#prompt: missing scenes

[shrinkthisviolet]

OCX Prompt Bingo — Missing Scenes

Fandom: The Flash

Pairing: Morgan & Thawne, Barry & Morgan (implied)

Characters: Morgan Wells (OC), Eobard Thawne/Harrison Wells (“Eowells”)

Thanks so much to @occreatorexchange for hosting this event! Anyone who wants to participate should head over to this post and fill out the form 💞

Summary:

“You see,” he murmured, “there are some people who use terrifying forces for good. And when it comes to lightning…well, there’s one hero that comes to mind. A hero with lightning in his eyes and coursing through his veins…a hero as quick as a blink, trailing lightning wherever he went.”

“A…hero?”

“Indeed. The lightning gave this hero the power to do good—to be fast, to be brave…the best there ever was.”

6-year-old Morgan has feared thunderstorms for a while. Eowells thinks he finally has a permanent cure.

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @vexic929 @ironverseocs @raith-way @thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce

[ofcowardiceandkings]

LINKTOBER 2024: MIRROR biro & white gel on brown paper

WELL finally getting a chance to post !!

i loved this years' prompts and was all set to do them, but life stuff happened so i only managed to get this one finished LOL i'll finish the ones i started sketching sometime i hope

1) there were a loooot of parallels in the story of this game 2) Rauru and Sonia are adorable i want more of them and their interactions with Zelda were so sweet 3) ANY time i can adventure with my cool smart gf is a great time 💙 so give me more of that Nintendo i'll sell a kidney 💙💙💙

[syndrossi]

It is raining where I live, and so I must tell you that I had a thought -- Jon is all healed up and is allowed to go to training, but it starts to rain, and Jon tries to insist they should keep training anyway (because battles don't stop just because it's raining!), but the adults insist they go inside so they don't catch a chill and Gods forbid get *sick*, and then he and Rhaegar somehow ending up playing a very wet, muddy game of tag with their guards. That is the entirety of my thought process. Enjoy. Hope you had a good birthdaaaaaay!

This was too fun not to write, so impromptu "prompt" fill! As you said, this would be some time after Jon's ribs and arm are fully healed, 4-6 weeks after the latest chapter.

x~x~x

"I am sorry, my princes, but it is your father's insistence that you not linger in the rain."

Jon met Ser Erryk's gaze, finding a quiet determination in it that told him there was no sense trying to convince him otherwise. He shot a dour look in the direction Ser Criston had gone, certain now that the man had sent for their Kingsguard after they’d defied his instructions to continue training on their own.

Aegon had happily fled for the warmth and shelter of the holdfast, though Aemond had chosen to remain with them after Ser Criston's departure. It was a cold rain that fell, heavy and steady, and the yard was already turning to mud. The conditions were not unlike the day he had fought Rhaegar at the Gates of the Moon until his brother's hands had bled, but Rhaegar seemed to be enjoying the challenge today. There was something wild and exciting about rain that eroded with the onset of adulthood, where damp and cold sank in far deeper.

"Very well," Jon said, retreating to the armory, where the three of them worked their way out of their padded armor, setting their training swords aside.

Ser Erryk waited for them outside, raindrops hitting his polished armor so rapidly that they formed streams rather than individual droplets, the bottom of his hair utterly soaked. He looked more than eager to be out of the cold downpour.

Jon looked out over the yard. Where two dozen knights had been drilling earlier, it was now an empty expanse of mud and puddles, wide and vast. He looked at Rhaegar then, cocking his head in invitation. His brother's eyes widened for a moment, shifting sideways toward Ser Erryk, then he gave a faint nod.

"We shall go with you," Jon said graciously. "But first you must catch us."

With that, he took off, Rhaegar splitting off eastward. A glance over his shoulder found Aemond staring after them in shock before he too ran from the Kingsguard. Mud squelched satisfying beneath Jon's feet as he flew across it, water splashing up the sides of his pants, spattering his tunic. Rhaegar's braid whipped behind him, as he too glanced back to see Ser Erryk's reaction.

The knight's expression was too distant to make out, but his shoulders fell briefly in what Jon assumed was something between misery and despair before squaring. Ser Erryk started into a trot, his white cloak twisting in on itself, already a muddied brown at the bottom.

Ser Erryk was a man in his prime, powerful and athletic, but his heavy armor did him no favors in an impromptu game of chase. His booted stomps sank in deep, pulling on each foot before releasing it, while the boys nearly glided across it. They ran circles around him, despite the man's best efforts, until he halted and let out a sharp whistle that was loud even against the dampening patter of rain on stone and mud and metal.

Nothing happened for a time, other than the knight slowing out of what Jon assumed was a desire to conserve his strength. That did not stop them from running freely through the mud. Aemond was chasing after Rhaegar, but his brother was too fleet-footed for the younger boy to catch him.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and another white-cloaked Kingsguard appeared at the edge of the yard. Jon squinted through the rain, blinking constant water from his lashes, and realized that Ser Erryk had summoned his brother for aid.

Perhaps it is their hope that twins can catch twins, Jon thought, amused.

They were clever, however, the Cargyll brothers. They hunted as a unit, as a pair of direwolves might, converging on Rhaegar and Aemond. Rhaegar made an abrupt turn, leaving Aemond off balance as he raced in the opposite direction, and the knights broke for the easier target. Their cousin was scooped up by one of the brothers, and carried out of the yard, where a third Kingsguard was watching from the shelter of an overhang. He clasped Aemond's shoulder, and began herding him inside.

The Cargyll twins returned to the yard, and Jon could see them sizing up the situation before deciding upon a course of action. He had expected them to go after Rhaegar, since they must know that Jon would go to his aid, but to his surprise, they turned on him instead. As Jon sprinted away from them, he saw Rhaegar sweep back toward him, trying to bait them after him instead.

That is what they were aiming for, Jon realized a split second before they abandoned their chase of him, turning to Rhaegar instead, whose momentum was still carrying him in their direction. Jon cursed, moving in an arc toward them, but he knew he would be too late. Instead, he scooped a heavy handful of mud and let out a scream of challenge. It was enough to cause Ser Arryk to slow briefly, turning to him in concern, giving him the perfect opportunity to let his projectile fly.

The mud hit Ser Arryk square in the face, spattering his helmet and filling the eye holes with mud. It was enough of a distraction to create an opening for Rhaegar to alter direction and evade Ser Erryk's pursuit. Ser Arryk struggled with his helmet for a moment, pulling it free and flinging it aside. Rhaegar joined Jon at his side.

"Combined assault?" his brother asked.

"No mercy," Jon said with a grin.

They flung mudball after mudball at the brothers. Some handfuls were too wet, falling to slopping pieces after only a few feet of flight, but others pelted their pursuers, until their cloaks were pure brown. The knights seemed reluctant to return fire on their charges, even though it was unlikely the mud would do any true damage to them, and the weight of their armor, heavier still with the water-logged padding beneath, fatigued them far quicker than he and Rhaegar.

I do not think either of them can catch us.

It was a strangely exhilarating thought. With their blood pounding and breaths heavy, the rain and cold could not touch them.

The two knights exchanged quiet words, then took up pursuit once more. Jon did not realize they were being herded in a particular direction until he caught a dark shape in the corner of his eye, along the edge of the yard. A tall figure vaulted over the low fencing, silver-blond hair trailing after him, and his arms closed around Jon in something between a hold and a hug.

Daemon, Jon recognized, just as his foot came down on his father’s. A yelp escaped him, and Jon leveraged the slick layer of mud coating him to duck out of the grip.

Rhaegar covered his escape with a pair of impressively accurate mudballs. The first caught Daemon right in the chest, and the other on the back of his head as he angled his body away from the assault, the mud plastering his hair instead. Jon shot a wary glance at their Kingsguard, but Sers Erryk and Arryk had slowed, pausing as though unsure whether to proceed with the chase now that Daemon had involved himself.

That left them with only Daemon to worry about. As he turned back to them, arms crossing over his muddy chest, Jon looked over to Rhaegar. “We take him down with us.”

They scooped up two handfuls each of mud and then sprinted at Daemon as one, roaring a battle cry as they lobbed mudballs at him. Their father dodged out of two, but he could not evade the other two, one catching him in the side and the other in the cheek. It left him just enough off balance that when they both slammed into him, they were able to drive him to the ground with a satisfying squelch as his backside hit first, and his back next.

His eyes were narrowed as he stared up at them, then his hands closed around their ankles, yanking them off their feet to join him on the ground.

“Now we match,” Rhaegar informed Daemon, his innocent look far less effective when half his face was coated in mud.

An arm hooked around each of them, and Daemon hauled them up with him as he stood. Jon was flung over one shoulder, and Rhaegar the other, Daemon’s mud-caked hair slapping wetly against their cheeks as he carried them across the yard, to the holdfast. Sers Arryk and Erryk fell into position behind him.

“Perhaps next time,” Jon said to them smugly.

He could almost hear Daemon’s frown. “It is your duty to follow the instructions of those sworn to protect you.”

“Just as you do?” Rhaegar asked, clearly referring to the past two times Daemon had slipped his own knights. The king had complained loudly about it, or else they would never have known.

They were set back down on their feet once they had reached the dry shelter of the holdfast, and Daemon’s hands came to rest on their heads as he leaned down to kiss each mud-streaked forehead. “Better than I do, unless you wish to break your father’s heart.” The words had the intended effect, both of them exchanging a guilty look that made Daemon nod in satisfaction. “Now let us return home, so that we can be clean and matching.”

[quick-otp-prompts]

Imagine your Ot3

Person A scoffed: “Why can’t you let go of B?”

Person C: “Because they drive me crazy!”

Person A: “I’m supposed to drive you crazy.”

[aduckwithears]

Can we talk about a missing scene? It’s during the Job job. It definitely happened, and we definitely didn’t get to see it. It's the scene where they figured out the magic trick with the ox ribs.

Here's the thing. We see bits and pieces of the night in the basement (Crowley and his wine, Aziraphale and his ox ribs... and whole ox... and etc.), but what we don't see? The planning! The discussion of the trick.

Because for the bamboozlement of the angels to work, they need props. Aziraphale has to have the ox ribs and the kids in lizard form on him at the time of the transformation. This means they needed to have a conversation about the plan beforehand. And I don't know about you, but this goes far beyond a spur of the moment Bildad shenanigan and takes it to a forerunner of the Arrangement.

I want to know how that conversation went. (maybe i should write it?) (edit: I wrote it)

[wildstar25]

MiqoMarch Day 23 - Midnight

With their intended voyage into the void only a few days out, Arsay thought it the upmost importance that she steal her partner away to Kugane, that they might share one more fond memory together should things not turn out the way they plan in the thirteenth. It was as they crossed the very same bridge the miqo'te had once sat on together two years prior when Arsay gifted Y'shtola with a bracelet matching that of her own. A token of endearment which, Arsay confessed, she would have given to her fellow scion back then, had nerves not gotten the best of her. While their relationship has undoubtedly changed since the initial purchase of the jewellery, the sentiment remained the same. Y'shtola was someone who Arsay loved dearly and she will forever be grateful to have the seeker's life intertwined with her own. No matter where their free spirits took them, they would always hold each other in their hearts. A promise Y'shtola was more than willing to keep. She slipped the the string of beads around her wrist without a second thought. They were never to come off, not even when the two decided to delay their return to Radz-at-Han in favour of a private bath at the dead of night.

[spaceratprodigy]

*gulp* deacon/iris "please just kiss me" intimacy ask........ NYE party- (i am shot)

@oldworldwidgets — [ intimacy prompts ]

It's in the stars, it's been written in the scars on our hearts

We're not broken, just bent, and we can learn to love again

pose reference

[kybercrystals94]

Sacrifice and Loyalty

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 12 | Prompt 12: A Little Too Late

Rated: G | Words: 561 | Summary: Missing scene between episodes 3x11 and 3x12. | Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter

Spoilers for Season 3 Episodes 11 & 12

The moment Hunter slips through the door, he knows something is desperately wrong. The needled talons of dread claw up his throat from the pit of his stomach. He tries to swallow it back, but it lodges tightly just behind his tongue. 

Hunter takes in the occupants of the space. Wrecker, still unconscious, and Crosshair, sitting next to him with his rifle propped at the ready against his thigh. Their sister’s absence is cavernous. 

“Where’s Omega?” Hunter asks. 

Crosshair’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. He stands, leaning his rifle against the wall, and turns to face Hunter head on.   

“Omega turned herself in.” Crosshair states it, voice pressed flat of emotion. His hand trembles at his side, unchecked, as Crosshair looks anywhere but Hunter’s face. “She…” his dull voice catches, “She did it to save Pabu. They wouldn’t have stopped searching until they found her. It was only a matter of time.” He glances down, notices his hand and grips it in the other. “I tried to reason with her. She knew the risks.

“But I failed to protect her,” Crosshair continues. “I was supposed to get a tracker on the ship, but I missed. I missed, and she doesn’t know. She trusted me to make the shot, and I missed.” He fists his trembling hand. “I’m sorry, Hunter.”

The initial, reactive twist of Hunter’s features as the news settles is hidden behind his helmet. They just got her back, and the Empire snatched her away again. Righteous anger burns deep, and it takes every piece of Hunter’s exhausted resolve not to become violent, to throw something, break something, destroy something. It isn’t fair, what this galaxy has taken from them, has done to them, over and over again. 

Hunter takes a staggered step forward, and Crosshair flinches. It is subtle, almost imperceptible. But Hunter sees it, and his heart fractures further. His anger does not extend to Crosshair. How could it, when he sees his own turmoil and regret reflected in his little brother’s averted eyes? Hunter puts his anger away, thrusts it into the darkest corner of his mind to fester, and reaches up to take off his helmet. Crosshair’s gaze slides over to meet his as soon as his face is exposed. 

“I know you did everything you could,” Hunter says. He swallows. There is no comfort in the truth, just the reality. “Omega would have gone with or without you backing her up.” 

Hunter remembers seeing his sister after he and Wrecker were captured, small and fierce, energy bow drawn, refusing to hide away if there was any possibility of saving her brothers. Omega isn’t a soldier, but loyalty and sacrifice are saturated in her blood. Just like Tech. 

Naked surprise twitches Crosshair’s expression before settling back into careful neutral. He nods stiffly, looking away. “She put the people of Pabu before herself, risked everything so that we might find Tantiss. I was ambushed by troopers when I was lining up the shot for the tracker. I…I couldn’t recover my position in time…”

Hunter rests a hand on Crosshair’s pauldron. “Omega won’t blame you, Cross. I don’t blame you. We’ll find her again.” 

Crosshair swallows visibly and steadies himself before looking Hunter in the eye again. A small, despondent smile quirks the edge of his lips. “Not if she finds us first.” 

END

Heading into the next third of our prompts! Make sure you check out all of @the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts contributions to Angstpril! They are amazing!! Here's an easy list of our first 10 prompt fills!

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

[tbb-appreciation-week]

(Image text and NSFW prompt below the cut)

THE DAY HAS ARRIVED!!! THE BAD BATCH APPRECIATION WEEK 2024 IS HERE!!! For the next 7 days, we'll celebrate and appreciate our favorite clone squad! Do you want to explore what happened between seasons? Is there something you wish the show had fleshed out more? This is the chance to do it yourself!

~

TAGS FOR TODAY. Use those that are relevant to your work only.

#tbbaw2024 #the bad batch appreciation week 2024 #don't miss a thing #missing scene #"will you wait for me?" #quinlan vos #[nsfw prompt] #fanfic #fanart #gifset #[or any other medium] #[trigger warnings] #nsfw #[any other relevant tags]

And for those who cross-post to the collection on Ao3: Don't forget to add The Bad Batch Appreciation Week as an Additional tag!!

DAY 1: Don't Miss a Thing

Missing Scene

"Will you wait for me?"

Quinlan Vos

Palette: #51E5FF, #440381, #EC368D, #FFA5A5, #FFD6C0

(NSFW) Almost getting caught

[raayllum]

god it's so funny that when the brothers disagree in 5x05 Ezran wanted to loop Rayla in because she's their third piece, she's his big sister, but it's even funnier to imagine Rayla agreeing with Ez over what to do next and Ezran shooting Callum a look because he knows his big brother is going to fold and immediately let things go. Like - it's one thing for Callum to go against either Ezran or Rayla in something, it's another for him to go against both of them, and they know it

[cinderella-ish]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fruits Basket - Takaya Natsuki (Manga), Fruits Basket (Anime 2019) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Honda Tohru/Sohma Kyou Characters: Honda Tohru, Sohma Kyou, Sohma Shigure Additional Tags: Sick Character, Swooning, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship Series: Part 1 of lovers alone wear sunlight Summary:

Tohru swoons on the way home from school after failing one of her midterms. How does Kyo get her home safe?

[odo-apologist]

Smegtober #4: Virtual Reality

The room is sterile, perfectly white walls unbroken by any unnecessary patterns or pictures or posters, the overhead lights blinding in their pure brightness, minimalist metal chairs sleek, hard, and cold, leaving one anxious to stand up and stretch once the session is over, and the wireless suits ready to use and laid out upon tables that are free of any useless clutter. The lifeless atmosphere is even clearer now, with the space emptied of its usual occupants and quiet except for the low hum of electricity.

     It unnerved Kris the first time she was in the room alone, the only student left, but over time, she's grown used to it. It seems you can grow used to any environment if given long enough, even one that feels like it's trying to shut you out, doing its best to make you feel unwelcome.

     Besides, this is the closest Kris has come to what might be called a home.

     She grabs her suit and slips it on. Approaching one of the desks, she pulls out its chair; the squeak of its legs against the tiled floor interrupts the ambiance and echoes through the nearly silent place. Seated, Kris places the headset on and adjusts it so it rests snuggly over her eyes. She brings her hand up to a small switch on the device, near her temple, flips it–

     “Welcome home, Krissy!” Her mother's arms envelope her within a tight, warm hug. She catches a whiff of perfume: a strong scent of jasmine. As she's released from the embrace, she smells the dinner the cook has prepared; it is Christmas Eve and she's in her family home.

     Her father stands in the doorway to the dining room, a mug in hand. “Kristine,” he smiles, “How was this last term?”

      “Well, we got to talk with Shakespeare again after reading Antony and Cleopatra. We saw a recreation of its first performance in The Globe, then we even discussed its accuracy with Antony and Cleopatra themselves! I wrote about it during finals and got an ‘A’ in the course.” She beams with pride as she speaks of her paper. Miss Brody had really praised her for that one.

     “That's lovely, dear,” her mother replies. One of their maids had brought mugs for her and Kris, so she hands one to the latter. “And not at all surprising. You've always been our straight-A scholar.”

     “That's right, Krissy. We're so proud of you!”

     Kris beams brighter. The words make her feel warm in a way the short, hurried messages from home fail to do. Later, laying in bed in her dorm that's been vacated of its other residents for the holidays, this moment will ring as false as it is; she'll feel a faint shame at her indulgence. But that's then and this is now, and dinner is ready to be served. Her father will talk about his latest excavation, her mother will talk about the ads she's working on for a pharmaceutical company or a new energy drink or the most recent model of hoppers, and Kris will enjoy every moment, basking in the glow of honey-yellow candlelight.

     In the classroom, Kris unconsciously shifts in her chair.

[words-with-wren]

@chrumblr-whumblr Day Four: Watching while a loved one is hurt

Fandom: Endeavour. Post 4x04 Harvest. I watched the episode like a week ago and Forgot Details and haven't rewatched it to fact check anything so if something doesn't line up with canon oh well ignore that. I just love Morse and Miss Frazil's friendship SO MUCH i wanted to explore it a little. (May cannibalism this scene if i ever get around to writing my 'joan says yes' au)

word count: 1,563

___

Dorothea wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but somewhere through the years her acquaintance with Morse had shifted from a respectful professional relationship to genuine friendship. It was a development that hadn’t been entirely intentional, but there was something about the young man that made her think he hadn’t had much friendship in his life. There was a hungriness about him, a desperate desire to be loved that she was sure he didn’t admit even to himself. 

She found him almost on accident, the day after everything at the Bramford power plant had been wrapped up. He was sitting at the bar of the pub, nursing a pint and staring morosely at an untouched crossword in front of him. Dorothea took him in for a long moment, seeing the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion in the way he sat, leaned over the bar. He was staring at nothing, eyes dull and half glazed over, clearly lost in thought. 

He looked positively worn out, and Dorothea felt her heart clench at the sight of him. He was so brilliant, so young and full of energy. Had a brain so fast and wonderful, but life had beaten him down so quickly. He didn't share much, but Dorothea had years of investigative journalism behind her--she could read between the lines, could pick out a story in the shapes left behind by absence. Not for the first time she thought he was a man too used to caring and not used to being cared for. 

To break the ice, she cleared her throat and sat down at the stool beside him. He started, torn out of his thoughts and the lost expression on his face shifted into a small smile. 

“Miss Frazil,” he greeted, shifting his newspaper aside to give her room. She smiled back at him, placing her handbag on the bar. “Can I get you a drink?” 

“I'm alright, thank you Morse,” Dorothea answered. She eyed the mostly empty glass in his hands, wondering how many he'd finished before she had arrived. Best not to bring more alcohol into the equation--heaven knows he could drink enough without encouragement. 

She started with work, knowing he would close himself off immediately if she pushed too hard too quickly. 

“You were at the plant, were you not?” she asked. A wary expression crossed Morse's face, but he seemed to relax a little nonetheless. She thought back to their last conversation, when she had dropped him off by an empty field. He'd opened up then, just a little. Bared himself just enough to show his hurt, but not quite enough for her to do anything about it. “Anything you can tell me?” 

The request pulled a small smile from him, something Dorothea was grateful to see. He rolled his pint between his hands and shook his head, turning to look at her. There was a cut along his hairline she noted--that hadn't been there last she saw him. 

“I'm afraid not,” he said. He still seemed distant, mind on other things. Not fully engaging in their usual dance as they tried to tease information out of the other. 

“The official story is a fire,” she said. His hand drifted to the cut. He nodded. 

“Best to leave it at that,” he said. She waited, long years of experience telling her the best way to get information out of someone was to wait. Let him tell her in his own time. 

Though it wasn't really what had happened at the plant she wanted to know. Not right now, at least. Like as not, it wasn't going to be anything she could publish anyway. 

What she really wanted to know was what was bothering him. It was more than this current case, more even than his flat being burgled earlier in the week. She knew him well enough to see it in the way he sat, the line of his shoulders, the shadows in his eyes. 

“Off the record, sabotage,” he said finally. This time he did press his hand to the cut on his forehead. “Some plot by Bagley, planning to leak radiation into the nearby area to prove just how dangerous nuclear energy is.”

Now that would be a juicy story. The part of Dorothea that was pure journalist wanted to dig deeper into it, chase the story, share it with the world. But from the way Morse was hunched, from the sensitivity of the situation, she knew that this would be another story by the wayside. Another time societal requirements won over the truth. 

Sometimes she felt a little bitter about that. But she told herself to keep looking forward, finding the next story, uncovering the next truth. 

“And you stopped it,” she said and he nodded, his attention still wandering. “You alright?” 

It was an innocent enough question, one she knew wouldn't shut him down immediately. There were a lot of ways to answer that, and Morse could choose how much he shared. 

“I'll live,” he said. She wasn't surprised by the answer; it was a dismissal, his way of saying he didn't want to talk. Not quite fully a lie, not quite fully vulnerable. 

He infuriated her, sometimes. He was so clearly in need of someone looking out for him, but he was so stubborn he refused to accept help, let alone ask for it. 

Sometimes she wanted to force him to stop, put him up in her small apartment for a week so she could put some meat on his bones and light in his eyes. Drive it into his stubborn skull that people cared and he didn't have to go at life alone. 

“Really?” she asked gently. 

He let out a long breath and emptied the last of his beer. 

“Still don’t feel entirely safe at home,” he admitted. “Feels too empty.” 

She nodded sympathetically. She knew a little about feeling vulnerable in a place that was supposed to be safe--it had been a few months since her kidnapping by Leyton-Asprey, and she still felt uneasy being alone in her office. Coming home to find his space invaded so violently had clearly shaken Morse and she couldn’t find fault in that. 

But he was using it as a shield, holding up the reasonable excuse so she didn’t dig any deeper, uncover the actual source of his hurt. Always hiding himself, was Morse. And Dorothea hated not knowing the truth. 

She let the silence sit for another moment, pondering her next course of action. It was always a delicate balance with Morse, finding the line between getting him to open up to her without shutting down fully. He needed to come at his own pace, but he needed to know she wanted to know. She wanted to share whatever his hurt was, help him in whatever way she could. 

She thought maybe he didn’t have many people he could feel safe opening up to, and she didn’t want to break the trust they had built over the years. 

“There was a girl.” 

His words came as a surprise, and it took Dorothea a second to process them. He spoke them softly, a mix of hurt and bitterness mingling in his voice. 

She thought back to that last conversation in the car on the country road. He’d denied a girl then, a scoffing almost-bitter voice proclaiming he didn’t have anyone. She’d thought it was a laden admission at the time, and now she felt a little vindication. 

It wasn’t sweet vindication. Not seeing how he was hunched into himself, not seeing the heaviness in his eyes. Heartbreak, she realised. Not something new to him, she concluded. 

“Ah,” she said softly. Morse stared into his empty pint glass. 

“She… had some trouble,” he said finally, looking anywhere but at Dorothea. “I couldn’t help her. She didn’t let me help her.” 

‘Sounds familiar,” Dorothea thought, expression soft and understanding as she looked at Morse. 

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, not knowing how else to help. She was glad he had let her in, glad he had shared at least something. Gently, she reached across the bar to squeeze his forearm. 

He started, looking down at her hand and then back up at her, seeming unsure what to do with the unexpected touch. Again, Dorothea couldn’t help but feel he had been so starved of everything a persons should have--love, intimacy, friendship. The knowledge that people care. 

For just a moment, he let her in fully. She saw the despair behind his eyes, the grief and loss. The hurt that informed every part of his life, walls and barriers and scars built up after a childhood starved of love and an adulthood seeing the worst of humanity. 

Then he shifted, pulling his arm away and looked back down at the newspaper in front of him. The moment was over, the walls were back up. Once again, he locked her out and was alone in his hurt. 

Dorothea knew there was nothing she could do for him except just wait until the next time he was brave enough to be vulnerable. For now, maybe that would be enough. 

“I’ll buy you a drink,” she said, sensing the companionship would be of more use than anything else right now. He flickered a small, forced smile in her direction and picked up a pen to start filling out the crossword. 

[tjmaxbutnotthestore]

Okay, first week of Fruits Basket Mondays! The prompt was Missing Scene, but I had a different interpretation of what Missing Scene could mean, so this is maybe both prompt and no prompt. I decided to do a redraw (sort of) of a panel from the manga - chapter 110- that didn’t get animated in the anime. I loved this scene when I read it, so much so because yuki had some amazing reactions. I’m posting my reference panels as well!

[plusultraetc]

Fourteen Days of MHA | 13/14: Future, Growth, Change, Evolution

[Vague manga spoilers in the caption!! The snippet itself is all au :) ]

The aforementioned old WIP!! Not gonna lie, I've been thinking about this fic A Lot in light of recent chapters. It was originally inspired by this theory by class1akids and this post by sassypantsjaxon (which also inspired a web weave; that post hit me like a truck at the time okay? & you know what it still does!!) Anyway, I still have a lot of wildly different feelings about 'Kuroboro,' but if you want a fic rec that handles the concept in a really cool way, check out Crumbled Rooftops by Kyurilin on ao3!

Okay, that's enough links for one post. Snippet :D

[februaryberries]