. "The safe zones were all cities nearby," he said, seemingly to himself. He rolled a thin map out over the table, careful to avoid the drops of soup. "Attstone, Worwicke, et cetera. The closest one to us would be-"

"South Birbed, innit?" Tommy finished, shoving his now-empty soup bowl out of the way to lean over the table. "It's 'bout a week-long trip on foot," he explained. "We could be there in no time if all of us leave first thing in the morning,"

"Hold on, Tommy," Techno stopped him as Tommy took a breath to say something else. "One of us needs to stay behind and let someone know where we're goin', right Phil?"

"They need to send a message to all the safe zones to tell 'em how many people to prepare for," Phil confirmed. "I'll stay behind, tell whoever may stop by that the six of us are heading south, yeah?"

Ranboo and the other four shared a look of hesitance, none of them quite sure how to respond. "I don't want to leave you behind, Phil," Ranboo admitted. "Are you 100 percent sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry about me, mate. I'll catch up with you all in no time."

Phil's promise sent a wave of relief around the room. Wilbur and Tubbo looked more at ease, and Ranboo, Techno, and Tommy all breathed a sigh. "We should probably pack up our shit, I guess." Tommy rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. "Early start tomorrow, aye?"

They all stood, some more hesitant than others, and dispersed to their respective sleeping quarters. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo trekked upstairs single file, carrying their bags, weapons, and everything in between into the large bedroom silently. It wasn't like they hadn't done this same thing before, but something about knowing it might be the last time for a while made the mood feel more somber than usual.

Tommy flopped onto the large, pillowy mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we're being fuckin' kicked out," he muttered crossly, a change in mood from the upbeat leader persona he'd put on downstairs (probably to prove himself to the adults). "And to South Birbed of all places!"

Ranboo snorted, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. "What did South Birbed ever do to you?" He asked, watching as Tubbo crawled onto the bed next to Tommy.

"I dunno, it just seems like a shit city," Tommy shrugged.

Tubbo smacked him with a pillow, and Tommy yelped in protest, shouting a string of curse words at his assailer. "Mercy, mercy!" Tommy begged as he and Tubbo began a pillow fight.

Ranboo looked on with mild intrigue but didn't join the party. Instead, he slipped away from the other two into the bathroom and shut the door.

He pried his gloves off his hands and rinsed his face, desperate to clean the dirt and grime from his forehead and fingers. Ranboo stared at himself in the mirror, watching beads of water run down his face. He looked like a mess, he thought briefly, before drying the water with a towel. He winced, feeling a shock of pain flow up his arm as he blotted the water with the scratchy cloth. Deftly, he rolled up his sweater sleeve to examine his arm.

A little bit of broken skin, Ranboo noticed. He caught sight of a few small indents, which he assumed were from fingernails digging into his arm when the zombie had grabbed him. He made a mental note to keep checking the wound before it got infected and rolled his sleeve down again.

With a newly clear head, he reentered the bedroom quietly. Tommy and Tubbo had already claimed the bed, he noted, as the two laid on either half of the mattress, Tommy's head and Tubbo's feet on one end and the other way around at the foot of the bed. Ranboo sighed as he realized he'd have to sleep on the floor. Swiftly, he snagged a pillow from the bed, careful not to wake the already-snoring Tubbo, and dragged a throw blanket from a basket to sleep beneath. Begrudgingly, he laid on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had never noticed it before, but shining overhead was a galaxy of artificial stars, blinking and twinkling. The question of "why" briefly crossed Ranboo's mind as he stared at the bright little shapes above him. It made sense, he supposed, since the room belonged to Wilbur years before he, Tommy, or Tubbo ever stayed there. Still, he thought, it was surprising that Phil had kept them up there after all this time. Maybe he wanted to keep a little piece of the good times with him.

Ranboo felt a pit form in his stomach as he thought about the future (or possible lack thereof). The uncertainty made his stomach churn as he yawned, eyelids drooping. Thoughts of traveling and an image of the artificial galaxy were fresh in his mind as he rolled over that night, shutting his eyes and letting the darkness of sleep wash over him at last.

[womanbehindwords]

After Sunset

Pair- Chris Evans x reader [female]

warning- 18+, smut, graphic description of sex, forbidden love, dom Chris.

I was visibly shaken, and everyone was looking at me like they knew what I was going to do. And that was terrifying. They couldn't know, they could never know what I did behind closed doors.

However wrong or right it seemed, it didn't matter but i would be a whore the minute they knew about my affair with Chris Evans, the man they all respected and looked up to.

His name would be tarnished if the word got out that the famous actor was sleeping with his co-star all the while he was supposed to be dating a model, just like mine. And I couldn't let that happen.

"Pack up, y'all! We will start the pst production work from next week!" The director yelled and a loud cheer broke out, I myself was participating in it.

I was sweating though, possibly because Chris was standing just behind me, covering me with his heat, with his powerful aura that he seemed to carry out whenever I was close.

I quickly moved away from Chris, not wanting people to be suspicious, for them we were merely just friends, how far from the truth that was, I wanted them to believe it.

"Y/n!" Chris yelled and suddenly the room went quiet, well it wasn't, no one really cared what we were talking about, they were busy enough with their own shit. But for me, it felt eerily silent.

I looked back to where he was standing. With his hair messy from the last shot of the film, he looked relieved, a smile stretching his lips and his eyes intense with honesty.

"The weather is nice today."

Our code.

Early in our affair, we realized texts are risky, they could put us in a situation where going out would be difficult. I was a social climber and Chris, a cheater. And with the wrapping up of After Sunset, my debut film, Chris would be gone for his other film projects. And I would be left there with my heartbroken.

-

"Fucking hell" I screamed as Chris' cock pistoned in me, in and out. We were huffing, our heavy breath mixing with each other, heavy on lust.

"Take it like a good girl, y/n" Chris grunted against my lips, his hips snapped into mine, his length embedded into the depth of my core. His balls slapping against my ass, a pornographic sound eliciting as our moans mixed.

So did our body.

Chris gripped my hands and pushed it onto the mattress and rocking his hips faster than ever. "Oh fuck Chris, harder. Please."

"You want it harder baby?' Chris asked mockingly. I nodded, a blubbering mess that I was, I couldn't trust myself to talk properly. "Then beg."

His demand just made me gush more around his hard cock, the tip of it, hitting my womb like a madman.

"Please, Chris, please fuck me harder, I need it so bad." I stuttered out, proud of myself that I didn't make a mess.

"Who said to beg you this baby?" Chris tsked as he suddenly got up and made me sit on his lap with cock buried deep inside, I let out a moan, or rather a wail as this position hit an angle that made me see stars.

"Beg me to date you."

[inkribbon796]

Onwards and Upwards

Summary: Mark has a new project in the works, and this is the first project Yancy gets to see up close and personal.

A/N: Visitation Day, and I want to say I’m excited for the new Markiplier project. Expect it to crank things with my other works after I’ve watched it and picked through it. I hope we get some new egos, specifically another girl one. Yan needs a girlfriend.

If Yancy and Dark are not in Space I’ll eat my hat and then cry.

The Manor had always been weird to Yancy. It was a strange place that was never-ending in its strangeness. Yancy could be walking through Happy Trails Penitentiary and on his way out to Yard he would find himself walking out into the gardens of the Manor.

The House was strange and twisting. There were people who could feel and tangible as an actual person, and then they would disappear and Yancy would find himself with the other Egos.

They were the only “people” in the House. Abe would suddenly appear to chase Wilford around, or the occasional rumors that Anti had appeared to bother Dark once.

It was a weird place that Yancy didn’t like to think about the logistics of . . . of being an Ego. Wilford was fine with it, he took it all in stride and laughed along with the universe.

Yancy didn’t like thinking of it, but he really didn’t have that much of a choice.

Yancy was still in his cell when he felt a light rumbling and he was dumped out of his bunk and onto the ground. The Penitentiary around him started to shift, rooms moving. Some prisoners vanished, others had their striped outfits switch out for different uniforms.

The Penitentiary was turning into a spaceship. Almost all the Egos were dumped out into the backyard. Silver in particular bounced off the balcony on his way out. Dark and Wilford were the only ones not with them.

Out of all of the Egos, the only one not to land on their face was the Host.

“What was that?” Illinois asked as he picked himself up.

“Must be the new project,” Bim grumbled, shoving himself back up and dusting himself off. “Wilf has definitely been talking about it enough.”

“Was it like this before we’s[1] showed up?” Yancy smiled.

“Yeah, well, it’ll be fun to watch again,” Silver shrugged. “Least you three have a shot.”

“Nothin’[2] we can do about that,” Illinois tipped his hat.

“Well yeah, but—” Silver paused to look around him. “Fuck, where’s Dark and Wil?”

“The Entity and the Madman are still within the Manor’s walls,” the Host answered.

“Why’s[3] not just kick ‘em[4] out?” Yancy asked.

“The Entity and the Madman are an integral part of the Manor, they cannot be separated from it.” The Host was looking in the Manor’s direction.

“Well’s[5] now, that don’t[6] seem very fair.” Yancy rolled his eyes.

“Whether it is fair or not is inconsequential,” the Host said, “it will not change what happens to or around the Egos.”

Yancy was about to retort something when arguing came from the balcony above, drawing his attention away.

“Wilford! Let go of me this instant!” Dark shouted from the balcony overlooking the backyard.

Wilford’s chuckle was just barely audible, but the top of his head and Dark was the first thing the Egos saw as Wilford was carrying Dark out of the Manor and down the stairs to the yard.

“Don’t laugh at me, you buffoon, put me down,” Dark ordered, pounding his fist on Wil’s shoulder but the madman didn’t seem to notice it.

“Come now, Darkling,” Wilford was carrying Dark over his shoulder. The Entity was looking back towards the Manor with pure rage in his eyes. Dark was fuming in pure rage. Wilford’s magic and aura kept Dark from twisting away from him. “He’s busy.”

“He’ll be busy being dead when I get done with him!” Dark shouted.

Wilford just started laughing in earnest now and he did put Dark down next to the other Egos.

“How dare you,” Dark began as Wil just stared at him with a smile.

Wilford pulled out a huge bound stack of papers. The words “In Space with Markiplier” on the front. “Here you go, I know you wanted to take a look at this.”

Dark glared at him, still clearly insulted and angry. He snatched the script away and held the glare for another second before starting to flip through the script.

Slowly his expression turned into one of intrigue, before a devious smile began to spread on his face.

“Yes,” Darkk said before running past Wil and heading back up the stairs and into the balcony.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him, the little scamp,” Wilford chuckled before following after Dark.

“How’d he get that script?” Illinois asked.

“Prolly[7] stole it,” Yancy shrugged.

“Yeah,” Silver sighed

The Egos waited until the Manor was done rearranging itself, then they all went back inside to wait for the project to finish itself.

It took Yancy forever to actually get to the Yard in the Penitentiary, the House leading him in different places until finally letting him go.

The new project was on its way, and Yancy would rather be in a familiar place when it hit.

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

Accessibility Translations:

1. we

2. Nothing

3. Why

4. them

5. Well

6. doesn’t

7. Probably

[dapandapod]

For the hug prompts: 9, 13, 27, 40.

They're all amazing prompts and I narrowed it down to those four with a lot of effort, lol.

The hug that feels like home is my favourite though. A

s someone who (because of covid) will see their mum for the first time in 18 months tomorrow evening, where she can visit me, but I still can't go home, that hug is going to feel like home ❤ (sorry I didn't mean to get all rambly)

Hello love! It is my honor to recieve these chosen four, and uh. Sorry my brain went and made it a wee bit angsty.... Hope you like it! Because I tried to get all of them!!

9, the hug that feels like home 13 the hug to hide your tears 27, the hug you didn’t know you needed 40 post-nightmare hug

Pairing: Lambden

Warnings: Near death experience, possibly ptsd, mention of past torture and scars? I tried to make it soft, but there is a lot of sad in there

This is Aiden returning to Lambert after presumed being dead. Enjoy!

Send me a hug prompt?

On Ao3! Hug collection here

Aiden wakes up with a start, his breath coming fast, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He can still feel it. The cold breath of death on his neck, the numbness in his limbs. The pain where the arrows had hit home, where his shoulder still aches long after healing.

Time has passed since then, but no time can distance him from the memories. It doesn’t matter how far he runs, every night he feels it, every night he wakes up, body forcing itself upright in it’s panic to stay alive.

The room is empty. Both his swords lie at the side of his bed and downstairs the cooks of the inn are waking up and preparing for the day. He is all alone, but as tears prickle his eyes he feels the need to hide.

Sitting up and leaning against the wall, Aiden hides his face against his legs. Sobs tear through him, and he clenches his teeth to muffle the sound, hugging his thighs tightly. The fear just won’t let him go.

It takes him the better part of an hour to calm down, and then he resigns himself to his morning routines. It is no miracle he is alive, it was painstaking work. His muscles need to be reminded of that work, how to give when he stretches and bends.

He is fine.

He is alive.

It is enough.

The path leads ahead, and where he would usually stroll with no care in the world, he is hesitant to go now. He isn’t sure Lambert still wants him around.

They didn’t part on the best terms, and then That happened.

This is Lambert's territory. No cats allowed.

But the only decent inn around here, The Peddler, is that one inn where Aiden and Lambert usually met up after a long time apart. And with Aiden’s body still in the shape it is, he can’t afford to sleep too often on the ground anymore.

It will be fine. Lambert will never know, he will just be there over the night. No harm done.

Turns out, it isn’t fine.

When Aiden enters the dimly lit inn, Lambert is already there. His eyes go wide when they lock onto the cat witcher, and Aiden suddenly finds it really hard to breathe. He stands in the doorway, indecision plaguing him. He could just turn around, leave, ride far away from here and pretend nothing happened. Or, he could listen to his body, not give a shit about Lambert, rent a room and get the fuck out of sight.

Both are tempting options.

The decision gets made for him however when Lambert stands up, chair scraping against the floor.

Fuck. He can’t stay. Not with what they had yelled at each other last time. Not when those burning eyes radiate anger and betrayal.

Aiden turns around and steps back out into the falling darkness. He shouldn’t have come here.

He makes it as far as the stables when Lambert catches up to him. Aiden hears him coming, but he doesn’t… do anything about it. Something small inside him whispers that maybe he wanted Lambert to find him. That he missed him.

That thought hurts more than any arrows, any torture, any nightmares.

With a hand on his shoulder he is turned around, shoved against one of the wooden beams.

“What the fuck, Aiden!” Lambert hisses. “I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m clearly not.” Aiden retorts.

It’s been a while. Years, if he was being honest. Lambert's hand on Aiden’s bad shoulder tightens and he can’t help but wince. The other witcher notices, frowning and gentling his grip.

“Where have you been? Have you been avoiding me all this time?”

Always straight to the point, Lambert.

“For a while.” Aiden admits, no point lying about it.

Lambert keeps staring at him so Aiden has to look away. His heart is aching just looking at the wolf again.

“And the rest of it?” Lambert insists. “Kitten, your eye--”

“Please.” Aiden interrupts him. He knows what he looks like now. “Not here.”

Lambert looks at him for a moment, and then he sighs.

“I am not letting you run away again.” Lambert mutters, catching his wrist instead when Aiden tries to shrug him off.

Whatever travel companion Lambert had found, they are ignored now. Lambert leads Aiden up a set of rickety stairs and down a familiar hall. They usually rent the double room down the hall, but Lambert had no reason to this time. Instead they walk to the room right across, Lambert pushing him inside with a hand on his lower back.

There is only one bed in here, crammed in with a small writing desk filled with Lamberts projects. Half of them being bombs and somewhat dangerous experiments to let lying around unguarded.

The room looks well lived in, actually. Clothes are thrown haphazardly over the only chair and a few plates are stacked on top of the chest by the foot of the bed.

“Been living here for long?” Aiden asks. “Not like you.”

Lambert doesn’t even reply, just turns to face Aiden. It is a little bit intimidating, having someone stare at him so intently, seeing him.

Slowly he reaches out, giving Aiden plenty of time to back out of reach. Aiden can’t move, can’t think.

Lambert’s thumb reaches out and traces one of the new scars on his cheek. Aiden closes his eyes, and then Lambert’s arms are around him crushing him.

It’s been such a long time since someone hugged him. Touched him, really, without setting a bone or sowing a wound. It startles him, how much he needed it.

And more than that, it is Lambert’s arms around him. Aiden never could say what Lambert was to him, prickly asshole as he is, but this feels right.

Safe.

It takes him a moment to realize Lambert isn’t letting him go, and Aiden finally gives in and wraps his arms around Lambert’s neck. For a long while, they just stand there, breathing each other in, enjoying the warmth, the closeness. It is like a piece of himself has been missing, and it took Lambert to hold him to feel whole again. His throat feels tight, and he pushes back. Aiden is not going to cry here.

“What happened to you?” Lambert whispers, again reaching for Aiden, again letting his thumb drag against his cheek. “I thought you… I avenged you.”

Aiden will not cry. He will not.

“Thank you.” he whispers back. “They almost had me.”

They talk very little that night. The shock of being in each other's company again puts all old disagreements on hold. Lambert doesn’t ask, but when it is time for sleep Aiden feels his eyes on his back as he removes his tunic.

“You take the bed.” He grunts, grabbing Aidens bedroll and throwing it out on the floor. No comments or pity. Again Aiden swallows around the tightness in his throat, and he falls asleep faster than he has in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for the nightmares to return. Cold breath against his neck, the strain on his muscles as the chains keep him upright, the edge of the knife pushing into his skin.

Once again he startles awake, sitting upright and gulping for air, ghost sensations of the dream crawling and clawing in the back of his mind.

Breathing is hard, and he focuses on that for a while. But this time, Aiden isn’t alone. He can hear shuffling from the floor, feel the mattress dip, and then Lambert’s warm body leaning against him. Aiden turns into him, accepting the comfort he is offering.

Whatever it is they had, whatever this is, Aiden breathes easier with Lambert near him. Lambert’s hand rub against Aiden’s bare back, pulling him closer. He tucks Aiden under his chin, cupping his neck, and all the tension in Aidens body gives out at the same time.

“It’s alright, kittycat. I got you. You are safe.”

You are home.

Lambert doesn’t say it but suddenly it is clear in Aiden’s mind. He is home. The walls don’t matter, nor the town. As long as Lambert is there to catch him when he falls, Aiden knows he is safe. How this madman, this absolute imbecil pushed himself inside Aiden’s heart is forever going to be a mystery.

As is his habit, Aiden doesn’tsleep more that night. But he allows himself to be held, to breathe in the stink of sweat and chemicals and something else that Lambert must have rolled in earlier in the day. He allows himself to feel, to remember, to talk.

Lambert listens all the while.

Their old fight is still there, but in the far back. They will talk about that too, eventually. For now, all that matters is the sun slowly climbing in the sky, Lambert’s thumb tracing back and forth behind his ear, and Aiden being allowed to lean on him, pressing his nose into his neck.

If Aiden felt a kiss against his hair, he won't mention it. If Aiden pressed a barely there kiss into his collarbone, Lambert didn’t mention it either.

For now, there is just peace, safety and home.