#that's a lie i have a title for it already i'm just saving that for when i actually have enough to share

[mlqueen89]

ice ice baby.

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader  rating: 18+ (minors dni)  warnings/triggers: i'm gonna go to horny jail. there's a lot of smut, some semblance of plot. you've been warned. mention of seppuku (ritualistic self-harm). word count: 4,540 summary: in the thick of an oklahoma heat wave, tyler owens, tornado wrangler himself, cools you down just to set you on fire.  A/N: one of two entries for @echoingbirdsofprey’s summer challenge on discord. prompt: “ice cubes”.   title inspired by vanilla ice’s “ice ice baby”. 

not beta read. i'm cdn, so forgive any misconceptions about the midwest.

❥ masterlist ♡ taglist ❥

The little farmhouse with the cornflower blue front door and the wrap around porch on the outskirts of Marlow, Oklahoma was sweltering.  

The once painted shut windows had been pried open, but the stickiness of humidity outside hadn’t offered any relief. To call the air that whispered in on occasion a breeze would have been extremely generous and when it did slip in, you’d be pressed to call it more than the hot breath of yet more suffocating warmth. 

It had been like this for days—no reprieve. 

It wrapped around the old house like a second skin, oppressive and thick, soaking into the swollen floorboards, the bedsheets that had been marketed as “always cool!” (clearly, a lie), and every inch of exposed skin. 

The first day had been a welcome change from the week of seemingly relentless rain, hell-bent on turning your and Tyler’s newly acquired seven acres into a squelching mud pit, killing the cute patch of tomatoes and cucumbers you’d planted just off the back porch. 

And while you’d moped at the sight of the overwatered plants from the doorway, your fingers absently twisting the gold band on your left hand, you knew this shift in weather meant something else too—your favorite time: the end of storm season. 

He’d only been home a day and a half when the ceiling fan started its campaign of sabotage. You were still getting used to hearing his boots in the hall again as the two of you quickly learned that setting the ceiling fans to any speed above “Tahitian beach resort in a movie” would trip the circuit breaker.  

After the third time emerging from the crawlspace hatch in the pantry—the definitely-against-code breaker box tucked inside—hair dusted with cobwebs and sweat streaked with dirt across his brow, Tyler announced that you could both pretend it was a beach vacation. He promised to actually take you next month. 

If you both survived the heat, of course. 

How you married someone so goddamned optimistic was beyond you. You—who came from a family that treated complaining like an Olympic sport, where going home with anything less than a gold medal was a shame that required seppuku. 

In the time you’d been with Tyler, you’d slowly adopted some of his optimism, almost in spite of the people who raised you. Thought outside of the box. Patched small problems with duct tape, stubbornness and a little imagination. 

When the power had gone out once at his old place one summer, you’d hauled the blankets outside, made a bed on the porch and slept under the stars—sweat gathering under your palm where it rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. 

You could do this. You could survive the heat. 

Then, on the third day, in the early hours of the already sticky morning, the A/C gave one final, pathetic groan, followed by an acrid puff of smoke that had you both scrambling to shut off the breaker.  

Tyler crouched beside the unit, toolbox already out, sweat clinging to his temples as he poked around with the kind of stubborn hope that usually ended in curses. 

After twenty minutes and a long sigh, he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and stood. 

“It’s done,” he muttered, bunching up an oil-stained rag and placing his wide hands on his hips, squinting up at you on the porch. “I’ll call Boone later—see if he’s got a part, but I think this old bastard might be beyond saving.” 

You didn’t bother asking if Boone was a licensed HVAC technician. You knew better. You’d seen him with Tyler’s truck and the Storm Chaser RV. 

By 10 a.m., Tyler had declared war on his shirt, flinging it over the porch rail in silent surrender as sweat traced the curve of his spine like a winding river.  

You caught a glimpse of him through the screen door that didn’t shut quite right, hands on hips as he looked at the grey sky in the distance. Thought you heard him mumble something about a storm breaking soon. That once the rain came, it’d cut through the heat. 

You’d never wanted rain so badly. 

“Crazy thought, Ty,” you sighed, padding barefoot across the sticky and cracked kitchen tile, “but I think we should move to Michigan. We’ll give you a rebrand: Squall Seeker or something.” 

His soft laugh echoed from the other room as you pulled open the freezer and let yourself bask in the burst of cold air that escaped. It vanished too quickly, but you grabbed the ice trays and carried them to the sink. 

Cracking the ice loose, you scooped cubes into tall glasses, watching one begin to melt almost instantly against your too-warm skin. You didn’t flinch when it dripped between your fingers—just held onto it, brought it up to the curve of your neck, slow and deliberate. 

Eyes closed, you sighed, savouring the temporary reprieve, the cool path of water from the melting ice sliding down over your collarbone and disappearing beneath your shirt. 

It was Tyler’s voice that pulled you back. 

“You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?” he drawled from the doorway at your back, voice low and rough, laced with a different kind of heat—the kind that made your legs go soft, something hungry stirring just behind it. 

You smirked, turning just enough to catch the glint in his eye, his arms folded across his bare, sweat-slicked chest, gaze locked on you, battered ball cap tucked on backward. “Just trying to cool off.” 

He pushed off the doorframe, slow, deliberate. The kind of movement, sauntering and careful, you knew was always followed by trouble. The good kind. The kind that left bruises on the fleshy parts of your thighs long after your heart settled and want melted into satisfied bliss. 

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned. You knew there was no danger behind it. 

You plucked another cube from the tray and dragged it slowly down the side of your throat with a hum, the drip of condensation racing down your neck, your wrist.  

“No,” you smirked, forever sassy. “I’m playing with ice.” 

You felt it snap in him—that heat-laced stillness breaking like a line of storm clouds overhead. 

In three long strides, he was behind you, hands, tanned from the long days of storm chasing over the last month or so, coming down hard to frame your hips. The weight of him pressed your stomach into the edge of the counter and it pushed a gasp from your lips. But he didn’t move. And you didn’t want him to. 

“Give it to me.” His lips were against the shell of your ear, one hand leaving your hips, palm open and waiting. 

Without hesitation, you carefully placed the cool ice, already half melted, into the center of his large hand. 

The first touch came to the back of your neck—a single cold drag of the ice down your spine that made you arch like you’d touched a live wire.  

Reflexively, you reached back to grip his thigh through his jeans, anchoring yourself as he swept the cube lower, tracing it lazily over the exposed skin on your back until it met the waistband of your jean shorts. 

“You wearin’ anything under these?” he asked, the edge in his voice betraying that he already knew the answer. 

You shook your head, the dizzy haze of want fast closing in like a vignette. Your body had already taken over; every nerve turned to the hard line of him pressed against your ass. 

You could feel the low pulse between your thighs, a throb like a heartbeat. 

His low groan vibrated against your back as he reached around, thumbed open the button of your shorts one-handed with practiced ease, and pushed the fabric down. The cotton hit the floor in a whisper at your feet. 

The ice cube was nearly gone now, a trickle of cold water slipping down the back of your sweat-drenched thighs. It was little more than a slick on his fingers—but still enough to make you gasp when he touched you. 

You shifted, arching slightly, just enough for him to slide his hand around and—God—touch you where you were already aching for more, for him, his fingers finding your pulsing center like the eye of a storm. 

The jolt of cold contrast was shock enough to pull his name from your lips on a breathless gasp. 

“Ty—” 

“I’ve got you, darlin’” he murmured, barely a whisper, his lips ghosting the curve of your throat as you opened to him, his fingers tracing the line of your slick folds. “Just let me cool you down.”  

His right hand stayed firm on your hip, anchoring you in place as you pressed into his hand on instinct, chasing the pressure. He found your clit, stroking in an achingly slow, deliberate rhythm. 

The moan that spilled from your mouth was involuntary, your whole body tightening with need as Tyler’s hips bucked against you—his erection twitching against your bare skin, the heat between you building quickly toward something dangerously close to undoing. 

You could barely stand it, having him this incredibly close and—maddeningly—not close enough. Not after weeks apart, imagining all the ways he’d fill you, riding out an orgasm alone to the sound of his voice across a phone line as he did the same. 

Now that he was here, against you, one hand skating up under your shirt to pinch your peaked nipple, his other keeping time, working you with slick, steady strokes, the wet sounds becoming almost obscene.  

You wanted it all. Greedy. Needy. Wet. 

You’d never felt closer to combustion. And yet, you never wanted him to stop. 

You could feel it building—your body tensing, begging for just a little bit more pressure, just one more stroke. Every nerve drawn taut, every flick of his calloused fingers coaxing you closer to the edge he clearly wanted you to fall over.  

He was focused, relentless, even as he became impossibly harder against you, whispering how much he missed you, how much he loved you, how perfect you were beneath his hands.  

He spoke each word like a promise, reaffirming vows he’d made the day he slipped a ring on your finger. 

“I thought about you every night,” he murmured, breath warm against your neck. “Missed you so bad it hurt.” 

“Fuck—Ty, I...” you gasped, breath hitching as he nipped at the curve of your shoulder, then kissed the spot his teeth had scored—half apology, half wicked promise—as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. 

“What was that, baby?” his voice was lyrical, teasing, a hum in your ear. 

You could see the edge, feel it rising too fast toward a crest. But even through the panting, whimpering haze of want, you knew—you didn’t want to come undone alone. 

Blindly, you reached back, found the line of his tented jeans, tugged when your words failed you—not enough to stop him, but enough to let him know. Not yet. 

“Ty,” you breathed, pleading, voice shaky on the precipice. “I want to feel you.” 

You knew it got his attention. You felt it in the way his hand slowed, just enough, in the way his breath stuttered against your neck as you pushed back against him, hips shifting, grinding. 

You didn’t miss the opportunity. 

Reaching for another partially melted ice cube, you turned against his chest to face him, breathless and already flushed. He hissed when you pressed it to his peck, and it melted on contact. Reflexively, he caught your wrist, holding it between you both. 

“If you’re gonna tease,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with something that set you alight, your thighs messy with your own slick, chest rising and falling fast. He dipped low, his mouth ghosting your jaw, “you’d better be able to take the heat.” 

He kissed the spot near your ear, along your jaw, the corner of your mouth. 

“I’m counting on it, Owens,” you huffed out a shaky breath, almost a laugh, light and airy. 

That was all it took. He didn’t waste any more time. 

His mouth was on yours, hot, urgent, tongue brushing yours and sealing in your gasp as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he lifted you onto the counter at your back. 

Tyler slotted himself between your legs in a fluid motion, his hands sliding up the outside of your bare legs, squeezing the curve of your ass pressed against the melamine. 

He kissed his way down—lips brushing from one collarbone to the other—then mouthed your left breast and the right over your shirt, lingering. By the time he made it to the inside of your right knee, thunder cracked in the distance. 

The loud boom rolled through the old house, rattling the thin windowpanes and making the screen door shiver. Glasses in the cabinet behind you clinked softly, kissing each other from the vibration, and the counter beneath you trembled as the boom gave way to a low, lingering echo. 

It was nothing compared to the storm Tyler was stirring under your skin. 

“You hear that?”  

You looked down at him, breath shaky, plucking the old beat-up hat off his head only to tug it onto your head backward before threading your fingers through his hair. 

He paused for only a moment, grinned up at you before he continued, kissing higher, a whisper closer to where you needed him.  

His lips grazed the small birthmark he once said looked like the last star in the handle of the little dipper. He was slower now, careful, his warm breath coming out in puffs against your skin between reverent kisses.  

“I did,” he hummed. “Don’t care.” 

A flash of lightning lit up the kitchen, a staccato pulse across his bare back as he continued to kiss up your inner thigh, his hands framing your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go for even a moment.  

The next roll of thunder, paired with the small nip Tyler grazed against your skin caused you to jump. He was so close now, his warm breath on the cool wetness at the apex of your legs.  

You gripped to edge of the counter tightly, your knuckles white. 

“You should care,” you whispered, tone wavering with the want barely concealed. You were on fire. A wave of heat that had nothing to do with the weather washing over you. He was so good at this. So good at knowing how to unravel you fast.  

You swallowed hard before you spoke again. “Could be a funnel cloud.” 

“I care,” he murmured, breath hot against your thigh. “I care that you’re already shaking. That I’ve barely even started.” 

Your stomach clenched, breath catching as the bottom dropped out. 

Tyler looked up once—just once—and the way his eyes met yours, a storm brewing just behind the blue green of them, made your entire body stutter. There was something reverent there, something feral. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. 

His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting, adjusting—pulling you to the edge of the counter like he’d done it a thousand times in his mind since he’d been away. And then, with agonizing control, he sank to his knees. 

Your world narrowed. 

You could feel your pulse everywhere—your throat, your fingertips, the place between your legs that throbbed with anticipation. 

He didn’t touch you yet. You were sure you’d die if he didn’t do it soon. 

But Tyler had never been the kind of man to rush the part you knew he’d missed the most. 

His thumb stroked lazy half-circles against your inner thighs, grounding you in a moment when you thought the anticipation of his touch where you needed him might lift you off the counter. 

“Jesus,” he murmured, and you just about opened your mouth to fire off a smart-ass comment about something sacrilegious when the words caught in your throat. 

The first brush of his mouth came like a promise. Gentle. Teasing. Testing. An excruciatingly slow drag of his mouth across your clit that had your hips jerking up into him and a gasp ripping from your lips before you could stop it. 

Your head cracked back against the cupboards. Your heels dug into his back, pressing him closer. Wordlessly begging for more. 

“That’s it,” he breathed against your soaked center, pulling back just enough that you whined over the loss of sensation. “Let me hear you. Want the neighbours three houses down to know I’m taking care of you.” 

His tongue followed, flat, hot and slow, before adopting a torturous rhythm—like he had all the time in the world to reacquaint himself with you, to claim you again with nothing but his mouth. 

He shifted, his shoulders pushing under your legs now to get a new angle, arms wrapped around, palms pressing your thighs open as you pressed back against the pleasure. His fingers bit into the soft skin there, hard enough that it sent another tremor of bittersweet ache straight through you. 

Outside, the storm was closer now, another roll of thunder shook the farmhouse. This time, you moaned with it, fingers twisting in his hair, back arched, already close. 

“Tyler—” it was barely a sound, lost on the last of the echo of thunder. A plea. 

He groaned, like the sound of his name on your lips, the wild, uncontrolled buck and grind of your hips into his mouth was enough to make him come. 

The vibration of it nearly undid you. 

“You taste like every goddamned mile I had to drive to get back to you,” he said, voice hoarse, rough, nearly broken with his own need. 

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. 

And when he finally sucked just hard enough, tongue flicking in just the right pattern, you came apart at the carefully held together seams—thighs trembling, breath shattered, his name on your lips like the only true thing in this whole world. 

Tyler didn’t let up, pushing you to the edges of overstimulation, squirming against his mouth until you sagged back against the upper cabinets, spent and dizzy, your hand sliding from his hair as your chest heaved. 

When he stood, his lips were slick with you, eyes blown wide with heat and something else—something tender, something completely and always yours. 

You reached for him, the greedy, empty feeling still begging for the stretch of him. 

“Still hot?” he asked with a crooked, lazy grin. You could feel his heartbeat in his lips, tasted yourself on them as you pulled him to you and he deepened the kiss. 

“I think you broke the thermometer, Owens.” 

You were pulsing again, sated only enough to know there was still an ache only his cock could soothe. You arched into him, your chest, nipples still peaked through the thin layer of tank top, pressed hard against his. 

He knew what you wanted. You could tell by the way he chuckled, kissed your jaw, then your temple. “Storm’s just about to open up. Maybe we oughta see if the bedroom’s any cooler...” 

“Take me to bed, then.” 

He kissed you slow and deep, your thighs sticking to the counter as he peeled you off and your legs hitched around his waist. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, shifting you in his arms like you weighed nothing, “I’m gonna take you through every kind of storm tonight.” 

By the time you’d made it to the bedroom, you’d lost your tank top but still wore Tyler’s hat.  

Halfway up the stairs, he sat you on the first landing, peeled away the last scrap of clothing on your body, and closed his mouth around a hardened nipple. 

The tread bit into your low back. Head tipped, mouth slack, you were pretty sure your brain might just leak out your ears as a curse—long and drawn out—slipped from your lips on a moan. 

You didn’t mention how unfair it was that he was still wearing those damn jeans. 

The storm had rolled directly overhead by the time he lowered you onto the bed. 

“You sure you’re not too tired?” you teased, propping yourself up on your elbows as an impossibly loud peel of thunder rolled deeply, rumbled in your chest. The cousin flash of lightning lit up the room in a bright white blue on its heels. 

All you could focus on was the way Tyler took you in—his eyes scanning you, pupils blown wide—rousing that hollow clench between your legs. 

Your eyes flickered down to the offending jeans, belt buckled and a dull shine in the low light. 

You bit your bottom lip, hard. You weren’t above begging Tyler for his cock. You knew he liked it—liked when you were pleading for the stretch of him, your desperation turning to something nearly feral when he gave you what you needed. 

He shook his head, as if the question were ridiculous, undeserving of an answer. Then, his knee sank into the mattress between your thighs and his mouth caught yours—hungry, open, stealing the breath right from your chest. 

“Sweetheart, I could be half-dead and I’d still crawl after you.” 

He was kissing you again, slow, deep—like he could stay there, between your thighs for the rest of his life and die happy. As if he could live off your breath and the sounds you made for him alone. 

When he finally pulled back, he hovered, his heavy breaths mingling with your own as his hips pressed down, just enough to let you feel him. The hard line of his readiness, still clothes, still infuriatingly distant. 

“Ty,” you whispered, your breath catching as he pressed again, a long drag against your core. 

You felt the smirk on his mouth as his lips ghosted your jaw, your throat. “What do you need, baby?” he murmured, voice ragged, just this side of ruined, a step away from losing control. “Tell me.” 

You arched beneath him, restless, chasing the friction. “You,” you huffed. “I need you.” 

But he didn’t move. Not yet. His hand drifted down between your bodies, found your wetness, stroked once, then twice in lazy circles. “Need me how?” 

You bit back the delirious moan as he slowly slid a finger into you, offering a long, languid stroke and then another before adding a second finger. He curled them inside you, searching for the spot that made you see actual fucking stars.  

“Like this?” 

Your mind was on fire, so unsure of what sensation to lend attention to that you almost didn’t register the sound of his belt coming off. 

“Like this?” he repeated, voice thick with heat, curling his fingers again in a slow, devastating rhythm. 

Your mouth fell open, a strangled noise slipping free. You were far too gone to be embarrassed by it. 

You were shaking your head before the words caught up. “N-no,” you managed, even as your hips bucked into his hand, chasing more, always chasing him. “Fuck, Ty. I—,” a moan ripped through you, “I need you. Please. Baby. Inside of me. Need to feel you. Please.” 

He pulled his fingers from you as he tugged off his jeans with a groan, almost as though the pressure of them was too much now.  

Even in the dimness of the room, you could see the darkened patch on the material of his boxers. 

He cursed low—deep and guttural—as he shoved the boxers down just enough, his cock springing free, flushed and hard, leaking at the tip. He braced one arm beside your head, the other wrapping around your thigh, lifting, spreading, possessing. 

You barely breathed. 

And then he was there—right there—rubbing the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, teasing the glide of it through your slick folds, but not pushing in. Not yet. 

“Goddamn, baby,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re so fucking ready for me.” 

You whined—actually whined—and that’s what did it. 

He sank into you in one long, slow thrust, your bodies slotting together like gravity had pulled him home. The stretch was everything—just the way you remembered, just the way you dreamed it would be when he was gone. 

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, hips trembling as he held himself still, buried deep, as if he were trying to regain some control. “You have no idea how good you feel…” 

You clenched around him—reflexive, greedy—and felt the sharp jerk of his hips in response, a muttered curse punched against your throat. 

His breath stuttered above you.  

“Jesus. Baby, I’m trying to—” he broke off, eyes shut tight like he could breathe the edge away. “—slow down.” 

But your body didn’t want slow. It wanted all of him. Yesterday. 

You rolled your hips once, wicked, a deliberate grind, and his restraint shattered like glass. 

He was everywhere. 

The weight of him above you, the stretch of him inside you, the gravel in his voice rasping low in your ear—that’s it, baby, just like that—pulling you closer to the edge with every thrust. 

Your body trembled, arching into him, chasing the drag of his cock, slick and perfect, dragging over every place you needed him most. The rhythm had turned punishing in its precision—each stroke purposeful, hitting that spot deep inside you that made your vision blur. 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. 

Only feel. 

“Ty—” It came out strangled, broken by a moan. “Tyler, I’m—” 

“I know,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours again, his hips never faltering. “I feel it. Let go for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

Your hands clung to his back, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin. Your legs were shaking, the pleasure cresting so violently it almost hurt—tightening like a fist in your gut. 

And then— 

He shifted, angled just right, and with one hard thrust that hit deep, his thumb found your clit, circling fast and tight. 

It was over. 

Your orgasm crashed over you with a force that stole your breath—your cry sharp, your whole body going rigid beneath him as you shattered around him, your walls pulsing, clenching, holding him in a vice that tore a low curse from his throat. 

“Fuck, baby—”  

He barely got the words out before he was right there with you. 

His hips stuttered, lost their rhythm, and then he buried himself to the hilt, groaning into your neck as he came hard, hot, his body trembling as you took every last pulse of it from him. 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just your hearts, pounding against each other, your breath tangled between kisses, your bodies locked in a kind of aftershock. 

Tyler didn’t pull away. Didn’t speak. 

He just held you tighter, like the space between your bodies was the only safe place on earth, fingers tangled in your hair. You could feel his heartbeat against your ribs, wild and full. 

“Ice cubes, huh?” He murmured between breathless presses of ginger kisses just under your ear. “We’re keepin’ those up here from now on.” 

tags, bb!

sorry if I missed any! ask in the comments and i'll add you!

@mrsevans90 @avengersfan25 @obsessed-fan-alert @lunatygerqueen @khouse712

@yuckosworld @alipap3 @writergirl28 @tgmreader @qutequeersstuff

@cardi-bre91 @lovelylndskies @queenslandlover-93 @marvelouslyme96 @malindacath

@anglophileforlife @kmc1989 @shawnsblue @theladyforlorn

[absinthe-over-tea]

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 5 - 3.7k <<start at the beginning • prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader quick synopsis: When Langdon leaves The Pitt for rehab, Robby hires you as a new senior resident. Meeting Jack on your first day spirals into a year of almosts and miscommunication — all you know is either way this goes, it's going to hurt. Inspired by Hurt by Jasmine Jethwa. tags/warnings: angst, will-they-won't-they, unspecified age gap (older man/younger woman), canon-typical death, probably an insulting number of medical inaccuracies but Google only tells you so much, Jack is taking Robby's title for Sad Boy™ this week, Jack's POV a/n: We are earning that will-they-won't-they, y'all. Thank each and every one of you who have read, liked, reblogged or commented on this fic. It's been amazing jumping back into writing, and I'm blown away at the response to my first-ever x reader fic! Sorry this one's a little late — work was a hellscape this week. Pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! Not beta read.

Jack was pretty sure the universe was taunting him. 

It had been hard enough to stay away from you when you were on day shifts and you only shared the hospital for a few minutes each day. Then, you got moved to night shift because Robby needed to keep an eye on fucking Frank Langdon. 

He’d tried to keep his distance as best he could, respect your boundaries. You’d made it clear on your first day on the night shift — you were interested in a professional relationship with one another, and that was it. 

But you were so fucking good. Impressive. Quick on your feet. Compassionate. Funny. You had the entire ED wrapped around your pretty little finger, and all he could do was watch from afar as you built connections with everyone in his department but him. 

Then the night of that fucking Marine came.

The cops said it had been a convenience store robbery attempt gone wrong. She’d tried to stop the guy, talk him down from hurting the old man behind the counter, and he’d panicked. Turned on her instead. 

Four lacerations, one puncturing a lung and another nicking the abdominal aorta. She’d already lost well over a liter of blood by the time she’d gotten to the hospital. Anyone else, and Jack would have called it immediately. But she was so young. Had survived god knows what overseas just to be killed for being at the wrong place at the wrong time? For trying to protect someone else? 

He always had a hard time reconciling a vet dying on his table. War made sense to him, even if the reasons we shipped people off to it didn’t. The death and destruction, it was every bit as devastating regardless of where it happened. But there was a logic to it happening in war at the hands of an IED or a sniper, at least in Jack’s mind. 

He had a principle to hold onto. They died for their country, they knew the risks they signed up for, every soldier would willingly sacrifice themselves for what they are fighting for. Maybe it was just a lie he told himself — he’d long passed the time in his life when he was an idealist about the motives and practices of the U.S. military industrial complex. But it was something. This? This was nonsensical. Meaningless. A reminder that he was alive when so many in his old unit weren’t. A reminder that just because he survived his tours didn’t mean he’d survive tomorrow. 

It always got him stuck in his head, stuck in 2007 in a desert field hospital. 

Of course, you’d witnessed every second. His failure to save her, and his failure to step away. And then you’d gone and intercepted him at the foot of the stairs, too. Jack honestly wasn’t sure if he was immensely grateful you’d refused to let him be alone or disappointed to be pulled away from the doorway to the roof. 

Either way, he was powerless to do anything but follow you out to his truck. 

“Keys,” you prompted, voice somehow both soft and unyielding. You held out your hand in expectation. He should have argued with you. He was perfectly capable of driving himself, and it would mean leaving your car here. But he found himself handing over his keys without a fight. 

The drive to your place was silent aside from the low drone of the radio. Later, Jack would kick himself for not taking the opportunity to watch you in his space — take in how you drove his GMC like you were born behind the wheel, posture relaxed and fingers tapping quietly in rhythm with the music. 

But his mind was elsewhere. Busy replaying every second the Marine — Taylor, he’d learned her name was — was in front of him. Should he have applied more pressure, why did it take him so long to figure out her aorta had been nicked, why couldn’t he have just cauterized the wounds to stop the bleeding first and ask questions later like he would have done had they been in a warzone, why even attempt to wait for surgery, maybe he should have said to hell with Walsh’s critiques and just plugged the holes with his damn fingers, why the fuck didn’t she just run? 

He knew the answers, deep down. Pressure wouldn’t have helped a collapsed lung, there was no way to know an artery was nicked without seeing or feeling it, cauterization came with risk of infection and you couldn’t cauterize a goddamn lung or an aorta, this wasn’t a warzone (and thank god for that), Walsh had the best hands in the building, she wouldn’t have been a Marine if she’d ran away from someone who needed her. 

But knowing and feeling weren’t synonymous. The weight on his chest wouldn’t let up, and when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the eyes of her husband when he told him the love of his life was dead. So he stared blankly ahead while he started the analysis all over again. 

Jack was pulled from his thoughts when the passenger door opened. You lived in a highrise, which somewhat shocked him. Didn’t seem like your type of place. You don’t actually know her outside of the hospital, he reminded himself. Part of him disagreed with that. He felt like he did know you, like he’d known you for far longer than he actually had. Then again, he’d already proven once that he wasn’t foolproof at reading you, so what did he know? 

“Living room is through there, bathroom is down the hall to the right,” you said, opening the door wide to let him in first. You slipped your shoes off before stepping fully inside, picking them up and placing them in a shoe cabinet in the entryway once the door was shut and locked. His eyes snagged down to his own feet, to the tactical boots he still wore most shifts.

Of course, you noticed his gaze. “Oh, don’t feel like you have to. I really only do it out of habit. Strict parents and all that.” You huffed out a laugh at that statement, but there was something off about it. Like it was a defense mechanism rather than genuine. 

“I don’t mind,” he assured, crouching down to untie his boots. He realized suddenly that he didn’t know if you knew, if you’d ever seen his prosthetic before. “It’s just-” But you cut him off before he could finish stammering out an admission about the metal that you’d see in place of the lower part of his right leg. 

“Jack, seriously. Most prosthetics are made to be worn with shoes. If it’s easier to keep them on, keep them on.” You said it so casually, attention already shifted away from him to the now open fridge door. So you did know. 

He made his way over to one of the barstools arranged at your kitchen island, setting his bag down on the stool next to him and watching as you pulled out a carton of eggs, bacon and strawberries from the fridge. 

“I didn’t realize you knew.” He didn’t specify, but he knew you’d understand. 

“Heather told me, back when I first started,” you admitted, and Jack could see a slight flush color the tops of your cheeks. You didn’t meet his eyes, almost seeming embarrassed — though Jack didn’t understand what there was for you to feel embarrassed about. He didn’t advertise the prosthetic at work most of the time, but it also wasn’t a secret. 

“You never mentioned.” 

“Neither did you. I didn’t think it was any of my business.” He was grateful for the sentiment, a rarity at The Pitt where gossip might as well be its own form of currency. But part of him wanted it to be your business, wanted you to make everything about him your business. 

“This will take a minute — I’m unfortunately faster with a suture kit than a skillet,” you deftly changed the subject with a wry smile. 

“Would you like some help?” Jack was far from a savant in the kitchen, but he didn’t want you to think you had to cook for him. 

“No, no. I promised you breakfast and a view, and I’m a woman of my word.” You gestured to the doorway that led to the living room. “Go make yourself at home out on the balcony. As much as I hate this apartment sometimes, the sunrise is admittedly pretty great.” 

You all but shooed him out of the kitchen, and he figured you must not want the audience.

Jack let himself linger in your living room, allowing himself to be distracted by taking in every single detail of your space. It was tastefully decorated, a cream sectional with perfectly placed throw pillows against one wall and a matching end table and coffee table set. A reading chair sat under a curved lampshade in the opposite corner next to bookshelves that were near bursting. 

He smiled to himself at the mental image of you curled up with a blanket and a book in that chair, hair pulled up in that same messy bun you always kept it in at work, eyes flying through the words on the page in front of you like they did a patient chart. 

He was a little disappointed that you didn’t have any photos framed, on the walls or otherwise. Nothing to tell him about the people you spent time with other than the Pitt crew or your family. In fact, looking around the room, it was almost as if the reading corner was the only part of the room that actually felt lived in. Maybe you’d recently moved or something. 

Jack eventually made his way out to the small balcony. You hadn’t been kidding about the view of the skyline. The sun was just peaking above the buildings in downtown Pittsburgh across the river. 

Alone with his own thoughts again, Jack’s mind went back to Taylor. How this was the first morning her husband would be waking up without her. It’d be the first time she didn’t go through her morning routine, whatever it had been. It’d be the first time the home she and her husband had shared would be quiet in the morning without her puttering around and getting ready. 

He leaned over with his forearms against the balcony railing, eyes aggressively held shut to hold back the wetness forming behind them. 

Jack knew intimately how loud that silence was. After his wife died, he used to have the TV or police scanner on constantly. Anything to drown out the quiet. A decade later, and he still felt the loss in those first few moments of silence in the mornings between him opening his door and his police scanner being turned on as background noise while he readied for sleep. 

Inhale, two, three, four. Hold, two three four. Exhale, two three four. Hold, two, three, four. It was a tip his therapist had taught him, a way to regulate his nervous system when emotions threatened to overwhelm him, to keep himself from falling apart. 

A hand smoothed over his shoulder, and he immediately straightened in alarm. 

“It’s just me,” you said softly, pulling your hand back. He missed the sensation, the warmth he could feel even through the layers of his scrub top and undershirt, as soon as it was gone. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I guess you didn’t hear me calling your name. Breakfast’s ready.” 

He nodded absently and followed you back inside. You’d put music on, lyrics playing low over the stereo. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who didn’t love the quiet. 

Two plates were waiting at the small breakfast nook off to the side of the kitchen, piled with sausage, eggs, fruit and toast. A matching mug sat steaming next to one of the plates, your sticker-clad water bottle you always had within reach during shifts next to the other.

You padded over to the bench, curling your legs underneath you as you sat. He sat in the chair opposite of you. Took a cautious sip of the mug you’d obviously prepared for him and tasted chamomile tea lightly sweetened with honey instead of coffee. How you knew that was his typical end-of-shift drink, he had no idea. 

He’d expected an interrogation once you started eating. You weren’t typically one to hold back when you had questions, and he knew there were a million ping-ponging around in that beautiful head of yours. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you held a paperback book open on the table in front of you with one hand and ate with the other. He got the sense that you weren’t ignoring him, but rather giving him space. Allowing him peace without loneliness.  

The entire scene was oddly domestic, intimate in a way that twisted at something in Jack’s chest. A longing he hadn’t experienced in a very long time before you’d waltzed into his life. 

When you both finished eating, you dog-eared your page and set your book aside, got up and took both of your plates to the sink. Jack shifted to get up and help, but you just placed that hand on his shoulder again, silently telling him to stay put. 

He watched you as you rinsed the plates, placed them in the dishwasher and walked back to the table to grab his mug. There were so many things he wanted to say, felt he should say. Thank you for breakfast. I’m sorry for being such shit company. I didn’t know just how badly I didn’t want to be alone after last night. I tried my best not to, but I think I fell in love with you anyway. 

You broke the silence before he could force any words past the lump lodged in his throat, though, once again saving him from himself. “You don’t have to talk about it,” you said, your hand once again finding his shoulder as you made your way past him again. All he could do was look up at you, meeting those eyes that held more kindness toward him than he felt he deserved. “But I want you to know that I’m here. If you need me.” 

And god, he did need you. Desperately. Rules and propriety and all sense of self preservation be damned. 

When he didn’t say anything, you gave him a small smile and his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before starting to move away. His hand reached out, fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you there, closing his eyes and leaning his head against your arm. Needing more of your warmth, more of you. 

You let out an exhale, gingerly turning in his grasp until you were facing him. Your other hand came up to tenderly weave through his hair. The soothing sensation of your fingertips against his scalp forced a low hum to leave him as he leaned deeper into your embrace. 

He used the hand still clutching to your wrist to drag you in front of him. He just needed more of you, more of that unending warmth that was slowly chasing away that bone-deep cold that had taken over him throughout the night. 

You let him, not saying anything as his forehead rested against your abdomen and his hands landed on the backs of your lower thighs, keeping you there for him to lean against. Any second now, you’d pull away. You’d reassert the boundaries you’d drawn months ago. But he’d take whatever comfort you’d allow him in the meantime, holding onto you like you were his only mooring in a storm. 

“Survived a damn war and then murdered five minutes from home,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely loud enough to be heard. “She had her whole life ahead of her. And now she’s gone, another full life lost, and I’m still here left trying to figure out why.” 

He felt the way your arms tightened around him, how your body curved just slightly over him. Sheltering him. “Oh, Jack.” 

It was the way you said his name, like hearing him in pain hurt you, that broke the fucking dam. Hot tears he’d been holding back for the better part of five hours streamed down his face, and he let out an audible sob. 

You didn’t pull away, just held onto him as his shoulders shook and his fingers dug into the backs of your legs to keep him anchored. His ears were ringing too loud for him to hear you, but he could feel the vibrations of your voice speaking to him. 

For the first time in years, maybe in over a decade, he let himself be held while he lost it. He didn’t try to be strong and he didn’t try to hold back the tears and he didn’t try to rationalize away the anger and sadness and bone-breaking guilt. Instead, he allowed you to hold the broken pieces together for him. Let himself need you. 

With every pass of your fingers through his hair and every fresh wave of tears that he let your shirt absorb, he felt a little bit more of the pain slowly start to drain until all he felt was numbness and overwhelming exhaustion. 

Once his fingers unclenched themselves from your skin, you stood a little straighter. Your hands coaxed him to look up at you, and he noticed that your own eyes were a little glassy. He opened his mouth to apologize for upsetting you, but you shook your head. Used your thumbs to gently and painstakingly wipe any remaining tears from his cheeks. 

“I should go,” he said finally, and god, his voice was wrecked. 

“Absolutely not,” you protested, your own voice resolute. “You’re exhausted and in no state to drive. You’re staying; I have a guest room with black out curtains and a perfectly comfortable bed.” You left no room for argument, and he would have found the defiant glint in your eye daring him to challenge you adorable under different circumstances. 

Maybe it was a testament to just how tired Jack was that he didn’t fight you on it. Or, maybe it was a testament to the grip you had on his heart. He couldn’t recall ever putting up much of a fight when it came to you. 

You showed him to your guest bathroom, pointing out where he could find towels and a still-packaged spare toothbrush. You told him to leave his hospital clothes in the hamper and you’d put them in the wash with your own. 

He savored the feel of the hot water and the smell of your soap, and by the time he stepped across the hall and into your guest room wearing the spare tshirt and boxers he always kept in his go-bag, you’d already drawn the curtains, turned down the top sheet and duvet, and set out a glass of water with three ibuprofen on the bedside table. A small alarm clock radio was turned to some sports broadcast, as if she somehow knew he’d need the noise, and the only light in the room was coming from the warm light of a lamp on the opposite side of the bed. 

Once again, he was struck with the casual intimacy of it all. To be taken care of in this effortless sort of way, like there was nothing else you would be doing with your morning other than making sure he didn’t lose himself. 

For a split second, he saw a version of what his life could be like with you laid out in front of him. 

Working night shifts together before leaving the hospital arm in arm, quiet drives back to your shared space, breakfasts and morning bedtime routines before shuffling into bed together. Your fingers in his hair chasing away his worst nights, and his mouth chasing away yours. Falling asleep curled up next to you, the radio a quiet lull in the background. Waking up the same way. 

It was so close he felt like could reach out and grab it, this future he knew he didn’t deserve and thought he’d lost forever. So when you went to leave, telling him you’d give him some privacy and bidding him a soft goodnight, he let himself reach out and grab your hand. 

“Stay,” he begged. “You were right, I… I don’t want to be alone.” 

When he met your eyes, he expected to find hesitation. Maybe even pity. But instead, he was met with an inexplicable expression shining in those beautiful, striking eyes of yours. It almost seemed like something close to hope. 

“Let me take a shower and brush my teeth real quick. I’ll be right back,” you promised. You squeezed the hand that was still holding onto yours before letting go and stepping back through the door. 

Jack took the opportunity to go through the routine of taking off his prosthetic — he hadn’t put his liner back on after the shower for the short walk across the hall — and massaging the tissue around his scar. He also downed the full glass of water you’d left him and all three ibuprofen. By the time he was done 10 minutes later, you were cautiously padding back into the room, face bare, hair down and clad in an old, oversized tshirt and pajama shorts. 

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, one knee propped on the bed. As if there was a universe where he’d rather be alone than next to you. 

He nodded and you crawled the rest of the way under the covers, leaning over to switch off the lamp. You were both turned toward each other, and he reached out, searching for you in the now dark room, wanting you as close as you’d allow him.

“Is this okay?” Suddenly, he was the one hesitant, not sure where the lines were anymore. 

You curled into him willingly, head fitting seamlessly into the crook of his shoulder and a hand coming up to curl against his chest. “Yeah. It’s okay.” 

He inhaled deeply, the scent of your vanilla bourbon lotion flooding his senses, and the remaining tension fully melted from his body with his exhale. Sleep overtook him before he even finished taking his next breath.

[satowooo]

i. imgonnagetyouback

The one and only son of the Gojo clan had fallen quite hard, completely and utterly, to a lowly woman who came from the dirt, and got his heart broken by her. Years had passed, he was still as angry since the day you left, but he only wanted you back.

contents. modern au, gojo satoru x reader, angst, not proofread.

Whether I'm gonna curse you out or take you back to my house, I haven't decided yet but I'm gonna get you back

next chapter

It was pathetic. The sight of Gojo Satoru, a well-respected son of the Gojo clan, was down on his knees right in front of you, begging you to stay, a daughter of a mere servant.

It made him look pitiful and weak, a miserable prince who had his heart shattered by a low class woman like you. But he didn't really give it that much of a thought, ever since he first laid eyes on you. He didn't care what people might've said from the very first time, and he proved it to you a million times as he stubbornly and desperately showed you how much he loves and adores you. So, begging down on his knees is not that much of a deal now, no?

“Stand up, please.”

But you were firm, closing your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. You hated seeing him like this, but you were left with no other choice. Your love for him could risk even the dangers of your life, and you were sacrificing him to save him.

“I do not wish to be with you any longer, Young Master.” You said, uttering his title in a whisper. “What we had was wrong. It was a mistake on my side. And I thought I was in love with you, but it was just a pathetic infatuation and I realised that another man best suits me, and it's not you.”

Your words were nonstop, every single thing that you uttered was shattering his heart into pieces. But Satoru furiously shakes his head, his hands trembling on your lap as his forehead falls on your knees.

“T-that’s not… T-that's not true…”

You remembered everything from that day. Every little detail, every word, every touch, every action, of what had happened stayed forever in your mind. It never fails to shatter you. To make you cry every single time that you thought about him as you lie in the confinements of your small room.

“I have done what you asked for. What else do I need to do–” A whimper escaped your lips as a hand flew over your cheek. Breathing heavily, you felt the sting on your skin as you looked back at the person who had been the cause of your pain.

“Pack your things, and never show your face again.”

Gojo Satoru haunted your dreams and nightmares. He managed his way in your heart, and refused to leave. He was the ghost of your tragic love story, you could only wish that you never should've picked up the pen. It's already been two years since you left, and even until now, your heart only beats for one man and it will always be for Satoru.

So what are you going to do when he comes up at your door, claiming what used to be his?

It all happened so fast that your head can't fathom how you ended back to the place of your nightmares. The Gojo clan's mansion. The place where it all started between the two of you.

Every corner of this place was filled with memories of you and Satoru, all the good and bad. But what you remembered most was the torture, the consequences you had faced for falling in love. You felt like all your scars were slowly tearing apart, opening the wound that was almost healed as you looked back to the man who stood in front of you.

You never should've been back in this place.

“I expect you to work immediately.” Satoru's voice was different. It was laced with authority and demand, not the sweet ones that you remember back when he was yours. “Remember, your family is in the palm of my hands. Try to escape, and you'll face the consequences.”

His eyes looked at you with anger, a pent up emotion that he bottled up all these years. His hands were balled on a fist by his sides, almost trembling, but he wouldn't let you see just how much you still have an effect on him.

Right now, all he feels is anger and hatred for what you did. For leaving him. For running off with another man. For loving him only to break his heart. For letting him hold on to your empty promises.

For those two years, he only loathed you and he's not going to be a forgiving man, he'll make sure you regret. He'll make you beg on his knees, the way he did for you.

“I expect you to be in my office in five.”

Now, you're back to square one. Working as his maid was already bad enough back then, so what's going to happen now that you're back to serve him again?

You can't help but notice how much he changed. Somehow, you can tell that he was still the same, only that he was only mad at you. It was obvious already how he's showing indifference only to you but not to anyone else. His bubbly personality that used to welcome you with warm embraces is now replaced with an angry demeanour of a man who cold-heartedly took you away from your family and took you back to the house where you suffered.

How unfair.

This was not your Satoru.

As soon as Satoru turned around and left you standing, he heaved out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. His heart felt like it was trying to escape from his chest. For the first time since you left, he finally felt his heart beating again.

All throughout those years that you were gone, he relentlessly looked for you. Trying to search your face in unfamiliar places, sometimes getting himself into trouble when he mistakes someone for you. Everyday, he was turning angrier and angrier when you never showed up, while all he needed was proper answers and explanations. He hated all the memory that you had left, and how it tore him to pieces that all of it was just a lie.

He couldn't believe you had the nerve. A woman like you with no name for herself, telling him that a relationship with him was just a mistake as you sought another man. Gojo Satoru was everything anyone could have asked for, so how dare a woman like you? How dare a woman he loved…

Everything comes crashing down into his mind once again. From the first time he saw you and how you've caught his eye. His heart starts to beat frantically, his breath caught into his chest, his tongue tied together. Satoru slumps into his chair as he closes his eyes, letting the memory sink in.

“Who is that woman?” Satoru asked an older servant, seeing your unfamiliar face walking around the garden in a maid uniform as he stared down at you from his window.

“That's [M/L/N]’s daughter. She's here to take her place while her mother is recovering.” The servant answered as she poured him tea.

Satoru watched as you walked quietly, your movements looked calculated and careful. He watched your finger touch a ragged cloth, gracefully cleaning the dirty tables.

From afar, he can see how your skin looked soft and pale. You were a bit thin and looked weak. He can only assume that he could break you with one twist.

Your face didn't have any emotion in it which intrigued him. Even your lips were downturned, like you hated every second of working in his place. You caught his attention in a matter of seconds, a curiosity growing inside him while he watched your every move.

He noticed the way your mood changed when his family's dog, a small golden retriever, came running to you. A smile formed into your face and he swore he could feel all the flowers blooming all around the place. Everything seemed to have lighted up, his heart began to drum in his chest as you kneeled down to the dog, petting and rubbing the cute animal between your hands.

What's so fascinating about you?

He swallowed hard. Satoru felt like a teenage boy realising that he was staring a little too hard. He felt like a stalker for watching you, shivering at his thoughts.

But he wanted to meet you. Something was pulling him to be close to your presence. A magnetic force was drawing him to come near, and it was the very first time that he ever felt like this.

But he'll take his time first. For now, he's going to settle on just watching you from afar, memorising every detail of you, until he is ready.

A knock on the door woke Satoru back to his senses. He straightened up on his seat, erasing the memories out of his head as he coughed. “Come in.”

But how can Satoru completely forget?

You walked inside in your maid uniform, the same dress that you used to wear, and it only took Satoru a matter of seconds for all your pasts to remind him of how much he loved you. He felt a pain in his chest, and for a moment, he wanted to fall back on his knees and beg for you to love him again. But even you had changed.

Satoru was also back to square one. He looks at you, reminded of the first time he had seen your face. The lack of emotion, the frown, the gaze that used to intimidate him, and the wall you had built between the two of you was palpable.

“Take a seat.” Satoru gestured over the chair in front of his table.

He watched you carefully as you stepped inside his office, striding forward with a sense of hurry as you obviously refused to seat. You stood in front of him, an emotion in your eyes that he can't seem to read.

“I have to get back to my family–”

“They are fine.” Satoru immediately cut you off, his voice ringing over your ear. He looked at you with a glare, venom laced in his voice as he says, “You are bound to stay here, as I said so–”

“You can't keep me here!”

Your scream shocked the both of you, but Satoru kept a straight face as he stood up slowly. He chuckled with malice, staring at your helpless state.

“What makes you say that I can't?” He smirked. “I own you now. Every single thing that's yours is also mine, even your family.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, your hands trembling at your side. Your knees felt weak underneath his gaze, burning and crushing your soul.

Everything he said was true. You were in so much debt ever since you left the Gojo mansion, your family almost falling apart if he didn't show up to take you. And now he's claiming every single bit of what's yours, not leaving a single piece behind.

Satoru made it clear when he took you here. He'll pay for everything to save you and your family. Your mother's hospital bill, your father's gambling debts, your brother's education, their food, house, electricity, and all their livings, because you couldn't pay them off by yourself.

So now you're trapped. He's got you wrapped around his fingers.

“You need me, Y/N.” You closed your eyes at his voice, shaking your head in denial. “You can't afford to live without me, and that's the truth.”

It was the truth, Satoru taking her away from her old life.

You were doing just fine when he was gone. But now you don't know anymore.

this is the part 1 of my mini (?) gojo series! i hope you'd like it and anticipate for what's next to come 🥺🫶🏻 [M/L/N] also stand for "mother's last name" in case you didn't knowww ^.^ I also hoped you understood the flashbacks and such.

this is just a prologue of the main story, sooo the real story starts at part 2.

[midnightshindig]

So I'm not sure if your requests are open, so feel free to ignore this

Could I have a magical girl reader with nolan? You know those memes where the most powerful thing in media is friendship, so why not have the embodiment of friendship take revenge for her friends

Like maybe they were even buddy buddy themselves

You can decide if this is like a romantic type setting or not, along with if she kills him or not

Nolan & Magical Girl! Reader

since magical girls are usuaully (although NOT always!!) High schoolers, I decided it would be a conflict of interest for there to be romance, but dw I gotchu!

I just watched the pilot for "I dont' want to be a magical girl" (GOOOOO watch it if you haven't the VA is hilarious and the animatic is so good and comedy is punctual as hell) so that might influence this a little

hcs under the cut!

"Nolaaannnn!!" You come barreling at him, tackling him into a hug

You're older than your title would suggest, being in your mid twenties by now

but you've been doing this magical girl shit since you were fourteen, so don't underestimate you!

Either way, this prlongued career introduced you to Nolan, the batman to your sailor moon

It's giving "I think we have to kill this guy, Y/n." "Aw shucks...."

This has been the dynamic of your friendship for the last five or so years, meeting through a kaiju battle on the sea bordering Japan.

Since then the two of you regularly team up when he's in your part of the world

He won't lie, he finds your bright and bubbly nature charming

plus I mean come on, Magic Magic Starship beam? hilarious.

Your magic comes from a magical mascot and its all super cute and whatever

Nolan doesn't like it

and it doesn't like Nolan.

And it won't tell you why it doesn't like Nolan, just that he seems too familiar

But who cares!! You two have fun, he's a good fighter, plus, you're pretty sure you're breaking through to him

"Power of friendship? That's where your power comes from?" He asks incredulously, taking a bite of his burger as the two of you fly around Japan

"Mmmhm!" You beam back at him "I know it sounds corny, but it's true. The power generated due to human connection and community is what gives me my abilities. It's a very powerful thing, you know, friendship." You took a sip of your milkshake, shifting to be flying on your back lazily "I think our friendship is my favorite, though."

Nolan coughed "us? Friends? I'm sorry Y/n but I don't have friends."

"Ugh this again- Omniman come onnnnn you and me are best buds! Get over yourself and let me love youuuu" You tease, squishing your cheeks together dramatically

Nolan rolls his eyes, finishing of his burger and dropping the wrapper into the sky "Race you to Shibuya? I'm picking up Sushi for my wife for dinner, special request, she likes a restaurant there."

You roll your eyes back, with a smile "Yeaahhhh sure, but if I win you have to buy me some too!!"

He grins, knowing it won't happen "Okay- Go!"

You've already started, but It won't matter

he's stronger and faster than you'll ever be

This doesn't matter much, though, and you keep fighting together

culminating in one particular fight with a particularly evil space princess

"Oh god not this bitch..." you mutter under your breath, before tightening your grip on your magic wand

"Friend of yours?" Nolan asks, approaching from the other side of the world "I was in the area" he lies

you can tell, but choose not to say anything

"Yeah, she's like convinced she'd my sister and wants me to help her take over the Earth."

Nolan's ears prick up at this

Take over the Earth?

Not on his watch.

He allows you to fight the woman for an extended period of time, staying benched until it appears the woman might kill you

"It was good knowing you, Y/n. I wish you could've joined my side..." her own magical beam charges, aimed at your head

and Nolan panics a little

He could easily kill her after she kills you

it would save him the effort of having to kill you himself later

but the pang in his heart won't let him, and before he knows it, he's got the space princess by the throat, flying so fast he breaks the sound barrier into space

Once out of earshot, he pulls the princess close "The Earth isn't yours to conquer. And if you ever come back, or lay your hands on Y/n again, I will fucking kill you and your entire people."

He returns to Earth to check on you, finding you right where he left you

"Awwwww you big sap, you worried about me!" You beam up at him, as he carries you to a hospital

"Of course not, don't be silly."

"Oh cmonnnnn we're friends after all!"

He sighs a deep, reluctant sigh "Yeah, okay. You're right, I'm your friend."

"and I'm yourrsssssssss" You grinned, loopy from the pain

"Yeah... sure." Nolan relented "I'm your friend."

It's a couple years later, and you're pushing twenty eight when Nolan tries to take over the world

You'd been retired for a year or two at this point, but how could you sit at home and watch this happen?

Ugh- you'd even need the support of your old teammates, who you called frantically

thankfully, they saw the news and had the same idea

So a five person magical girl group of late 20's women go to help Mark as they make their way to the scene of the fight

Well it doesn't matter because Nolan CRASHES right into your crew, Mark under him as the two fight

"Okay ladies, lend me your strength!"

"Wait, Y/n did we just come here so you can power u-"

"YES MEI NOW LEND ME YOUR STRENGTH-!" You grit out with a smile

"okay, jesus...."

So you like smile magic princess baja blast the shit out of Nolan, which only serves to get his attention

"Y/n? What are you doing here? Get out of here!" He yelled, venom in his voice and blood (not his own) dripping off of his face and fists

"Not until you stop being an asshole, Omniman!"

"IM SERIOUS Y/N GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

You glared at him "IM serious, stop now."

He stood up, holding Mark down with his foot as he faced you "You don't want to do this."

He wasn't leaving you much of a choice "You're right," tears welled in your eyes "I don't."

Taking your magical wand in your hands, you began to twirl it, the girls on your team recognizing the move with deadly perception. You'd only used it once.

The air around you began to swirl into a vortex, the girls on your team funneling behind you to avoid the blast

You could only hope it missed the boy.

"I CAST: MAGIC OF FRIENDSHIP-"

(god Idk how to write action bear with me)

and it NUKES The guy.

NUUUUUUKES THE GUY

Nolan? Dead. BONES.

You descend to ground level, pulling the-- thankfully alive-- Mark from the rubble

"Hey- thank you. Uhm.... fuck..." Mark is bloody and bruised and barely able to talk, close to passing out

you pull Mark up, carrying him like how Nolan carried you, to the hospital.

It's a bittersweet memory...

I guess you weren't friends after all.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

You Will Stop the Wedding! - Leona Kingscholar

SUMMARY: YOU were the one being kidnapped by Princess Eliza to marry her. How would he react and how would he save you? With the aggravation of he already having a crush on you.

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar  x Reader

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Declaration

WORD COUNT: 870 words

Riddle Rosehearts / Leona Kingscholar / Azul Ashengrotto / Jamil Viper / Vil Schoenheit / Idia Shroud / Malleus Draconia

Rescuing You - Deuce Spade; Jack Howl; Floyd Leech; Kalim Al-Asim

COMMENTS: What have I done? Why did I commit to writing this? And why did I write so much? Why was I so inspired? There were seven of them! Why do I do this to myself? So yeah, this took me a long time. But I hope it was worth it, for me and for you.

CONTEXT: Someone was kidnapped to marry some ghost princess and might end up turning into a ghost too. And he just found out that someone was you.

Leona couldn't care less about someone being kidnapped by a delusional princess, until he finds out that the student who was kidnapped was YOU.

He shows himself to be more interested in the subject after that, which makes the other Housewardens question and some even messing with him. Probably Vil and Azul. He tells them to shut up.

He ends up not being part of the first groups, being in the last. Why? Because this is important, it is your life that is at risk after all. So he first needs to analyse those ghosts to know the best way to act. If it is necessary to risk losing pieces, then let them be pawns.

The whole time he acts like he's not doing this for you. As if he just wanted to prove that he could solve this in an instant. When it's the last group's turn, the other three who are with him end up staying behind to stall the guards. And he is the only one who can reach the ceremony hall.

And he follows the plan. He says to stop the wedding and the reason why the princess should marry him and not you is: “Unlike everyone who tried to woo you and unlike the person standing with you at the altar right now, I am actually royalty. Weren't you looking for a prince? Well, you have one right here. Now you just need to exchange that herbivore you have with you for me.”

The princess said he had good arguments, but she also showed that she didn't really like Leona's presumption.

“I apologize. I'm just trying to show you that I would be the more suited partner for you. The person you chose to be your partner doesn't even want to be there with you. Doesn't even like you.”

She gasps! And she starts to defend herself saying that it's a lie, that there is love for her in you, you just needed a little more time.

“Sorry to be the one to break the bad news to you, your Highness, but that's not how it works. It is not after marriage that love arises. It is not with money and wealth that love arises. At least not true love. You should find someone who sees beyond that. May they see you for who you are and not for what you have. Someone who doesn't care about titles. And only then, maybe marry them. Knowing that with or without your kingdom, they will stay by your side.”

The princess admits that what he says makes sense and is wonderful. But wouldn't something like that take a long time? Someone who can prove that they would stay with you no matter what. How would she know when she found them? And then, the guard who is in love with her decides to declare himself. And that whole ending of the princess realizing that she loved him too happens, they get married and happily ever after.

After everything, he took the time to brag to the others about having solved the problem and saved them all and the school. Some of the others still comment that that speech was very interesting. Maybe true? But with all his pride, he continues to say that just goes to show what a good actor he can be. He just doesn't get Vil's roles because he's not interested. “You would wish.” Vil replies.

When everyone was leaving and only the first-years were left to clean everything, Leona calls you for a minute. “So the ring ended up not being needed in the end. Tsk.” he comments “Here, you can have it.” He throws the ring towards you like throwing a coin in the air. “You never know if there are more single ghosts out there looking for a herbivore partner. Ha ha ha.”

He likes to mess with you, so you mess with him back. You say you wonder if the ghosts are the only ones who would like to have you as their partner.

“Are you implying that I'm also interested in you?” He smirks. In response, you ask why he would go to so much trouble to save someone he doesn't care about. “Did I ever say I didn't care about you?” He says, still smirking, but then adds: “Before I really know you don't count.”

Slightly fed up with all these mixed signals, you tell him that if he wants to tell you something now would be the time. Especially because if he just continues with those comments, you will simply accept the excuses he gives and understand that he really doesn't like you that way.

“Are you going to tell me that you don't like it when I'm hard to put up with?” he keeps saying with his smug face.

You turn to drop the conversation and walk away. After about three steps, he grabs your hand, stopping you and then pulling you towards him. His other hand on your waist.

“Fine, fine. What if I told you that whole speech was about you?” Maybe if he repeats it, looking into your eyes, you'll believe it. “Unfortunately for you, Savanaclaw is a dorm of actions, not words.” And he kisses your lips.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 1

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

NEXT >>

-------

"Enjoying life, Greenie?" 

Dark eyes framed by thick lashes look up with a scowl at the said Builder's voice. And here Mai had hoped for some peace and tranquility after having spent all day out in the sun pulling out weeds and listening to Zart talk incessantly about his love of plants and whatever. 

Gally stands ahead of the new boy, leaning against one of Homestead's supporting structures with the kind of grin that makes Mai want to run for it. No wonder so many new Greenies decide that the Maze is a fair chance. When Gally's out here storming through the grounds, Mai isn't quite sure that the Glade is as safe as they all make it out to be. His temper is something to be reckoned with. 

Mai's been here for only over a week and to say that it's comfortable would be a lie. It feels suffocating, all the more because of the number of people cramped into the Glade. 

Gally takes a step towards the Greenie and the latter freezes up for a second, inwardly screaming at him to go back where he comes from because god knows Mai does not want the peace created undisturbed. But seems that Gally doesn't read faces well, for he plonks himself down next to the new boy while pushing up his shirt sleeves currently caked with mud from all the hard work he's been doing around the Glade. 

The words fall from Mai's mouth without warning, "aren't you supposed to be with your Builders?" 

For a minute, Gally's eyebrows quirk up in surprise. Not a lot of people dare to stand up to him and yet, this new recruit has the kind of fire in his eyes that makes Gally smirk. Little smartass, he thinks to himself. 

"I'm their Keeper, I can do whatever I want." 

"Slacking off is also part of that job title?" 

"You've got quite a mouth on you for a Greenie." 

Mai's scowl merely deepens before he looks away. Gally's right. That's not the right way to keep a low profile here. In the Glade, hierarchy was everything and Mai is stupid to believe that Gally's interest in him excuses Mai from any sort of punishment he might have to offer. 

"Sorry," Mai mutters. 

Gally doesn't seem to mind, clapping a hand on the younger boy's back before he pulls himself back up, "Gotta go back to work Greenie. You coming?" 

Mai grumbles but does as told, already feeling the scars on his hands where he'd been pulling out weeds all morning. He just hopes that his phase with the Garden people is just what it is - a phase. There are far more fun things to be done around the Glade and unwillingly, the Greenie casts a glance back at Gally's broad back as the latter makes his way to his newest architectural invention.

Mai feels his face flush and quickly averts his gaze, knowing full well that he needs to get a hold of himself if he wants to survive in this place.

Well, she needs to get a hold of herself. 

----

Lie.

Lie to them. And to yourself.

Lie, Mai.

Those were the first few words that Mai heard echoing in the back of her brain the moment she'd stepped out of the metal box. The crowd of boys around her hadn't suspected a thing, considering that she was dressed as a boy, had close-cropped hair and was so scrawny one could barely believe a female's body laid underneath. The words were so poignant, dripping with venom of instructions, that Mai had done as told. She'd lied to them all, for the sake of safety.

And maybe that was what had saved her, in the long run.

It's complicated living in a Glade full of horny boys. Mai has to be careful because every second counts. When she goes to the toilet, for example, making up the excuse that she needs to do "a big one" as she'd mutter out to the other boys while averting her gaze elsewhere. Or when she's changing, always volunteering to go pick out weeds and quickly dropping into the Runner's chambers so she could get into fresh clothes. The biggest challenge had been the showers. It was communal and most boys didn't care at all for privacy. So Mai had to wait out in the dark. No boys enjoyed bathing in utter darkness, so night time was her best opportunity. She'd wait until everyone was drowsy enough not to realize that she was gone, scrubbing down her body in milliseconds before shoving on her new clothes.

Thankfully, the boys are either too dumb or too preoccupied with dealing with what the Maze has to offer to give her attention, and for that Mai is grateful.

"So have you decided?"

She looks up from her bowl of soup freshly made by Frypan and herself -- they'd decided to put her with the said young man for the day to see how she would fare and in all honesty, Mai thinks that this is probably the first time she's felt at ease with something -- into Alby's dark eyes.

Their leader is not one that speaks for nothing, and so everything that does come out of his mouth is of some importance.

"I definitely don't want to be a Slicer," she responds with a shrug, and takes another gulp of her soup. The leader takes a seat across from hers with an amused smile, "why not? I think it's fitting."

"Shut up Alby," she scowls at him.

"Alright alright," he lifts his hands in surrender, "considering your frame, I say we make you a Cook. Frypan needs all the help he can get anyway."

"That's offensive," Mai states, "what's wrong with my size?"

"C'mon Greenie, you're like four feet tall. You can't hold or build nothing, you suck at gardening, you've got no shuck stamina. I think the kitchen's where you belong."

"Thanks Alby, really shucking inspirational."

"You're welcome." Alby grins. Someone cries out his name then, something to do with the Runners, and he hits you lightly on the arm as he stands, "right. Off to work, shank."

Mai watches as his back shrinks with more distance, and wonders whether Alby suspects something off about her — or him. She's so careful, always double or triple checking, but she can never be too sure. Is that why he's sticking her into the kitchen where he thinks girls belong?

No, you're thinking too much into it, Mai thinks to herself. It's fine, you're doing fine.

Obviously, it's not just fine.

She busies herself all afternoon working as Frypan's assistant in the kitchen. He is easy-going and makes her feel a lot better, something about his presence reassures her, even though the close cooking quarters makes moving about impossible without touching one another. That's not something that Mai feels comfortable with, so she does try her best to avoid moving in the same direction.

Tonight is pork curry from the Slicer's last batch, paired with flavored rice and some green beans from the Track-Hoes gardens. The boys are hungry by the time evening falls and Mai busies herself by serving them one another another, until the familiar clamour of metal causes the entire Glade to freeze.

It's been a week, and yet Mai is still not comfortable hearing the gates close them in every night. The same gates keeping them from the outside. The same gates trapping them in, in a world that they can't even control.

Mai's fury burns as she thinks of it.

"Hey," she turns to see the blonde, the one that looks like an elf with features so delicate that she might swoon at the look of him. He's the next in line, amused by the fact that she seems distracted.

"O—Oh. Sorry," she quickly shoves a few pieces of Pork into his plate and loads it up with the greenbeans, "here you go."

"Thanks Greenie," he cocks his head st her curiously, "how you holding up?"

Mai shrugs, embarrassed that she can't seem to recall his name even though she knows he's second-in-command, "doing alright I suppose. Alby finally figured out what to do with me."

"Yeah I think you're better suited for it than picking out weeds. Zart wasn't impressed."

"It's not my fault your weeds seem to be ten meters long." Mai protests as a flush creeps up her neck.

Newt laughs, "I'm joking Greenie. Relax. Anyway," he lifts his plate in mock salute, "thanks for this. Hope I don't choke on it."

"Well I hope you do!" Mai yells out after him, only to add after some minor reflection, "—a little bit."

After having served all Gladers, Mai takes her own plate and tries to find a seat. Alas, the task proves itself hard upon noticing that all tables are already full. There's only one place open — and that one place is by the Runner's table.

Now, it's not that Mai wants to be rude and ignore them altogether. But the Runners only bring out the particular memory of her pathetic wheeze after having run merely a mile, deeming her not fit for the said job. That embarrassment had only made Mai want to avoid the Runners altogether if she could.

But alas, fate is not on her side today. She spots the asian boy called Minho, whose eyebrows quirk up when their eyes meet. He casts a quick glance at her tray, has a look around, before he grins and beckons her over.

"Hey Greenie," he says as soon as her butt hits her seat. His dimpled smile paired with his pretty crescent moon eyes doesn't help with her heart, "thought you'd never wanna show your shuck face around us after that run."

"Some people aren't Runners. Get over it," you say it more in a mutter but loud enough that it gets the entire table into chuckles.

"Well I think you might just be the next Frypan," another Runner says, "I'm Ben by the way."

"Mai," she responds, not enjoying the way his eyes seem to flicker over her face in thought, as if he's trying to figure out what's off with her.

Because there is something off, just not the kind that they'd expect.

"Huh, Mai." Ben tries it out on his tongue. He takes another bite of his curry, "how are you liking the glade?"

"S'alright. I just wish the Builders could maybe build us actual beds instead of having hammocks."

"Oh he said it," Minho claps Mai's back so hard she almost spits out her food, thankful he hasn't noticed when he only slings an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer, "hey Gally! Greenie here has a problem with your hammocks!"

Uh oh. Mai's horror triples as she watches the said Builder stand from his seat. Numerous eyes have swayed across tables to land on her now. Gally strides towards them slowly, a predator confident in his skin, she can't help but squirm back.

He's intimidating and scary. And yet, her stomach squeezed with an unfamiliar feeling altogether.

"You got a problem with the hammocks?"

Gally's voice brings her back to reality. Mai blinks, "uhm—no, not at all—"

"That's not what you said a few seconds ago Greenie," Minho grins, "come on. Tell him. He doesn't bite."

"He might," mutters Ben from your other side.

"Uh— I was saying how comfortable the hammocks were," Mai responds with a nervous laugh, "so yeah— good job Gally."

Gally doesn't seem convinced, but a call from Alby stating that he wishes to see the Keepers thankfully breaks the attention from Mai.

"Right," Minho quickly clears the plates  away, but not before ruffling Mai's hair as he does so, "I'll see you guys tomorrow. Try not to die Greenie."

Mai lets out a soft sigh as the asian boy makes a run for it, followed by Gally after having thrown her another glance. He doesn't say anything though and as the Glade slowly starts to die out — boys settling into their hammocks and others taking their turns in the showers — Mai is glad when no one seems to pay her attention in favor of sleep. No surprise there, considering how tiring they are after all this hard work.

She settles into her own hammock, tied up close to the elfin-looking blonde, and tries to get comfortable. The Maze walls look even larger as she stares up at them, her breath catching in her throat as she thinks of all the boys that have lived here for months without hope.

Mai falls asleep that night, dreaming of the what ifs and the endless possibilities of what the future might hold.

She just hopes that they'll make it out one day, hopes that the echoing voices at the back of her head are just that — voices.

-----

A/N: AAANd that's a wrap for the first chapter! Like I said, I'm in a TMR brainrot so don't mind me or my obsessive behaviour towards Gally in these series. And can I just say that Will Poulter has aged like fine wine. See you in the next chapter! Do let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist <3

[mdhwrites]

Anaxa: More a Genius Than a Mundanite

So I've been seeing a bit of a push and pull happening with Anaxa since he came out of people characterizing him as either a dedicated teacher who loves his students or someone who wouldn't care about them at all, both fueled by the SAME piece of promotional material. I think the truth lies somewhere inbetween, though you can probably already guess where I lie by just the title.

But also... Either version people are pushing for Anaxa are far more boring than any of the scientists/professors we have currently.

Ratio is a man who will do anything to enlighten others, going to extreme lengths to bring people to what knowledge they can have despite being pushed down by being a mundanite. Despite knowing all too well his limitations but also understanding that those limitations are what make him a person. What makes him actually care about the little guy more than-

Herta is someone who will never be satisfied. Any strides she makes for the galaxy are second to having quelled a curiosity for her. She sees her Aeon as another fascination, another thing to challenge her intellect against and something to quell her curiosity with. She is not entirely without care for human life but enlightening others is a tedium best left to others because she has better things to do with her life. Bigger things. She never actively seeks harm on others unless harm is required for those goals.

Anaxa is kind of what you get (I'm not calling him derivative though) if you take much of that thirst for knowledge, a need to be smarter than others and ruthlessness in that pursuit from Herta but give it to a man who must actually work within the systems he is a part of like Ratio. He does not have unlimited allowance to do as he pleases, though definitely would like that. By his own admission in the promotional material, his goals if he ever got the answers he wanted would be to teach... Without him being there. Tools that catch his interest to make as side projects that would indeed make others smarter but he has NO interest in teaching as his main profession.

Except.

This is where we get into the fact that Anaxa LOVES attention. So much of what people accuse Aglaea of in game is factually TRUE about Anaxa. He wants to be seen as better than others. He has desires for godhood. For complex reasons but still, that is a genuine desire of his. He loves proving other people wrong. Not elevating them, but just proving them wrong as part of proving himself right. This is why he is the Great Performer. Not just because he has to take the stage but because he delights in it. Ratio would not waste that effort with someone because he does not think so highly of himself as to want that role and this is a man who makes literal statues of himself.

And this is without getting into his methods. Now, NONE of the intellectuals in Star Rail save Screwllum are ethical people. They all fuck around with human life to one degree or another. This even extends to characters like Jade or Aglaea. This is not a contest though. What matters here is who he fucks with and how and what that says about his methodology.

We all remember how aghast Hyacine was at Anaxa's secret experiment, right? Even his trusted assistant suddenly had it revealed to her that she was a part of his experiments. That all of the Chrysos Heirs that were his students were being experimented and examined by him to further his own goals. He did not work with them. Never even gave them a clue to his intentions. Never did anything to bring them in on the fact that they were guinea pigs.

That to me is what makes him not interested in being a professor. Ratio can put down his experiments for the sake of trying to make people be less of fools. Anaxa can't. His experiments will ALWAYS come before those he is charged with taking care of and teaching. Reminder: When the Grove was under attack, he opted for getting to the Coreflame and trying to finish his experiment, because he might otherwise lose the chance, than prioritizing saving lives. He regretted those lives that were lost, he avoids harm when it is possible (much like what I said about Herta before) but that doesn't change that he still chose his experiments over those lives.

BUT.

This does not make him a bad character. In fact, it's what makes him interesting. An altruistic teacher who cares for his students? That's fine. A madman scientist who will do anything for his experiments? That's entertaining but can easily become shallow, like if Anaxa just looked down on every member of the Grove who didn't believe in the same things he did. The fact that this debate can be held at all, that he has moments like pushing Phainon to be his best self, is what makes Anaxa interesting. What makes him complex. Almost everyone I've mentioned in this blog has similar elements to them and yet he still feels distinct because of how he wades through this moral morass. His rough edges, his unlikability, is part of what makes him a good character.

If you don't like him though, and I'm not the biggest Anaxa fan, you're likely to not want to give him credit. I've heard someone back to back go "Ruan Mei is a boring, unlikable, one note monster" and then turn around and go "Ratio is great and gets a pass for what he does because he's charismatic," because if you like a character, you are going to give them more credit. You are going to allow their nuances to actually matter. Because if you don't like a character, you're probably not going to want to think about them that hard. You're just gonna want to say they're an unlikable dick.

And there is PLENTY of reasons to call Anaxa an unlikable dick. But he's more than that because HSR has good writing. See you next tale.

======+++++======

It was only putting in the tags that I realized Anaxa's name starts with the same three letters as analysis. smacks self

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[yukiiisx]

Hi babes. So like..I feel like crying today and I DESPERATELY need like an angst Gojo one-shot about yknow...him being used as a weapon- PLZZZ I BEG YOU ILYHSM HE DERSERVES SO MUCH BETTER (Luv ur work btw keep it uppp)

A/N: HEYYY ANON im sorry for posting this late i was really busy, BUT I HOPE U LIKE THIS ONE. HOPE U FEEL BETTER NOW.

Also its my first time writing angst so if theres any mistake sorryy <3

You sat in the comfort of your bedroom, looking at the time. It's already too late, he should come home by now, you thought to yourself.

The bells rings, and you find yourself moving too quickly, opening the door and seeing a messy Satoru. Hair messed up, his blue eyes looking down almost as if he's tired, his usual cheerful expression being replaced by one of exhaustion, his usual bright grin nowhere to be found. It's rare to see him like this.

You furrow your brows,"Satoru?"

"You didn't sleep? It's really late." He sighs, entering inside, it's past 2 am.

"Are you okay?" You ask as you reached out, gently touching his arm.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, voice low and hoarse, and it sounded like a lie carved into stone. "You're not." You reply, knowingly and his voice cracks,"i'm not."

And then he broke down, not loudly, not dramatically, just leaned into you engulfing his face into your chest, arms limp as you heard a choked sob,"I couldn't save them."

You held him tighter as you both sit on the couch, you tightened your arms around him, pulling him closer,"I did everything they asked- killed all of them, yet I still feel like I've lost."

"Satoru.." You say his name softly, just like you always do, a reminder that he was more than what the world demanded.

He looked up, eyes heavy with weariness."Y/n, they don't even call me Satoru anymore. It's just 'The Strongest' is that all I am?"

You run your fingers through his soft hair, although they look covered with dust, his uniform with traces of blood, and you are not sure if its his. You strip off his uniform with your hands, throwing it to the side.

"You will always be Satoru to me. Sensei to Yuuji. Step-daddy to Megumi." You smile at the last part, and for a moment a flicker of his old warmth returned.

"They tell me good job but I never feel like a hero. I-" His voice cracks again, but he regains composure quickly,"I am tired of being the strongest. I want to be weak, just for a while. Just for a moment." Your gaze locked with his, catching the vulnerability he tried to hide.

You hold him, your voice soft, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Satoru. You don’t have to carry everything alone. Not with me here.”

“I’m scared.” He said, letting out a sigh.

“Of what?”

“Of waking up tomorrow and feeling this all over again.” He pulled back slightly to meet your eyes, raw and unguarded. “Of being alone in the crowd. Of never being more than a weapon, a shield, a title that doesn’t mean anything.” This was one of the few, rare times, you saw Satoru like this, Not the cocky and untouchable sorcerer that everyone viewed him as.

"You need to rest Satoru." You say looking at his tired eyes,"It's like I close my eyes but I'm never sleeping, like I rest but I never feel comfort-"

"Then let me show you." You say as he puts his head on your chest again, almost as a pillow. He closes his eyes gently, and you lay there with him, not to hold his weight.

But just to make sure he doesn't carry it alone.

Because sometimes, holding on is enough.

And sometimes, the strongest just need someone to carry their weight — even if only for a little while.

[serafilms]

song 24! message in a bottle (taylor swift) + aang requested by @fylithia (spotify wrapped event)

but now you’re so far away and i’m down, feeling like a face in the crowd, i’m reaching for you, terrified

It’s been years now since the war ended. Years since you and your friends saved the world, defeated Zuko’s father and brought peace to the four nations once more. Ever since, everyone’s been busy trying to piece the world back together. Katara’s been staging a feminist revolution in the water tribes, Toph has been reinventing Earth bending, Suki taking the Kyoshi Warriors all over and recruiting, Sokka inventing, Zuko rebuilding a nation and Aang flitting all over the place.

You, on the other hand… What have you achieved? You went back to your village and spent some time telling stories of your adventures to children, then picking up odd jobs on fishing boats and cargo ships to hitch a ride to wherever your friends are off making history. You tell yourself you like the simplicity, like not having to worry about the fate of the world, but you feel like about as insignificant as a speck of dust at your biannual (twice a year) catch ups.

I’m like an old lady telling stories to relive her glory days, you think bitterly.

But you like reliving them. You miss adventuring and seeing the world with your friends. You miss when you were all just kids and there were no real titles or duties in the way (aside from your common goal of ending the war, of course). You miss when Aang looked at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky, when he was just a boy who liked you but never said it, and when you liked him but refused to show it. Now you feel like you’re miles apart, like he’s on the top of the mountain and you’re left waiting at the base.

You still all write each other, Aang more than the rest but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s out of pity; it’s an obligation to you as an old friend. They’re busy now and that’s not their fault, and you all really would have no reason to go back to camping out. In fact, with the Avatar and Fire Lord especially, it was probably a security risk.

You’re too busy drowning in your own misery to notice Katara until she’s already nudging you in the arm. “Hey, why aren’t you over there with everyone else?”

Starting a little in surprise, you stare at her for a second before sighing as you kick your foot into the dirt and watch the dust rise.

“No reason,” you lie. Because I don’t want to talk to you guys. Especially Aang.

Your time alone has dulled your social skills, because Katara stares at you for a good seven seconds before you realise she expects you to keep talking.

“I think it’s just a little overwhelming to be around many people when I’m usually by myself.”

Her face softens and she reaches out to put her hand on your knee. “But it’s us. We want to make you comfortable and be around you. You know that, right?”

You nod, and she squeezes then releases you. “Let’s start small. Aang!”

Your chest flickers with panic as his bright eyes locate you instantly and he leaves his conversation with Zuko without a second thought. Katara takes his place, striding back up to the group as Aang stops right in front of you.

You feel your heart lurch at finally seeing him up close after spirits knows how many months. He's taller than you now, so it's not hard to avoid his gaze, but you can't tear your eyes away yet. His eyes sparkle at you and you feel yourself flush at how cute he looks with faint freckles dusting the upper part of his cheeks.

"Hey," he greets you softly, taking a seat beside you. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you find yourself saying, despite your mind being devoid of any thought that's not of him. His smile that's as sweet as ever, his eyes, his pink lips. How he's so, so out of your league.

Much like Katara, Aang seems unsatisfied with your short reply. "What have you been up to?"

Thinking about how much I love you. You can't say that, of course, so you babble on about the courier job you did a few months ago, which was great because you helped find a few new Kyoshi Warriors for Suki. When you look back at him once more, Aang has a soft look on his face, and a smile that seems to be there without his knowledge. Your face flushes, stomach flips and something akin to hope rises within you.

His cheeks turn pink when you've trailed off and he realises you're looking at him.

"Wow," he says. "That sounds really great."

You roll your eyes a little, feeling a sense of familiarity. "It's fine, you don't have to pretend you're interested. I know it's all boring compared to the work of the great Avatar."

"No, really," he insists, and there's an urgency in his voice, as if he needs you to know how genuine he is. "I think everything you do is amazing."

You smile. "Really?"

Aang nods down at you, eyes wide. "Well, yeah. I mean, it's you."

Embarrassed but pleased, you look down at your shoes before looking back up at him. "Thanks, Aang."

He grins at you, before glancing over to the others. "Wanna go catch up with everyone else?"

You take a look over at your friends. They look normal now, like a group of friends laughing, instead of the incredible figures they are. You nod at him and he extends a hand out to help you up. You take it.

You can't tell him how much he means to you, but you feel closer now. All you can do now is hope that one day, he gets the message.

[cantmakeyouloveme]

Have you ever thought about your funeral? if you're on Tumblr you probably have, so I suggest 1) you get some psychological help 2) pick a song for your friends to play at your funeral. Why? well, why not? it will be your last message to the world, so you have a chance to do something funny.

Don't be boring and play Highway to Hell by AC/DC or Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash, be original, choose something that represents your spirit. If you're not insane enough to listen to music and think "wow, this song would be inappropriate to play at a funeral" don't worry babe, I'm here for you and I'll help you on your way to discovering your ideal funeral song. This will work like astrology for those of us who had ask.fm in the 2010s.

So... if you're here you were probably emo or had an interest in emo or some kind of fetish idk. Don't lie. So you could use songs that are simply recognised as "emo" by all your guests to give a message. Bring Me To Life by Evanescene is a safe choice, although Going Under is another. It's never a bad time to listen to Fall Out Boy, there's Immortals or Sugar, We're Going Down. I Write Sins Not Tragedies by Panic! At The Disco would be good, although High Hopes is another option, but if your mother is already dead you can play Hey Look Ma, I Made It or if you die having just graduating college then Death of a Bachelor. Still with emo, My Chemical Romance can't not be an alternative: Welcome to the Black Parade, Dead!, This Is How I Disappear or Famous Last Words will prove your death because if you don't get up to sing you've really gone to the other side. You have Hard Times by Paramore too. Anthem of Our Dying Day or Until the Day I Die from Story Of The Year are bangers, think about it.

If you weren't emo or don't like emo stuff (I don't believe you, but don't worry I'm not going to drag you out of the emo closet with your family babygirl) you can joke about whether you will be buried or cremated, even more personalised!

Will they cremate you? Hot In Here by Nelly, Sean Paul's Temperature, Gasolina by Daddy Yankee, Dynamite by Taio Cruz, Burn by Ellie Goulding, Girl On Fire by Alicia Keys, Drop It Like It's Hot by Snoop Dog, Things We Lost In The Fire by Bastille, Blow by Kesha. And of course, Fireball by Pitbull. You're gon' boggie oogie oogie, jiggle, wiggle and dance like the roof on fire with these ones.

Will they bury you? Drag Me Down by One Direction or Get Low by Liam Payne and Zedd, The Box by Roddy Ricch, She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds Of Summer (you'll look stunning in that casket pookie), Six Feet Under by Billie Eilish, Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics, Scream & Shout by will.i.am and Britney Spears (all eyes will be on you, ofc) or Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd.

If not you can use any song used as an internet meme. Like Like a Prayer by Madonna, Goodbye by Bo Burnham, I Wouldn't Mind by He Is We (you can also ask your friends to make a video of your life -like a recap- titled it "saddest video in the world", full of made up stuff) or Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley.

You can also choose one based on the cause of death. Hit by a car? Life is a Highway by Rascal Flats (bonus points if you are a Cars fan), Ride by Twenty One Pilots, Shut Up And Drive by Rihanna. Run over by an hoverboard? Dumb Ways To Die by Tangerine Kitty (yes, the soundtrack to the video game) or Nobody's Perfect by Hannah Montana. Shot? Bulletproof by La Roux, Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar, Louis Tomlinson's Kill My Mind or Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead Or Alive. Suicide? Don't Try Suicide or Keep Yourself Alive by Queen, I Think I'm Going To Kill Myself by Elton John, Rock 'n' Roll Suicide by David Bowie, Van Halen's Jump. Trying to save someone from a robbery? Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson, Help! by The Beatles, Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio and the Avengers theme song by Alan Silvestri. Overdosed at a party? Ricky Martin's Livin' La Vida Loca, Ayesha Erotica's Literal Legend, Pitbull's Time Of Our Lives and LMFAO's Party Rock Anthem. Heart Attack? Demi Lovato and One Direction have a track called "Heart Attack" or Boom Clap by Charli xcx. Slashed to death? (I Just) Died In Your Gun Tonight by Cutting Crew. Eaten by a new Jeffrey Dahmer? Cannibal by Kesha. Or if you died young it could be Die Young by Kesha or We Are Young by fun.

If you like to be ironic the following are for you: Best Day Of My Life by American Authors, Stayin Alive by Bee Gees, I'm Still Standing by Elton John, I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor, Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by Wham!, Don't Stop Me Now by Queen, Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You) by Kelly Clarkson, Every Breath You Take by The Police, breathin by Ariana Grande, Survivor by Destiny's Child, Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen (spoiler: they won't be able to call you unless its via ouija), Lush Life by Zara Larsson, My Heart Will Go On by Celiné Dion (bonus points if you drowned), So Happy I Could Die by Lady Gaga, About That Time by Lizzo, Wake Me Up by Avicii, Unstoppable by Sia, Safe And Sound by Capital Cities, When Will My Life Begin? by Mandy Moore (who doesn't love Tangled?), Rusted Root's Send Me On My Way, Take My Breath Away by Berlin, On My Own by Ross Lynch (Teen Beach Movie 2 representation here), I Don't Wanna Live Forever by Zayn and Taylor Swift, Kool & The Gang's Celebration, Alive by One Direction (bonus points if you're gay) or Viva La Vida by Coldplay.

Do you want your friends to feel like they're inside a sad edit? Somebody That I Used to Know by Goyte and Kimbra, Big Girls Don't Cry (Personal) by Fergie, The Show Must Go On by Queen, We Go Together by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, Katty Perry's The One That Got Away, Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) by Green Day, I'll Be There For You by The Rembrandts, Cry Me a River by Justin Timberlake, Die With A Smile by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga, Everybody Wants To Rule The Word by Tears For Fears. Or maybe you prefer to joke that you "abandoned" them: All You Had To Do Was Stay, Is It Over Now? or Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift, Want U Back by Cher Lloyd, Problem by Ariana Grande, bury a friend by Billie Eilish, Smash Mouth's All Star, Irreplaceable by Beyoncé, Naomi Scott's She's So Gone, Friends On The Other Side by Keith David (Tiana is the best Disney Princess), I'm Like a Bird by Nelly Furtado, Anna Kendrick's Cups (for the Pitch Perfect girlies), Take Me Home Country Roads but the Lana Del Rey version to make it more random, Eminem's Without Me, *NSYNC's Bye Bye Bye, Let It Go by Idina Menzel (extra points if you died of hypothymia).

Anyway, in any context it's funny to fuck with your guests with This Is What You Came For by Rihanna and Calvin Harris.

Would you like to play a chill good vibes song for them to smoke a joint in your name? Don't Worry Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin, Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles or Michael Bublé's Feeling Good. Have you ever heard the lyrics of Treat People With Kindness by Harry Styles? You should.

Do you like the idea of kidding with heaven/hell? try Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin, Hells Bells or Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be by AC/DC, Locked Out Of Heaven by Bruno Mars (bonus points if you're gay cause sex won't take you to paradise), all the good girls go the hell by Billie Eilish, What The Hell by Avril Lavigne, Sympathy For The Devil or Knockin' On Heaven's Door by Guns N' Roses, Bad To The Bone by George Thorogood & The Destroyers (you can play the scene from Megamind in the background if you want), Otherside by Red Hot Chili Peppers, Cage The Elephant's Ain't No Rest For The Wicked, Back To Life by Zayn, Heaven by Niall Horan, The Smiths' Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now, Made In Heaven or Spread Your Wings by Queen, George Michael's Faith, Heaven Is A Place On Earth by Belinda Carlisle, A Whole New World From Aladdin (you can use the original version or the Zayn one if you like 1D), Defying Gravity by Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande (to leave a message that you are defying gravity to those who ground you), Almost There by Anika Noni Rose (more The Princess and the Frog representation here). Even Europe's The Final Countdown can be a good bet, as can Hozier's Take Me To Church (again, bonus points if you're gay).

I've named songs from musicals as you may have noticed, and you might like them, so One Last Time from Hamilton, My Dead Gay Son from Heathers or The Whole "Being Dead" Thing from Beetlejuice might hit the spot.

Do you believe in reincarnation or do you want to screw people that you will haunt them by being a ghost/zombie? Oops!...I Did It Again by Britney Spears, There She Goes by The La's, Dark Horse by Katy Perry, Ghostbusters by Ray Parker Jr., Thriller by Michael Jackson or The Phantom Of The Opera main track by Andrew Lloyd Webber (because it gives vampire vibes).

If you're boring you'll probably end up choosing Live And Let Die by Wings because you like the idea of telling your loved ones "let me go", and although it's part of the soundtrack of several films including Shrek the Third (so passing the scene would be funny), why not choose the actual funny equivalent? I'm talking about Let It Grow from The Lorax. "But if this ever-changing world in which we're living makes you give in and cry say live and let die" and "Let's celebrate the world's rebirth we say let it grow" are exactly the same, in case you didn't notice.

And if none of this convinces you: you can always use Boulevard Of Broken Dreams by Green Day and carve in your casket "I never thought being obnoxious would get me where I am today" which is a quote by Billie Joe Armstrong. Or just play Another One Bites the Dust by Queen, or The Office's intro, whatever.

I know if you read to the end you liked the idea, didn't you, sweetheart? So remember that you are too hot and sexy to die, don't do it. Ever. Be immortal like Castiel. Or Godzilla, your choice.

[spnjediavenger]

I Can Do This (matt murdock x sister!reader)

Title: I Can Do This

Type: one-shot; matt murdock x sister!reader, some peter parker x reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence/situations, sibling arguments

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS: implied past trauma/victimization but not specified, mentions/theme of sex trafficking PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS COULD BE TRIGGERING TO YOU

Spoilers: none?

Notes: MY FIRST REQUEST! I'M SO HAPPY! I hope I did your request justice, anon! I kind of got carried away...O.o

Ik this is a similar situation as the intro to S1 but i imagine this being a little later on since matt has his suit (also may or may not be a similar theme i’m introducing into my Night Wraith fic…O.o)

As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Request from Anonymous: I'm thinking just Matt Murdock and sister!reader, but the reader is also vigilante and, knowing her brother's identity, has been avoiding him like the plague whenever she's out patrolling because she just knows he'll immediately recognize her everything essentially, so the one time they do stumble upon each other, maybe reader in her vigilante persona saves civilian Matt or they're both out on patrol, she just knows she's screwed, and she knows Matt is gonna be mad, and that he is, mostly at himself for not noticing earlier, but some directed toward reader as well. And it's this whole thing that reader tries to play off, but she knows it's not gonna work because he clearly already knows.

Disclaimers: i do not own daredevil, its characters, or plot

Word count: 2966

Y/n was grateful to be able to live at home as she started college. Her relationship with her brother, Matt, was not the cliche arguing/fighting siblings you saw in everyday life. They got along almost perfectly barring the teasing fits and fake fighting. They saw eye-to-eye and loved each other. They were all they had. Matt missed his father, and Y/n did wish she would’ve been able to know her parents, but they both loved what they did have.

One thing Y/n was not particularly grateful for were Matt’s heightened senses. They were useful for the greater good and safety of Hell’s Kitchen, but sometimes made it difficult for Y/n at home. She could live with not being able to sneak up on or scare Matt, but she didn’t like that she could never lie to him. Every once and awhile she was able to slip little white lies by him, but nothing major got past Matt.

Except for one thing.

Y/n was a vigilante like her brother. To her credit, knowing Matt’s vigilante secret and what his senses were like, she was able to know how to outsmart them.

She had started taking martial arts classes before doing vigilante work. Matt, at first, was opposed but Y/n being athletically inclined and wanting to be able to defend herself when Matt wasn’t around won out. So coming home with bruises? Karate. Smell of copper in the air? Karate got rough today.

Y/n had been attending college now as well and did take her studies seriously as being a vigilante didn’t exactly pay well. So being out late? Studying with friends or staying the night at their place.

Y/n had practiced these lies on the regular in order to normalize them around Matt and keep her heartbeat from rising in nerves. She had also been used to his routines and regularly avoided going out on nights he went out. Or if they were out at the same time, she made a point to avoid the areas and routes he usually took. And she also made it a point to avoid getting a reputation and/or being put in the papers so he didn’t seek her out. And it all went pretty well.

For a while anyway.

“Y/n? I’m heading out - call me if you need anything, ok?” Matt called.

“Ok. Be safe! Love you!” his sister called back from her room.

“Love you too!”

Y/n waited until she heard Matt leave through his bedroom window and snuck over to her own to listen to him go down their fire escape. When she heard him get to the ground, she started changing into her own vigilante outfit. She wouldn’t go out right away, but she wanted to be ready. She started a timer on her phone for 10 minutes to be sure Matt was far away enough so she could leave without being noticed.

She plopped onto her bed and picked up her phone when it buzzed.

Peter: Going out tonight, hero? (:

Y/n chuckled and rolled her eyes.

Y/n: Yes. Just waiting for Matt to be further away.

Peter: Is he usually out tonight?

Y/n: No, but I think he’s chasing a lead.

Peter: Not the same one as you I hope?

Y/n: Doubt it. He has bigger fish to fry.

Y/n knew what Peter was talking about though. Usually, Y/n didn’t get involved in big time crimes; she knew she wasn’t the biggest, oldest, or most experienced person out there and she accepted that and tried to stay within her boundaries. But this was an exception.

Peter: Ok. Just be careful

Y/n smiled. 

Y/n: I will.

Peter: Text me when you’re safe and sound?

Y/n: Will do. Love you.

Peter: Love you more ;)

Y/n’s phone timer went off and she grinned. She sent Matt a text for him to see when he got home: MJ needs help with a project, gonna stay the night at her place. Text me when you get home. See you tomorrow <3

Putting her phone on silent mode, she stuck it in her backpack and pulled her mask up over the bottom half of her face. She left through the front door, making sure no one was in the hallway to see her, and left the apartment building. She passed her college on the way to her intended point that night to drop her backpack off - when she was done for the night she planned on sneaking into her friend’s dorm and sleeping there till morning when they had to go to class. 

She knocked on her window and left her backpack on the ledge, knowing she would grab it for her. She held a thumbs up to her before taking off.

Y/n headed towards the shipyard where she heard of trafficking activity going on. A bit cliché in her opinion but she supposed there was a reason it was a cliché. This was her first exception to staying away from bigger crimes. She had such good intel and had already taken care of some people who were part of its network before she realized who they were. She felt she had what it took to see it through to the end. 

When she arrived, she snuck through the various shipping containers that littered the yard, staying silent and out of sight. 

Or so she thought.

Matt was crouched on the ground near the corner of a shipping container further away, keeping tabs on the heartbeats around him. The ones of the 5 men present, and the 4 girls they had captive. He waited patiently for the right time to strike. After a couple minutes, a new heartbeat reached his ears. He perked up, tilting his head a bit, and listened. Slightly faster heartbeat, younger person, about 30 feet away from him and the targets…footsteps very quiet, approaching slowly. They weren’t with the men. Was it another vigilante he didn’t know about? Rookie cop? Matt didn’t think anyone else knew about this new trafficking ring yet.

Thinking it was someone that may not know what they were getting into, Matt followed the sound of the heartbeat but before he could reach them, they rolled forward into the next alley between containers and threw a knife into the closest man, sending him falling to the ground, putting all the others at high alert.

Matt cursed under his breath and ran in, pulling his clubs out and throwing one at the nearest person to him to knock his gun out of his hands, then started a fight with the next. The new presence came in to fight one of the men, truly holding their own. He knocked one man out in time for the first person to get back up and start throwing punches. The other supposed vigilante took their first adversary out, soon followed by the second. The one Matt was currently fighting took Matt’s second of attention on the other and fired a shot, hitting them in the arm. A somewhat familiar shout rang out and Matt finished the man off before walking towards his unexpected helper. When they saw him, their eyes widened and they took off.

“Hey, wait!” Matt called. He chased after them, not yet knowing it was his sister he was running after. 

Y/n bit her already bleeding lip to keep from letting out cries of pain from the gunshot wound; the pain getting worse from her running. She would admit she didn’t think there would be as many men as there were. And she definitely didn't expect Matt to show up. They were outside Hell’s Kitchen. Her thoughts were interrupted when her non-injured arm was grabbed and she was pulled into an alley and pushed up against the wall.

“Who are you?!” Matt said. Heavy breaths coming through fabric, she was wearing a mask that covered the bottom half of her face. When she didn’t say anything, Matt ripped the mask down and yelled, “Answer me!” 

Y/n mentally cursed herself for the flinch she gave when Matt yelled. She wasn’t used to him yelling at her. She knew he didn’t realize it was her at this point but still. Hearing it coming from him shocked her. 

Matt noticed this and tilted his head. Heart pounding, heavy breaths being shortened to try and control them. They were hiding something. She. Matt had a suspicion. But he was praying he was wrong. 

“Say something,” he whispered.

Y/n closed her eyes to push back the sting she started to feel, shaking her head.

Matt raised a shaking hand to her face. Y/n stood still, focusing on controlling her breathing as he gently felt her.

“Y/n…” It was more of a statement than a question from Matt.

The girl may have been able to keep her heart calm when she prepared herself to lie; but being caught by surprise like this impeded her ability to do that this time. And she knew Matt could tell because her heart felt like it was about to beat out of her chest.

Right now, Y/n wished she had the senses her brother did because she couldn’t get a read on him.

Matt, on the inside, was going through a reel of different emotions. Shock, anger, confusion, guilt, worry…worry. He honed his senses when he remembered the gunshot. Heavy taste of copper in the air, heat radiating to his hand when he hovered it over her arm. He flared his nostrils and twitched his neck. His face grimaced as he held back the urge to bare his teeth. Pushing through his inner turmoil, he pulled his phone out and dialed a number, one hand keeping his sister put against the wall.

“Hey Claire…I know you said you wouldn’t patch me up again but it’s not me this time…yeah…we’re heading back to the apartment now so we’ll meet you there…thank you.” Matt hung up and put his phone away. He grabbed Y/n’s uninjured arm and pulled her along through the alleys to go home. Silence settled like an elephant in the room and affected them both in different ways.

And Y/n knew she was screwed.

Y/n laid on the sofa on her back as Claire worked on her arm. She was able to get a hold of a local anesthetic so Y/n didn’t feel any pain. The girl lay there with her eyes closed and a frown on her face, a few tears escaping down her cheeks. 

Claire focused on her work, aware that Matt’s furious presence on the other side of the room was the cause of Y/n’s emotions. Claire dared not say anything; only give the girl reassuring looks when she opened her eyes.

When Claire finished, she squeezed Y/n’s good shoulder and got her supplies together. She nodded to Matt and told him to let her know if Y/n needed anything or if the injury got worse. Matt quietly thanked her. 

“Go easy on her,” Claire said quietly, knowing the girl was in for it. When Matt kept his blind gaze forward, Claire sighed and left.

Y/n listened as the ER nurse walked out and shut the door behind her, keeping her eyes closed the whole time. She listened as Matt stayed in the same spot, controlled breaths going in and out. She could practically hear him thinking. Stewing in anger. A couple more tears leaked from under her eyelids before she spoke. “Just get it over with…Please.”

Matt, who stood in inner turmoil, sighed and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t even know where to start to be honest,” he said, tone steady…for now. He took a deep breath and turned his head in her direction. “Do you want me to talk about how reckless that was? Or we could start with how you’ve been lying to me for G-d knows how long! And going around doing things you can’t handle! Things I never wanted you to get involved with!! Or how about how you could’ve been killed?!”

Y/n, at this point, was lightly sobbing on the couch, covering her face with her hand. She knew if Matt ever found out about her vigilante activities he would be angry. But it still hit her hard. And in the moment she couldn’t get past the feelings of shame for lying to her brother; and being a disappointment for going against his wishes. Her motives for those things wouldn’t surface when he was yelling at her. She could only feel her negative emotions.

“Say something!” Matt repeated himself from earlier in the night, making Y/n flinch again. “I mean, what the hell were you thinking?!”

Y/n took a breath and stood from the couch to face him. She calmed her crying and tried standing her ground a bit. “What do you want me to say, Matt?” she said calmly. “I know nothing I say is going to be a good enough reason.”

“And you think being smart is gonna be better?” he shot back, raising his brow.

Y/n bit her lip and looked at the ceiling before looking back at Matt. “I know it was reckless. I didn’t think it was going to be so involved. I never usually even get into things this big. But I had come across other people that were part of that ring of traffickers and I thought I could do it.

“And I’m sorry for lying to you. I just knew you wouldn’t let me do what I’ve been doing if I had told you. Ever since I-...” Y/n paused to collect herself, trying not to cry again. “Ever since the…situation…I’ve felt powerless, Matt,” she admitted, tears springing to her eyes without permission. “When I started taking self-defense classes and other martial arts, I felt better about my own protection. But I had an experience similar to the one that birthed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. The thing that made you Daredevil is everywhere, Matt. And just like you, I couldn’t let it go. But in my case I stopped it before it happened…And I felt like I got some of my control back. And I saved someone in the process. I won’t be victimized again,” she said, voice gravelly with unshed tears. “And I won’t let someone else go through it if I can help it.”

Matt sighed and turned his face towards the ground. His overwhelming anger slowly dissipated as his sister talked. He knew the ‘situation’ she was referring to and understood the powerlessness she mentioned. He felt it too. How he wasn’t able to be there and save his innocent sister from something so terrible. He understood the need to try and get power back, to try and save others from the same thing. And he hated that he understood. Part of him wanted to keep the anger he felt so he could find a way to stop her. But he realized that maybe his anger wasn’t at her for doing this, but partly at himself for not noticing. And partly for the parental-like instinct to be upset when she was hurt, like tonight. His thoughts were interrupted when Y/n continued.

“You can try but you can’t stop me…I’m not a little girl anymore.” She paused to wipe a couple tears from her face “I don’t need your approval…but it’d be nice if I had it,” she said quieter. “I can do this, Matt.”

Matt listened to her growing sniffles, her tears hitting the ground. He sighed, walked up, and pulled her into a hug that she returned. “I know you can…And I don’t like fighting with you, Starling. I just worry about you too much…You’re everything I have. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you or losing you.”

Y/n sniffled a bit and moved to rest her forehead up against Matt’s shoulder so she could speak. “How do you think I feel, Matt? I love what you do for others and don’t want you to stop. But I’m terrified every time you go out that you won’t come back. You’re everything I have too. But it’s just something I have to live with. And I’m happy to do it because I know you make a difference…just like I can.” Y/n pulled away to look directly at her brother. “Can you please find it in your heart to do the same for me? Please, Matty,” she whispered. 

Matt’s unseeing eyes were level with hers as he raised a hand to push some stray hair behind her ear, Y/n unable to stop herself from leaning into his touch. He smiled a bit and ran a thumb over her cheek to wipe some of her tears away. “I can try,” he said honestly. “But we need to have a deeper talk about this whole thing. Not to yell at you or argue. But to talk about ways to keep you safer…I don’t want to keep you from doing something you feel called to do, but there are ways to do it that don’t end with you being in a firefight. We can unravel these things while your arm is healing. Deal?”

Y/n smiled and flung her uninjured arm around his shoulders. “Deal,” she whispered. “I love you, Matty. And I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Matt sighed as he hugged her again. “I forgive you. I’m sorry for yelling. I just worry about you. And I hate seeing you hurt. But I was ignorant in thinking I was the only one that felt that way. I think we can both work to do better. Together.”

[slay-the-player]

ah, humble beginnings… already, some weirdness has gone down on account of my, being weird LOL

"Happily Ever After" AKA "To Tell Him That It's Not Possible"

if you're a slay the princess knower, that first title is likely bringing up a plethora of events and images of one of the many possible "ends" the player can arrive at. since i'm getting into the shoes of "looking forward to creating a new future with you"-guy, ironically enough:

i think he would've been more likely to "slay the player" and save reality if there wasn't a bitch in his ear telling him that there was only one way to do it!

immediately, we went down a path that was extremely akin to my own very first go-round -- either he and i've got similarly healthy, contrary curiosity or i'm not a very good roleplayer ^^' -- and saw a pristine-exclusive evolution from the damsel to… happily ever after??

"wait a minute." a feeling started to fall like snow as i begun interpreting this "newest content" in a "corestrings context" (banger ship name btw). the princess has a bunch of stained-glass windows of herself cradling a heart-shaped-object? the princess has created a pocket in spacetime for us both?? THE PRINCESS (well with help from the shadows) HAS CREATED A GAME FOR US TO PLAY REPEATEDLY??? how has it instantly become a roleswap, was i somehow wrong about the roles to begin with-?

no, that's impossible;

there's an agent of change and there's a mutable object, i know which one is which. so then, we must've bled together at some point, causing my man wing daster to do something "out of character" -- if that's even possible for a half-character, right? x]

sure enough, i retraced my steps and saw the issue in very little time:

"Trust me. It'll be better for both of us if we stay. We can be happy here. We just have to want it."

THE FUQ?>? bros… i made the silliest error on the books (thus far anyway) and who should rear her head but monika DDLC? seriously, this is not something a man who easily acquiesces "then the world was covered in darkness" and who accepts the long waits between our appearances in HIS WORLD (two seconds of sonic 06 ost here) would ever say!!!!! so why did i feel so confident about this choice in the moment…?

i'm a lovestruck fool. yes, i'm literally smitty von voiceofthe for damned wingding. if those parasocial-ass tweets are a calculated bait to keep me invested (i have to acknowledge the possibility, though it pains me to) then consider me thoroughly baited!

isn't it only right, then, that the voice of the smitten "lept over the fence" to join me in "the lie that i'm building of mutual love"? and isn't it only right that the voice of the opportunist manifested on gaster's side of things, as a reflection of either "the evil scientist's nefarious plot" or "toby fox himself who made my wallet $25 lighter"?

i know that it's impossible.

the mutual love, that is. him being a medium-sized collection of ones and zeros, myself being a human that can only truly feel for other humans: neither of us could love each other, even if we wanted to. so the torchlights slowly go out; so the lie slowly dissipates; but, i'm heartened by the knowledge that neither of us are afraid of the dark !

in that darkness, darker than dark, is something other than LOVE. unlike the impossibility of a world preserved in ice that never changes, it's infinite, sprawling as far as you can see; it's real, if you want it badly enough.

It's Hope ! It's Dreams !

hehe, it looks like a subconscious part of me, just wanted to tell him something that he definitely already knew.

it looks like i've established a rule, here -- if i can justify my influence over the Hero, then i can canonize it~! by the by, the same goes for you too, fellow monarch!

[stormy-writer]

A Bitter Pill

Summary: Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow, but it's worse when you didn't mean to fall in love. The one man who could actually make you smile is the one man you really aren't supposed to like, let alone love.

Catergory: Surprise angst? It's a surprise to me, I didn't know what I was writing

Tw: Mentions of death, implies death, mentions of violence and gore

Wc: 687

Maybe it was a little too late for you.

Maybe it was too late for anyone to try and save you.

That didn't stop your heart from hurting as you turned away from your lover. You couldn't bare his heartbroken look anymore, the betrayal like a knife to the back for both of you.

“I didn't have a choice,” you called, wind whipping through your hair and forcing your tone a little louder. “I didn't have a choice in any of this.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back tears of anger and frustrations, and a deep sadness very few could describe.

“Don't lie to me like that. We both know that's not true, I know you could choose not to fall into this- this irrecoverable darkness!” His anger was understandable, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

“I'm not lying,” you faced him again, a blank, trained look on your features. “I never had a choice in my feelings.”

That confused him, if his furrowed brows and tilt of his head were any indications.

“I chose the dark side, of course I had a choice of abilities, of tasks,” you paused, the barest hint of regret in your eyes. “... But I never meant to fall in love, Obi.”

His features softened for only a moment, before you killed any show of emotion and pulled out your saber, what used to be a brightened blue now a deep, haunting red.

“But I have a choice now.”

His hurt returned in tenfold, and he drew his own lightsaber, blocking your swing and looking you in the eyes.

“Please, please make the right decision,” He pleaded, not wanting to lose you like he did Anakin. But it was too late. You were too far gone to the dark side.

“I already have.” You swung again, getting blocked before parrying and aiming again. Most fought with dignity, even the dark side generals. Hell, even most of the sith. They aimed for their swords, aimed to keep it fair and win.

You aimed for his heart.

You already ripped it out metaphorically, ripping through it physically wouldn't be half as bad. Right?

Before you could have that question answered, you were shoved back by an unseen force, the Force. He wasn't holding back anymore. Not after you made your decision.

Although you stumbled, you righted yourself quickly and started your next onslaught of attacks. The battle was more painful than just the heat of the sabers, more scarring than every little graze. And though you could keep up with him in training, you couldn't handle his full force, and were soon on your knees in front of him, saber thrown to the side with his barely inches from your neck.

You could just feel the heat radiating from it, breath ragged as you stared up at him.

“Do it!” you shouted, urging him to finish what you had started. “Kill me, kill another sith, Jedi Master.” The title felt more of a taunt than a congratulation spilling from your lips. The pause and hurt in his eyes made even you falter. It was a second too long, long enough you could have summoned your saber and cut him in half.

But you didn't.

You didn't make any effort of moving, other than your chest heaving with every breath.

“Do it, Obi. You know I'm just gonna go back to them if you don't,” you said softly, too soft to be entirely too bad. But you were.

And he knew. He knew you would go back to the darkness, fight for the wrong side, hurt all the wrong people. But that's who you were. That's who you'd always been, and that's who you were gonna be.

And he knew that.

So he took a moment. He took a breath, shutting his eyes and steeling his nerves like he'd shown you so many times during training. A single tear rolled down his cheek and you couldn't help but let one go as well.

“I'm sorry I couldn't help you, my love.”

The last noise you heard was the sszzzzing of his saber.

What the fuck?? Uhmmmm???? What possesed me to write this? Huh? I guess it's good???? Enjoy???

[darkonekrisrewrite]

Emily from Hazbin Hotel would be infinitely better at Deku's job (narratively and literally) than he is. For the simple fact that when she finds out about Heaven's dark secret, the exterminations, she is horrified and goes this is not okay, it's not okay that this is happening, I am not going to be quiet about this. If we are judging people off of one moment and are refusing to look at the context, or improvement, while allowing our people to get away with this, than this entire system is a lie. We get this in one episode, fuck it, a song

Deku meanwhile in 400+ chapters finds out horrifying truth after horrifying truth about hero society, and doesn't care, half the time it doesn't even occur that this is fucked up, and should not be happening. He is bullied for years based on his quirk status, especially by Bakugou 'well he's going to be a hero so this shouldn't be taken seriously' He learns that the number 2 hero bought his wife, neglected his not perfect quirk babies and abused all of them, and was already an ass before that, 'theres no need to bring this up to All Might, or the principal, or do anything about that, I just need to get this victim to be cool with his quirk' (this also goes for Bakugou the easedropper). His upperclassman stops him from saving a six year old in blatant danger, and both that top upperclassman, their boss, and his past mentor outwardly state/ agree with it would be bad publicity if they didn't arrest all the Yakuza at once, and that they barely care about that child after learning see was the ingredient to the weapon they were making, 'well were saving her now'. Lady Nagant was and Hawks is the personal assassin for the commission against whoever they want without trial or due process, 'Hawks is going to make a great new president of the commission'. Rody Soul was forced to support his younger siblings as a child, was assaulted by adults, was forced to turn to crime, while heroes did nothing, 'well I'm helping now (because it goes along with a larger case) so it's all good'

After all this Deku is a fucking bootlicker who is mentally so fucking lazy he has never questioned this shit ass system after all this, his values are empty because he only cares to look at the titles and not reality, he has gotten worse, not better, at this over the course of the series. Meanwhile Emily wasn't tolerating this shit day one of finding out, and she was working within this system too

Yeah pretty much true.

People say that hazbin hotel rushes things because of it's short episode count/runtime but at least it always gets to the point without going in circles for years, dragging out the characters finally understanding the message.

When something obviously wrong and counter to everything they believe in, is shoved in a character's face, there should be a reaction equal to the importance of the 'idea/theme' in verse.

In theory, it doesn't matter if their reaction is good or bad/for better or worse, because either way it should be an understood event that causes a blow to their way of thinking, based on the importance of the revelation.

Deku did that all of 1 time.

And that's putting it generously, in him mildly calling out Endeavor at the sports festival, way back at the beginning of the series.

This never happened again, not towards anything related to heroes or hero society.

It should have been a very big deal for Deku to realize that the number 2 hero was able to buy another human being as part of a eugenics goal to make a more powerful hero.

He at least should have considered telling an authority figure (All-might or Nedzu) about it, just in case there was anything else that may have been going on with Endeavor.

It should have been a very big revelation for Deku that his upperclassmen was willing to let a very clearly injured (wearing bandages) and terrified little girl go back with the guy who was obviously implied to be responsible for doing it to her.

Mirio could have beaten or at least stalled overhaul until backup arrived while Deku took Eri and ran.

(He definitely could have too, as he was able to fight against overhaul in a confined space while quirkless, for a fair amount of time.)

But until everyone knew exactly what was going on with Eri, Mirio was fine with putting the mission above a little girl's life, letting her go with someone who they knew was a dangerous Yakuza.

Gigantic red flag regarding what the heroes prioritize when the situation isn't ideal.

It ties back into hero society abandoning those who are inconvenient perfectly, leaving them to suffer and eventually become villains or die.

Looking back Deku should have realized that but because he got the approval of the system to go back and save the girl as part of the mission, everything's cool...

And this does show that he has gotten worse as the series goes on, as he's not even willing to bark back at the hero system.

Deku has called out villains all the time (Dabi, Flecturn, toga and Shigaraki), he knows how to talk back, so it's not that he CAN'T.

But whenever it's something that's got to do with hero's flaws, nothing.

It's that he WON'T talk back to heroes.

And if he really is just a kid who can't even talk back to his bosses or peers, or the "innocent" people who are responsible for (at least) half of the villains in bnha -

With the idea that they are responsible for the villain's current lives, showing how their callousness and cruelty drove the villains to that point.

-Then what the hell have we been following him all this time for?

Izuku has only temporarily saved their society, like Mirio said: "Setting things at Zero".

Is that it? The best to hope for?

Setting things back to Zero with no idea of improvement? Because it's "Impossible"??

[tinytime10]

I have more head cannons for warriors. Also thank you to everyone who voted on my, (What is the next story I write) vote. “Left in the cold.” is almost done. I'm just finishing up the editing. I should be able to post it soon but for now have some more head cannons centered specifically around the hylein body, and habits that manifest in a physical sense.

All right let's talk ears, Warriors have very expressive ears when he's relaxed and comfortable around the chain. He's very good at stopping his ears from portraying his true emotions when he's around the people he's trying to lie to.

Warriors will rub his ears when he's nervous or upset as a way to calm himself down. It's just one of his ways of self-soothing. Parents will rub their young children's ear to get them to stop crying because it feels good and comforting. So Warriors will do it with a mask when he is having nightmares or otherwise upset. Zelda will kiss the back of Warriors’s ear as a show of affection. Warriors loves it. He also finds the fact that time will kind of nibble at melon's ears and a playful affectionate way super adorable 

I think that the Hylian body is way tougher than the human one. You know how humans have like three layers of skin highlyans have eight. Their bones are just a lot more tough. They have better hearing and night vision but the sense of smell and touch is about the same. 

All of the links share the habit of messing with the back of their hair when they are nervous or embarrassed. I just find it hilarious that literally all of them do it.

 Just like myself, Warriors will comfort himself by hugging his middle. He absolutely hates other people touching his sides or his waste. But he'll hug his middle because it makes him feel more secure. During the war he wrapped his waist tightly with bandages, because that pressure feels comforting. After the war he wears a corset for medical reasons, that was actually a thing way back when. The Physicians made him one after the war to help with his injuries. He just kind of wears it all the time under his clothing. Cuz it's really easy to stealth the corset when his uniform is already so baggy.

 Speaking of uniforms, he is walking around in about 30 lb worth of chainmail. He has like 8 layers. an undershirt and trousers, a gambeson, chainmail, the Green Heroes Tunic, his armor, and his scarf. One side effect of all of these layers is the way they fall, he has extremely feminine hips because he cinches his belt so tight and his hip bones stick out so much anyway because he's so thin. The way the chainmail lays smooths out his figure, giving him extremely feminine hips.

 On that note he mastered that Mom hip carry. You know what I mean, where Mom will just stick out one hip a little further and rest the baby on it. He would carry Mask around all day, going about his duties in the war camp. Mask either loved it or hated it depending on the day. He frequently was made fun of by his own soldiers and a lot by his commanding officers.  He was called a Teen Mom for years he leaned into the title as a joke and it weirdly stuck, to the point where mask and tune would accidentally call him mom on occasion. Time will make a lot of jokes about Warriors being the mom friend during the linked universe adventure. He'll just start acting like the whole chain are his rowdy sons.

Warriors would never undress in front of any one of the chain for a very long time. Long after his facade cracked he still refused to let them see him even take his gloves off. He was fine with everyone else but not himself. At one point he is injured very badly and is unconscious. To Times utter consternation and aggressive objections, Twilight and Sky make the decision to leap over that boundary they know he has and undress him to get to his wound and save his life. When he wakes up shirtless and bound in bandages, the rest of his brothers have a lot of concerned questions. His brothers are smart enough to know what scars were earned from battle and what scars were done by his own hand.

 He has to explain his bad habits, and promise that he's getting better and not hurting himself very much anymore. Of course his brothers are horrified and heartbroken that the perfect captain they'd all grown to love had such terrible scars on his arms  and his chest there are scratch marks on his sides that only some of the older members of the chain recognized as being done by Hylian nails not the claws of monsters. Cia left her marks on him and Sky tried to ask about them but Time shot him down quicker than Warriors could.

 Another discovery they made that day was that Warriors has two tattoos. One, an eating disorder progress tattoo  and One he shares with time. He, Masks and Tune got matching tattoos at the end of the war. Wind is too young to have his, but he is the one who designed it during the war. It is a sword stabbed into the waves of the ocean, around the hill is tied a ribbon with the Kokiri symbol. A design meant to incorporate all three of the war brothers. 

Before the war the captain was a wild child, Impa punished him severely because that seemed to be the only way he would listen. There is a patch on his upper arm that is a mess of perfectly lined up scars overlapping years of punishment. It was a comin military punishment for drinking, 2 small cuts to the arm, not meant to really do any real damage just enough to hurt. Every time he drinks on duty he adds to that number of scars. Which is far too many to count by the time he joins the chain. 

Warriors is extremely suicidal at the beginning of LU. Even though he tries to hide it from his brothers, his sense of humor is extremely dark and twisted. Time and strangely enough Legends are the only ones who seem to really understand his darker humor. he makes jokes about suicide or self-harm a lot. They thought it was just jokes so when his brother's saw the scars themselves, they knew a lot of the methods he'd used against himself by that point, just from the jokes he'd made.

 Four Will aggressively braid comb and demand they wash their hair and bodies frequently see the last  repost for better clarification on why. He does this with the whole chain except for Warriors. Four is understanding about the fact that Warriors hates having his hair touched by other people. So Four takes meticulous care of Warriors’s gear. He’ll ask to oil and maintain Warriors’s weapons for him. He will service his shield and armor because if the captain takes care of himself so meticulously, Four will do the same for his gear, as a way of showing his friendship and care.

 All right, that's everything I can think of now. Thank you to the like two or three people who actually care. Us Warriors fans are starved for content. My fellow Hyrule Warriors fans I bring sustenance.

[julietherondale152]

My Thoughts on Lord of Shadows

Hi ya’ll,

I’m going to keep updating this post slowly, and when I can, but I just wanted to get some first thoughts out. Let me know if I'm missing anything!

I just read the Dream-Land poem, and am wondering if it means anything, just like in Lady Midnight where the chapter titles were part of the poem Annabel Lee?

Okay, right off the bat, we get a Kit point of view!

This was in The Lost Book of the White, but what is a flail? (Edit: Now that I've seen a picture, it makes sense).

Kit, honey, you just had to try to steal the daggers? And then to be caught by Jace? (Though I do LOVE the (somewhat) bond between Jace and Kit; Jace is almost like an older brother/father figure toward Kit).

That big sea demon sounded horrifying and I love how Jules and Emma worked together to kill it; especially on the ferris wheel.

The meeting with Jace and Clary; and I'm so glad that they talked to Mark (but what kind of weapon are they looking for, I'm actually so curious).

Poor Kit :(. He just wanted to get information from the Shadow Market to try to replicate Arthur's medicine, but all the downworlders don't like him anymore. He just needs an actual father figure; because his first thought is just flight.

Kit finally said that Ty is autistic!

I just wanted to put this here: I'm currently reading Lord of Shadows on my phone after midnight right now, so I apologize if I'm missing a few things.

Mark and Emma are so cute, and I understand why they have to lie, but I wish they didn't :(. I also feel really bad for Mark and Cristina.

I don't like Diego, but I don't hate him either.

NOOO, CLARY CAN NOT DIE! I WILL RIOT!

On the point above, at least her (somewhat prophetic angel) dreams are back?

Kieran better be okay. That glove better not be his.

That tentacle demon is weird. Malcolm's dead, so could it be Annabel?

I am/was grossed out by the description of the tentacle.

I hate Diego. Can he suffer?

I already hate Zara.

Emma making Diego step on the anthill!

Mark saying that he isn't going to rescue Kieran, and then 20 seconds later running off to go save him

Emma will never get the stele that Jace gave her back :(

Mark trying to stop Cristina from dancing or drinking wine at the revel and them getting cursed.

Jules, if the faerie looked like Emma, then yes, you have feelings for Emma

Emma almost winning the fight against the faerie, only to think it was her father, and then killing the faerie!

Mark, Cristina, Emma, and Jules saving Kieran, except his memories were somewhat gone

Malcom is back; Arthur sacrificed himself, Annabel rose from the dead only to kill Malcolm

Nene helps Mark, Cristina, Emma, and Jules!

Jules, I don't trust the Seelie Queen

I hate Zara and Manuel

Now all the Blackthorns know that Jules was really running the Institute

Kieran and Cristina are cute!

Kit gets his first (permanent) rune!

JESSAMINE MY BELOVED!

Jules and Emma in the little cottage; where they find the drawings and diaries

Kit... I know you found the Aletheia crystal (I had to go back to find the name), and Shade (yes, I know it's Ragnor) helped you; but you really had to endanger the twins. Like, Livvy almost died!

Annabel visits you; then tells you that (I don't remember the name) faeries know where she is...sounds like a trap

And you fell into the trap and after you defeated the demon; sure let's burn down this STONE church. Easy peasy!

Kieran visits Adaon, which is seen by Cristina, who is seen by Erec, who dies

I hate Diego less? I don't know how to feel about Jamie.

Dru needs a friend :(

EMMA KILLED FAL. OH MY GOD

You look familiar (that's not creepy at all, but like, the Riders killed Kit's mother)

Who is Ash? From his description, he has white hair. Sebastian had white hair. If Sebastian had a kid that would be weird, and like an AU at this point. I don't want to think about that

Gwyn saved Kit, Livvy, and Ty

Diana is transgender, and that makes sense now, and I love her! (I've always loved her, she's so badass)

The Unseelie King gave Kieran his memories back. Screw you

I love Kieran, Mark, and Cristina.

The blight. Is it the same as the warlock one or the Unseelie one?

Annabel saves them from the Riders due to Ty's note!

The curse between Mark and Cristina is removed!

Magnus looks really weak :(

I love Livvy's locket!

Kit's bi, right?

So, Emma's going to go into exile. No :(

HELEN, ALINE!

Why would you have Annabel testify under the Mortal Sword? Poor girl is terrified!

NO, NOT ROBERT

LIVVY NO NO NO NO NO!

So, I hated that ending.