#the moment he got out he was already dead

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot IV

McFoord x Child!Reader

Ruesha Littlejohn x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Kiddo)

Summary: Sports day with a bunch of hyper competitive people

"Ouch!"

Caitlin sighs, massaging her temples as she comes down the stairs.

It had already been a loaded morning, crammed full of everything and nothing at the same time.

"Stop it!"

She'd only been upstairs for a moment, separating Gremlin's kitten from your own.

They were two vastly different cats.

Gremlin's Spicy was angry, a walking ball of fuzz that leapt first and asked questions later. He was liable to throwing up hairballs while making eye contact and bringing in dead rats from the railroad tracks.

Your Baby was the opposite, a demure little lady who groomed herself all the time and took naps on your blanket. She craved affection and wound herself around ankles whenever anyone even so much as looked at her.

Two vastly different cats like their vastly different owners.

"Hey!" Katie snaps as Caitlin turns the corner," Gremlin, knock it off! Leave your sister alone!"

A very clear bite mark is on your wrist as you sob, curled up on Katie's lap as she struggles to get your sister's shoes on her feet.

"I've got her," Caitlin says, nudging her girlfriend away," Go and put Kiddo in the car."

Usually, a Saturday morning meant a chill day.

Sleeping until noon and having some brunch. Most of the time pancakes, sometimes waffles if Katie could be bothered to get out the waffle maker.

But today was Sports Day at the school so you were all up bright and early to make it there in time.

Caitlin already knew how this was going to go though.

Gremlin would get hyper competitive and most likely push someone over in her haste to win and you would linger at the back of your pack of peers with no hint of athletic ability in you.

Your little sister was much younger than you so she was separated with the other nursery age girls while you were included in your class.

"That wasn't very nice," Caitlin says as she slips the leash straps over Gremlin's shoulders," You know your sister is sensitive. Why did you bite her?"

Gremlin shrugs. "Dunno."

"Well, I think you should apologise."

"Dragons not say sorry!"

"And dragons don't exist," Caitlin replies, hoisting Gremlin up onto her hip," Maybe you should think about that."

You've stopped crying by the time you're all in the car, a few fingers in your mouth and the other hand out for Katie to hold during the drive, Gremlin's ring of teeth marks displayed so obviously.

"Sorry," Your sister mumbles to you, kicking the seat in front of her.

"For?" Katie prompts.

"Bitin' you."

You mumble your thanks through your fingers just as Caitlin pulls up in front of the school.

She can see a few of the parents she knows well heading into the gates.

Life working at the fire station tended to bond people.

Leah is corralling Bean inside while Jordan (who used to work at the fire station but left after one too many near death scares) crosses the street with their Bug. Lia, their constantly exasperated admin person, is crossing the street with her Guppy as well, joining up with the two of them with a smile.

"Alright," Katie says, turning to look back at her two daughters," Remember what I said about today?"

"It doesn't matter if we don't win because you'll still love us the same," You recite through a mouthful of your fingers and Katie smiles.

"That's exactly right."

You hold Mammy's hand as you all cross the road.

Mammy holds Caitlin's hand. You hold Mammy's. Your little sister holds yours.

She raises your wrist up to her mouth and you tense but all she does is give you a little kiss on the bite mark.

"Sorry," She says again.

"It's okay."

Gremlin smiles at you and you smile back,

"Hey," Katie says, swinging your joined arms," Ma's over there."

It wasn't your week with Rue but she's still come to your sports day and the only hint of athletic ability you possess is put into running over to her.

"Ma!" You cry and she hoists you into her arms instantly.

"Look at you! Looking good, kiddo!" Rue says, bouncing you up and down as you lean into her, breathing in her familiar smell. "You ready for today?"

Your stomach suddenly starts swirling a little.

You know Katie's views on your sports day performance. You don't know Rue's.

"I won't be very good," You say softly, barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to be good," Rue says decisively," Listen, I've got permission from your Mammy that after this is over, we can go to that fancy bakery you like and get some cakes before I take you back to her. Would that be nice?"

"And we can get cupcakes?"

"As many cupcakes as you like!"

Like you thought, you don't do overwhelmingly well at sports day.

You lag behind in the races and in the big jumping. You do fairly well at throwing the beanbags into the hula hoops but that's about it.

Sports day finishes with the sporty girls winning like everyone thought and a big barbecue to celebrate.

Your little sister eats a lot, Caitlin gets you cotton candy and your mothers even end up being civil.

"Caitlin," You say as your eyes rove around the school field," Why are the mummies and big sisters stretching?"

"Huh?"

Caitlin has a piece of beef hanging out of her mouth.

You point.

Over on the far end by the fence, Alexia and Jenni are stretching their legs. Leah is a few feet away doing the same. Alessia is jumping up and down a few times, warming up her muscles.

Even Katie is doing the same, chatting away to one of Bear's mummies.

"Well that's for the parent race."

"Parent race?"

"Uh-huh." Caitlin takes a wet napkin to Gremlin's face. "So the mummies can all race each other to see who's the best."

"But why?"

"Because adults can be competitive too. They get bragging rights."

That sounds...

Well it doesn't exactly sound weird.

Mammy and Caitlin work at the fire station together and you know all the firefighters there are super competitive with each other.

You didn't know that other adults were competitive too.

"Be careful, Magda," You hear one of Princesse's mummies say," You're not as fit as you used to be."

"Please," Princesse's other mummy scoffs," I'm not letting anyone beat me."

"If you pull a muscle, you get no sympathy from me."

You turn back to Caitlin in alarm. "Is Mammy going to hurt herself?"

"No...Probably not...Hopefully not."

That doesn't fill you with much confidence as Katie takes her place on the starting line.

It's carnage the moment the start is called as adults shove each other and get their legs tangled and fall to the ground in heaps.

Katie goes crashing into the ground in a heap with Leah, Steph and Lucy. Alexia and Jenni collide with each other and Irene. Mapi somehow trips over herself.

Against all odds, it seems, Duckie's mummy Jessie comes first.

Squish's mummy Frida is second and Conejita's mummy Caro ends up in third.

"Get off!" Katie says, shoving the pile of people off of her as you, Caitlin and Gremlin approach.

You crouch next to her.

"It's okay, Mammy," You say," You didn't have to win. I still love you the same."

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Master & Servant

You either had become too comfortable in your position or you’d gotten too used to scolding the kids; either way, Bruce suddenly found himself at the end of your lectures. As the boss, he should have nipped it in the bud, but, truthfully, he liked it. He enjoyed the way you reigned him in when he got a bit too silly or arrogant—Even Alfred had come to appreciate his behavior a bit more afterward (especially when your reprimands pertained to Alfred doing work a man his age shouldn’t have been doing).

The kids had gone to school, and Bruce, after a night of festive activities, decided it would be best to stay home. He was in the middle of signing some documents when you knocked on the door to his study before entering with a cool expression on your face. Bruce didn’t bother to look up as you crossed the room to his desk, thinking you were there to cure a bit of your boredom. When a lacy pair of red panties slid in front of his paperwork he had to look up at you. 

“What’re you doing?” He said, pushing his chair away from his desk. Were you coming onto him?

You were quick to reach across and pull him back close to you. “Not so fast there, hon’. We have to talk.”

“I’m starting to think we do if this is how you seduce me,” Bruce said as he threw the underwear back toward you. 

You sighed before saying, “These—” You waved around the little piece of fabric. “—Were from your date last night.”

Bruce only managed out an, “Oh.”

“Oh. Would you like to know where I found them?” You spat out. No, he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t about to start answering rhetorical questions. “In the kids' playroom.” 

“Shit,” Bruce seethed out. He had been to a gala earlier in the evening, and, to keep the reporters at bay, decided to bring a pretty lady home. The sex was to relieve some stress, and, usually, he would be careful about where he had his intimate relations. But, he was so pent up that he must have been a bit reckless. That wasn’t like him at all, and he would ensure that it never happened again.

“Don’t leave things like this in there again, please,” You gritted out, tone stern and curt. “It’s incredibly irresponsible. Especially around young children, Mr. Wayne!”

“I know, you don’t need to tell me.” Bruce felt a lightness in his chest, almost fluttering. 

You threw the underwear in his lap. “Apparently I do! Imagine if Duke or Damian found that?”

Bruce was mortified at the thought, but mumbled, “We could always say it was yours.”

If looks could kill Bruce would be dead. You were not in the slightest bit amused and told him as much. You mentioned that the underwear wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg of the issue at hand. 

“You can fuck wherever you want, Bruce, but don’t do it around my kids. They don’t need to get caught up in your fucked up sex life!”

He knew it would be a bad time to point out that they were actually his kids. Overall, he agreed and promised you to never do it again. That seemed to pacify you, more so when he apologized for suggesting that they could pass off the panties as yours. 

 You expressed in a more calming tone, “I know you love the kids, but they’re already having a hard time coping with the rumors about you in the media. Don’t make it any worse by bringing it off the pages into their safe spaces.”

This is what Bruce liked about your reprimands, they brought reality back to him when lost it. You seemed done giving him a rightfully deserved scolding and began to take your leave. 

He called out to you, though, beckoning you back. When you approached, Bruce rounded his desk to get a bit closer to you. “Thank you for…being blunt with me.”

“Someone needs to,” You were quick to say. “Though, I’m starting to wonder who's the boss.”

Bruce smiled and chuckled, agreeing that the line had been blurred in moments like these. Looking down at the underwear in his hands, he finally got the courage to ask, “How’d you know they were my dates?” 

You smirked and laughed a little as you began to leave. “I don’t wear cheap panties. Do you need a lesson on that, too?”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tell Me a Lie

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 4617

Summary: Months of hell lead you to one moment- finding out your boyfriend is really alive. After figuring out where he’s been hiding, you concoct a plan- a very stupid, very dangerous plan- to draw him out. 

Notes: This is a terrible summary, but whatever. I finally started season three and I thought putting the reader in this situation would be really interesting. Obviously, his relationship with Elektra wasn’t the same, but the whole self-destructive Matthew is here and ready for angst. I’m imagining this kinda between the episodes where Matt goes to the hotel and the prison, but doesn’t really follow the plot of the episodes, just my own. This is also just a mess, but oh well. (And I know this is kind of what Bella does in New Moon, but I kind of dig it so I won’t apologize haha)

Warnings: Attempted assault, violence, abandonment, alcoholism literally looking for danger (obviously, spoilers for season three)

More Matt Imagines: HERE

-

It didn’t smell like him anymore. Such a weird, stupid complaint, but it made you sick to your stomach to breathe in the musty air of the apartment. 

You sat up, nursing your head in your hand, still pounding from the night before. Not that you’d slept, but hangovers still found a way to bite you in the ass. It was getting pathetic. Not that you cared. And not that your friends had actually used that word. 

‘Concerning’ was Foggy’s favorite. 

He could have his concern. 

You chased the numb. 

Anything was better than remembering he wasn’t here and the apartment you’d just started to share didn’t smell like him anymore. 

You got out of bed on shaking limbs, feeling the nausea roll over you. You swayed, wondering if you’d throw up again. You didn’t. 

You went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee to pull you out of the haze. Karen and Foggy were coming by today to talk about rent. You had to seem at least somewhat put together or they would try and talk you into getting help. Getting help meant moving on. Moving on meant giving up. Giving up meant lying to yourself. Admitting that he was dead and he wasn’t coming back. 

But Matt Murdock wasn’t dead. 

You could feel it. 

The pounding at the door felt like knocking on your skull. You groaned. 

Foggy stepped inside. 

“Morning,” he greeted with his usual chipper smile. 

You didn’t understand it. How he could still seem so happy after everything that happened. Then again, things went rather well for him after…

You shook the thoughts from your head. This wasn’t Foggy’s fault. 

“Hey,” you croaked. You took a long, burning drink from your caffeinated cup and let its effects wash over you. “I thought you two were coming together?” 

“Karen had… other stuff.” Foggy peaked around the corner, plastering a smile across his face. He figured he’d ease into the news. Especially because you looked- well- you looked the way you usually did these past few weeks. “But she says hi.” 

You nodded and took another drink. “Coffee?” 

“I already had some, thanks.” 

He stood silently. 

You stood silently. You raised a brow. “You can sit down, Foggy.” 

“Right. Thanks.” He nodded awkwardly and took a seat on the couch. So much for playing it cool. 

You set your mug to the side and leaned on the counter, fingers gripping the edge like a lifeline. 

“What happened, Foggy?” You stared at the back of his head and felt that familiar squeezing, wrenching breathlessness in your chest. The same feeling when Claire dragged you out of Midland Circle. The same feeling when you watched the building fall. The same feeling when Matt didn’t walk out. “Is it… is it Matt? Did they find him?” 

“No, it’s not about-” He blew out a sigh. “God, you haven’t seen the news then?” 

You hurried around to stand in front of him, panic still evident in your exhausted eyes.

Foggy had to look away. 

“Why, what’s on the news?” 

He gulped. “Maybe you should sit down.” 

“Just tell me what happened,” you scoffed. The sound came out as a nervous laugh, but on the inside, you were screaming. 

His blue eyes met yours. 

“Wilson Fisk made a deal with the feds. He’s out of prison.” 

You blinked. The crushing in your chest was replaced by your heart stopping. 

“What?” You choked out. Of all the things you were expected to hear, Fisk’s name wasn’t one of them. 

“Well, not out exactly. He’s apparently giving them information that’s made him a target in his old prison so they’re keeping him in a cushy penthouse for ‘safety purposes.’” He spat each word out. 

You put a hand on the back of the chair for support. “Fisk is free?” 

“Like I said, he isn’t free, but-”

You held up a hand to stop him.“Where’s this hotel?” 

-

The courtyard was absolute mayhem. Reporters scurried in every direction, each harassing a different agent for information they wouldn’t get. Matt dodged in between them. The noise made his still recovering head pound, but he could still pick out enough to get through. He ducked his head when he heard Karen’s voice, a small moment of panic almost making him turn around. 

He kept moving. 

The crowds didn’t surprise you. And neither did seeing the familiar blonde head weaving through the groups with determined strides. You hurried after her, almost bumping into the man in front of you, but he stepped out of the way just in time. 

“Karen!” You called. 

Gold strands whipped around. Her clear blue stare cut through the crowd. 

“Y/N?” She said, pushing through to you. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“So it’s true.” You tilted your head to the top of the building, its windows reflecting the sun in blinding brightness. “Wilson Fisk is up there?” 

She sighed. “Foggy told you then?” 

“If you’re planning on an ‘it isn’t safe for you to be here’ speech, save it,” you snapped. “I could tell you the same thing.” 

She bit her cheek, looked you over, and determined you looked sober enough. “Alright, follow me.” 

Matt couldn’t move. He tried to force his feet forward, but the heavy beating of his heart filled his ears and made it impossible to navigate the space around him. 

Your voice. Your scent. Even your heartbeat stood out amongst the dozens of people there. And for a moment, just a moment, he wanted to turn around. 

“Promise me we’ll go on that trip we talked about, yeah?” You laughed, though the air was salty with your tears and your voice shook. He kissed your lips for the last time.

“I promise.” 

But that wasn’t what haunted Matt for the last few months. Your sweet words of promise and hope stung, but they weren’t what kept him from going to you. Your screams were. 

“Let me go! Matt! No! Matty! I won’t leave him! Matt!” Even with countless floors between, Matt could hear your gut-wrenching screams as the others dragged you out of the building just before it blew. “Matt! Please! Matt!”

“Matt?” 

It took him a moment to realize that your voice now wasn’t from his memory. It was now.

You’d seen him. But judging by the direction, there was a chance you hadn’t seen his face. He could ignore you and chances were, you’d think you were crazy. Just another offense he’d committed against you. 

He wanted to turn around, to hold you and kiss your lips again and tell you he was okay and everything was going to be okay. That he was still your Matt. 

But the man you fell in love with was gone. He was buried under Midland Circle. 

Matt kept walking. 

-

You’d seen him. As crazy as it was, you knew it was him. He’d heard you. He must have because he stopped- just for a second, but he stopped. Karen may not have believed you, though you could tell she wanted to, but it didn’t matter. 

It was Matt. 

Somehow, it didn’t make any sense but it all made sense at the same time. He was going after Fisk. Of course, he was. Not even the grave couldn't stop your Matt from protecting his city. From protecting you. 

What you didn’t understand is why he kept walking. He acted like you weren’t there, but he of all people couldn’t have simply not noticed you. He’d left you there on purpose. 

He’d left you.

You paced the apartment with your hands raking through your hair with one question on your mind. 

Why? 

Sure, Matt would always use the excuse of protecting you before, but this time felt different. Had you done something? Had you not done enough at Midland Circle? What happened to him? 

Was it your fault?

The explosion was your idea and it buried him. Did he blame you as much as you blamed yourself?

Your feet halted in front of the closet door. Behind the door was a box. Inside the box was the emptiness that haunted your every waking moment for the past you didn’t even know how many days anymore. Your fingers clutched at the neck of the bottle on the table. The drink burned. 

None of it mattered. ‘Why’ didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was out there and he left you and as the burn raced down your throat you knew what you needed to do. 

And you knew where he might be.

-

The gentleness of your touch eased the sting of the disinfectant as you dabbed it on his wounds. It wasn’t the first night he’d come back cut and beaten, but you didn’t let your worry deter your movements. He came back. That’s what mattered. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your voice as soft as your motions. You touched a particularly sore spot and he winced. As you went to draw your hand away, he caught it in his, fingers grasping at yours, still clenched around the towel. 

“Can we just… sit for a while?” He breathed. 

You nodded. He wiped away any blood remaining on his skin and set the towel aside. His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you to his chest. He listened to your heartbeat. You listened to his. 

Matt remembered the woman he’d come across earlier that night. Two men had jumped her. They were going to take what they wanted and leave her for dead. He’d taken his time beating them senseless while she got away. But her screams still echoed through his head. 

He tensed beneath you and you looked up at him through your lashes. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing.”

You sat up. “Matt.” 

“It’s nothing,” he managed a laugh. “Really. Just come here.” He coaxed you back to him, but the tension was still there. He breathed in your presence and let out a low sigh. His arms tightened around you. “I’d never let anything happen to you.” His tone was different. Almost afraid. 

You drew lines on his chest. “I know.” 

“And I’d never hurt you, or at least mean to, anyway, but I know that I have and I’m-”

“Matty.” You crawled up so you were beside him, taking his face in your hands. “All I ask is that you come home at the end of the night.” You kissed his cheek. “In one piece, preferably.” He chuckled and you pressed your lips to his. You whispered in between kisses. “Just come home.” 

-

He talked about this place sometimes. Not often. Getting Matt to open up about his childhood was like pulling teeth, but in those last few months together, he’d started to trust you enough to let you in. 

This felt like a betrayal of that. Using your knowledge to expose him. To confront him for leaving you behind. A sober you might have thought of that. But the whiskey-fueled your anger, the rum your despair, and everything else blocked out any logical thought. 

What was the word Foggy used? 

Right. 

Concerning.

“Alright, Matthew,” you called out. Your voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper as you tried to hold back sobs. The wind stung the streaks of tears on your cheeks, but the more you tried to wipe them away, the more they fell. You took a drink. “This is it. Now or never.” 

You waited. You gave him a chance to stop you. 

“You always said you would never let anything happen to me, right? That you’d never hurt me.” You held your arms out at your sides. “Well, here we are, you goddamn liar!” Your voice echoed through the street. He would have been able to hear you for blocks, but standing just outside his damn door had to be good enough. “Come out, Matt!”

“Dude, check out this crazy bitch,” a voice said from behind you. 

Your stomach flipped. You swallowed the nervous bile in your throat. This was part of the plan. Sure, you thought you’d have to do a little more seeking, but this worked even better. There was only one way your tangled-up mind could figure that would get Daredevil to come out to play. You just hoped he would bring your Matt with him. 

You turned around. Two men stood in front of you, both of them with eyes scanning your body and lips forming smirks. Oh yeah. They were perfect. 

“What did you just say to me?” You tried to make your voice sound more confident than you actually felt. You wanted their anger, not their pity. 

“Hey, no need to be like that, I was just kidding,” the taller one said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I was just about to tell my buddy that you look a little lost.”

“Yeah, maybe she could use our help,” his friend agreed. “Do you want our help?” From the sound of his tone ‘help’ was the last thing he was offering. 

They both stepped towards you. 

And then a thought broke through your intoxicated, reckless mind. 

What if Matt really was dead?

It made you freeze. It almost made you sober. 

What if you just saw some guy that looked like him? What if you’d imagined it all together? What if all this time you’d been hoping- hell, even praying- that he would come back and he was still down there, at the bottom of Midland Circle, crushed and bloody and… gone? 

The men took another step forward, looking equally confused as they were intrigued. 

What if there was no one around to save you?

You held your head high. 

You hoped they’d kill you.

Either way, at least you would know. 

“You alright there, sweetheart?” The tall one asked. Sweetheart. The word stung. It belonged to someone else. 

You didn’t say anything and just started swinging. Fist to teeth, then foot against knee, you actually managed to do some damage before the friend grabbed your arms from behind. You stomped on his foot as hard as you could. Just because this was part of your plan didn’t mean you were going to make it easy for them. It had to at least look like you tried. For Foggy and Karen. 

The thought of the two of them threw you off. It made you blink, which allowed the lead prick to get a hold of your hair and use it to throw you to the ground. 

“You wanna play it that way, fine,” he growled. 

“Hair pulling?” You sneered up at him. “What, did your little sister teach you that move?” 

“Mouthy little bitch.” He brought his heel down on your head. Hard. It probably should have knocked you out, but you could still see through blurred vision with darkness around the edges. They started to walk away. 

“W-wait,” you said. The feet at the edge of your vision stopped. “Wait, come here.” You beckoned him to you with your hand. He crouched down. “Is that all you’ve got, pussy?” 

The hit came faster than you prepared for, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He kicked. And kicked. And kicked. Blood filled your mouth. You thought you heard a knife click open, but then everything went silent. 

And there was only one pair of feet.

A grunt. A thud. A body hitting the pavement. 

“What the…” Your main assailant gasped.  

You blinked, trying to see what was going on.

“Hey, man, she started it, I swear.” Another grunt. Another thud. Another body hit the pavement. 

A masked face appeared over yours.  

You smiled through the pain. “I knew it.” 

He took off the black band, revealing his panicked face. It was the last thing you saw before the darkness in your head took over. 

-

Matt carried you downstairs, every sense tuned into the creaking of your broken ribs, the smell of the blood leaking from your lips, your head, your nose. He focused on the sound of your heart. It was still beating. 

It was still beating.

“Sister!” He called. 

Sister Maggie, in all her wise-cracking wisdom, had known to be there. Matt didn’t know how, but not for the first time he was grateful for her presence. She helped without him having to ask. 

“Is she breathing?” She asked. 

“Barely. Her ribs are broken. I-I can’t tell how hard she hit her head.” He laid you on the bed, still listening to the semi-steady thump thump, thump thump. 

“Who is she?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands roamed your features, the gentle curve of your cheek now split with a bleeding gash. He ran a finger over your lips. As if to confirm it was really you. He had to feel, had to know. Know that this was his fault. Your words echoed in his head. 

You’d never hurt me.

You goddamn liar. 

You were here for him. The reckoning for his sins these past weeks. 

“Matthew, who is she?” Margaret pressed again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “Just help her.” Matt’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please.”

Sister Maggie frowned, fingers clenched around the cloth she’d used to clean some of the blood. “You need to take her to a hospital.”

“Don’t.” Your voice rasped between them. “Don’t you dare.” You started to sit up, using shaking arms to push yourself upright even as your insides felt like they wanted to rip out of you just from breathing. 

“Stay down,” Matt said. He sat on the edge of the bed, easing you back to a lying position. “Try not to move.”

“I knew it.” 

“Y/N-”

“I fucking knew it.” You pushed back. He was stronger. Matt kept you down as gently as he could. 

“Sister, will you give us a minute?”

You turned to the woman you hadn’t noticed. She seemed glad to leave. 

Matt didn’t face you. He stood up from the bed and paced along the concrete floor, keeping a distance away that made you want to scream. You wanted to touch him. To make sure he was really there. But he hovered away from you like a ghost. 

“Those guys really did a number, huh?” You managed to sit up and this time, he didn’t stop you. Your head, however, wanted to bash itself in. Between the trauma and the liquor, you weren’t sure which made you more nauseous. “But the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is always around to save the day.”

“You did it on purpose,” Matt said, shoulders stiff. “You provoked them. They could have killed you and you-” He sucked in a breath. “Why?”

“I’m an adrenaline junkie. I drink, I look for trouble. It’s becoming quite the hobby.” You were lying. You knew he could tell. 

He stood still, head tilting slightly. “You knew I’d come.” 

“Ding ding ding.” You fell back on the bed and let the ceiling spin. 

Matt couldn’t speak. The panic he’d felt was slowly being engulfed by anger, though it was hard to tell at who. You were looking for a fight, that much he gathered was true. You were drunk, though the fight sobered you up some. Everything he’d ever told you, everything he’d done to try and keep you safe, would have been thrown away tonight. You would have let those men kill you if it meant he wasn’t there. 

And it was all his fault. 

He did the one thing he promised he wouldn't. He left. You’d never judged him, never questioned his need to put on the suit. All you ever asked was that he come back to you and this time, he didn’t. By choice, he didn’t. Just like everyone in both of your pasts, he abandoned you. This was your choice to get back at him, whether or not you believed he was alive. 

“I saw you,” you said quietly. “Today, at the hotel. I knew it was you.” The sure, stubbornness in your voice was gone, replaced by a cracking, wrenching sadness. “I had to know.” 

Matt didn’t say anything. He just reached for the lamp and switched off the light. 

“Get some rest.” 

When you woke up, you were in the hospital, bandages on your cuts, and more hungover than you’d felt in a long time. 

Matt was gone. 

-

They didn’t discharge you, but you left anyway. If they looked too closely at your emergency contacts, they’d find someone who was supposed to be dead and Karen. The latter was not someone you wanted to face right now. 

So, with a couple of busted ribs and one hell of a concussion, you went back to the apartment. His apartment. The place where he first kissed you, first touched you, first-

Now it was just yours. He didn’t want it anymore. 

You half debated going back to the church and demanding he talk to you. You’d like to see the brilliant lawyer try to talk his way out of this one. But in the end, everything hurt too much to face him. You wanted a drink. 

Unlocking the door, the click hit your chest harder than any of that creep’s kicks. 

You knew. 

You may not have had his abilities, but you knew. 

Walking in, you didn’t dare turn around and look at the stairs. You didn’t have to. 

“I’m all better now if that’s what you wanted to see,” you said. You threw your jacket on the floor and kicked off your boots. 

Matt didn’t move from his place by the roof entrance. He stood over you like a judgemental god and you wanted to hit him for it. You might have if he didn’t already look like hell itself spat him back out. 

“You wanted them to kill you,” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Not an accusation. An acknowledgment. 

“I wasn’t going to stop them if they tried.” You shrugged. You moved to the kitchen. “Beer?” 

“You shouldn’t drink with the amount of pain medication they gave you.” He said it so matter-of-factly. Like he was just your boyfriend and looking out for you. But he wasn’t and you didn’t know what he was to you anymore. 

“Yeah, well, it’s going to wear off at some point so I might as well get ahead of the curve here.” 

“Y/N-” He stepped. The steps creaked. 

“Don’t.” You held up a hand. “Don’t come anywhere near me, Matt Murdock.” 

He flinched at the sound of his name like it was a blade you held against his throat. 

“Stay where you are,” you said and twisted off the bottle top, grasping so hard the rigid edge dug into your palm. “Shit.” It sliced your skin and your blood dripped onto the wooden floor. 

You didn’t watch him descend the stairs or cross the space between you. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see his hand grab yours, wrapping the small but deep cut with gauze he carried with him. You yanked away the moment his hold lightened. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Y/N-” He said again, your name hurting more than his own. 

“You’re dead!” Your scream filled the apartment. You knew it filled his head. Everything always did. Good. Let it. 

Matt didn’t step away, but he did let his hand fall back to his side. 

“I know.” 

You tried your best not to shake, not to cry and show the weakness you’d felt for the last weeks. Then again, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to feel everything you’d felt. 

“Tell me you were trapped somewhere. Tell me you tried everything you could to get back to us and you just broke free,” you pleaded. “Tell me a lie, Matt, because I’d rather hear that than whatever bullshit reason you can give me.”

He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak, reading his face before he could say it. 

“I swear, if you say something about ‘protecting me’, then you should have just left me to those creeps because that would have been better than listening to that broken record again.” You turned your back and for that second, you let yourself crumple, but only for a second and completely silent. 

“It wasn’t about you.” 

You straightened up again. “It never was.” 

Now, with you facing away, it was his turn to break. Matt sucked in a sharp breath to keep himself together as you continued. 

“It was always about you, Matt. About your insisted martyrdom.” You didn’t try to stop your tears now, tasting their salt as they flowed past your lips. “Your city. The rest of us just live here, right?” You turned around, stepping towards him. “But at least we live.” With your hands on his chest, you pushed him back. “Which is a hell of a lot harder than hiding.” 

You pushed again and again and again and he just stood there and took it. Your flattened hands turned to fists, hitting harder and harder until you were sure you’d leave bruises on his chest. 

It was when you collapsed that he finally moved, throwing his arms around you before you could hit the floor, your legs giving out under the weight of your utter, complete agony. Your sobs choked you and rattled through Matt like gunfire. You kept fighting him, even as he held you, the pain of your injuries was nothing compared to what you felt in your soul. Like the shattered pieces were being forced back together, but didn’t fit anymore. 

Matt wanted to make it stop. He wanted more than anything to take all of the pain away and tell you it was going to be okay. He was here now. But he was the cause of it all and there was nothing he could do to change it. 

And while there was still a dark part of him that wanted to leave you here, to shield you from him entirely, Matt knew if he tried to walk away now, he wouldn't survive it. Daredevil or Matt Murdock, it didn’t matter. He was yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. 

“You were dead,” you said again, this time with broken words blending together with your sobs. “I tried to go back. I tried to get into Midland Circle, but they dragged me out. I tried, Matt, I-”

He cut you off with a kiss on the forehead and held you closer. 

“I know.” He could still hear your screams, your pleas to give up your life to try and save him. He’d thrown it away, everything you’d tried to make of him. Of the two of you, together. 

You’ll get her killed too. Fisk’s voice in his head pierced his skull like a blade. I will crush her. I’ll tear her apart piece by piece, Matthew, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. 

“She’ll put up a hell of a fight first,” Matt muttered. 

“What?” You pulled back to look up at him. 

He shook his head and held you closer still until the lines between you blurred together. 

“Nothing.” 

Even though every part of him now screamed to get away, he couldn’t move. Even as you knelt in front of him, pulling his lips down to yours, he didn’t fight it. A shock worse than any punch went through his system the moment you kissed him. Like every nerve was finally waking up. 

Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. 

Matt cupped your cheek with one hand and slipped the other to the small of your back, urging you to stand and walk with him to the bed neither of you had slept in in weeks. 

He’d decide in the morning.

[izumkay]

♡How the JJK Men Would Choose Between Ass or Boobs♡

—featuring Gojo, Toji, Geto, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji, Yuta.

Satoru Gojo – “None, your pussy.”

Gojo doesn’t even hesitate. The second you ask, he just grins, tilts his head, and goes, “Now that's what I'm talking about, none.” You blink, confused, but before you can ask, he leans in, voice dropping low and cocky as hell— “Your pussy. That’s my favorite.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like the question was pointless to begin with. "Tits and ass are great, but baby, what I really wanna be buried in is between those thighs.” And yeah, he means it—because the way he worships you with his mouth every chance he gets? This man is a walking addiction.

Toji Fushiguro – “Ass. Easy.”

Toji doesn’t even have to think. “Ass,” he says immediately, like it’s a fact, like it’s already written in the history books. "I need something to grab when I’m fucking you from behind, sweetheart." He says it with a smirk, hand already squeezing a handful of your ass, pulling you onto his lap. “You know I love watching it bounce while I wreck you.” And yeah, he’s got a point—because the way he grips, spanks, and buries his face between your cheeks? This man is a menace.

Suguru Geto – “Boobs, obviously.”

Suguru leans back, arms crossed, looking at you like you just asked the dumbest question. "Tits, obviously.” His voice is smooth, confident, like there’s no debate. “Perfect pillows, perfect handful, perfect to suck on.” He smirks, trailing his fingers over your chest lazily. “And if you think I won’t tease the hell out of you by playing with them for hours, you’d be wrong.” And he means it—this man is a slow, teasing bastard, always pulling your shirt down, always biting, sucking, squeezing. He treats them like a damn obsession.

Choso– “I—I can’t choose…I like everything.”

Choso blushes immediately, looking completely lost. "Uhh… both?" His eyes dart from your chest to your hips, his hands twitching like he wants to touch both at the same time. "I don’t think I could pick. I just… love all of you." And honestly? He’s dead serious. If he’s gripping your ass, he’s kissing your tits. If he’s sucking on your nipples, his hands are kneading your ass. He wants everything, needs everything, and he worships your body like it’s something sacred. Soft Choso but still freaky? Yeah, that’s him.

Kento Nanami – “This is inappropriate.”

Nanami sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is an incredibly inappropriate question." His voice is flat, unimpressed, like he genuinely cannot believe you would ask him this.

You pout, nudging him. "Oh, come on, just answer. For fun."

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if debating whether or not to entertain your nonsense—but then he leans in slightly, his gaze sharp, his voice dropping just a little.

"If I must answer—thighs."

You blink. "Thighs?"

He adjusts his tie, completely composed. "They are elegant, strong, and often overlooked." Then, after a pause, he adds, "Also, they make an excellent place to rest my hand."

And just like that, he goes back to whatever he was doing, ignoring the way you’re now flustered as hell. Because, of course, Nanami doesn’t play into your games—but when he does, he always wins.

Ryomen Sukuna – “I take it all, brat.”

Sukuna snickers when you ask the question, his sharp teeth flashing in a wicked, predatory grin. “Tch. The hell kind of weak-ass question is that?” His voice is full of amusement, but there’s something dark behind it—something dangerous.

He leans forward, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Why would I pick, huh? I take it all.” His voice is a low growl now, his nails dragging down your skin, possessive, teasing. "Tits, ass, thighs, pussy—every fucking inch of you is mine, and I’ll ruin all of it."

And the way he looks at you—hungry, confident, like he already owns you—makes your stomach flip. Because with Sukuna, there’s no preference. No favorites. He devours, he claims, he takes what he wants.

And he always gets what he wants.

Megumi – "I-I’m not answering that."

Megumi’s entire face turns red the second you ask him. He chokes on his drink, avoiding eye contact like you just asked him to confess his darkest secrets. "I-I’m not answering that," he mutters, gripping the nearest object like it’ll save him.

You grin. "Come on, Megumi, just pick one."

His jaw tenses, his fingers twitching. He looks anywhere but at you. "I—That’s—That’s not an appropriate question!" He tries to act all put together, but you swear you see his ears turning red.

Deep down? He’s an boobs guy, but he’s too shy to admit it.

Yuji Itadori – "Ass. No hesitation."

Yuji doesn’t even pause. The second the question leaves your mouth, he just nods firmly and grins. "Ass. No hesitation."

You blink. "Wow, that was fast."

He shrugs, completely unashamed. "I know what I like." His voice is so casual, like he just answered what his favorite food was. Then he smirks cutely, tilting his head slightly. "Besides, I like watching it bounce when—"

"YUJI!" You slap his arm, face heating up, and he just laughs, rubbing the back of his head.

"What? You asked!"

Yuta Okkotsu – "U-Uhh… boobs, I guess?"

Yuta is a flustered mess. His face turns bright red, his hands flying up in defense. "W-WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT?!"

You giggle. "Come on, Yuta, pick one!"

He stares at you, eyes wide, clearly panicking. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "U-Uhh… I-I guess… boobs?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You guess?"

He groans, covering his face with his hands. "I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?! I LIKE EVERYTHING! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!"

Yeah, he’s not surviving this conversation.

[nameless-jamie]

And they were Roommates...

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

9 pm. The knocking at Y/N's door was loud. Too loud. And too persistent for it to be anyone but Jamie Tartt.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the coffee table as she made her way to the door. She was so close to ignoring it but knowing Jamie, he’d either stand out there all night or start texting her ridiculous things like I’ve been kidnapped or What if I perish in the hallway?

With an exhausted huff, Y/N pulled the door open. Personal assistant is a 24/7 job after all.

There he stood, his signature pout firmly in place, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his hoodie damp like he’d just run through a car wash. His normally perfect hair was sticking up in odd places, and the scent of chlorine and something vaguely metallic clung to him.

She blinked. “Jesus. What happened to you?”

Jamie exhaled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Fucking pipes burst, didn’t they? Whole place’s flooded.”

She turned to watch as he plopped his duffel bag on her floor and immediately started toeing off his sneakers right in the middle of the hallway like he lived here.

“Okay… but why are you here?”

Jamie gave her a look. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Y/N crossed her arms. “Maybe a hotel? You can literally afford to stay at The Savoy.”

Jamie scoffed. “Yeah, but that ain’t as fun as annoyin’ ya in your own home.”

She stared at him, unimpressed.

“‘Sides,” he added, flashing a more genuine smile, “you’re my PA, love. Pretty sure takin’ care of me is in your contract somewhere.”

She opened her mouth, ready to argue—but technically, he wasn’t wrong. Managing Jamie Tartt’s life was literally her job. His schedule, his bookings, his diet, and sometimes even making sure he remembered to do laundry like a normal human being.

She groaned. “Fine. One night. But if you so much as breathe weird, you’re out.”

Jamie smirked. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me.”

Day One: And the chaos begins...

Her mistake was thinking Jamie would behave.

Within an hour, her flat had transformed into a disaster zone.

His boots? Dumped haphazardly by the door. His duffel bag? Exploded across the living room. And somehow—somehow—he had already managed to use every single clean glass in her kitchen.

“Jamie,” she groaned, stepping over a random sock, “I didn’t realize letting you stay here meant signing up for a full-time babysitting gig.”

Jamie, currently sprawled across her couch under her blanket, flashed her a lazy grin. “This is what ya signed up for when ya decided to work for me, love.”

“I work for you, not live with you.”

“Semantics.” He waved a hand. Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Kinda nice, though, yeah? Like a married couple an’ that.”

She shot him a glare.

He only cackled.

Day Two: The Naked Incident™

She woke up way too early the next morning.

It took her a moment to remember why her flat felt off—why there was an extra presence in her space, why she could hear the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen.

Jamie. Right.

With a groggy sigh, she stumbled out of bed and padded toward the kitchen. Her brain was not functioning yet. She just needed coffee. Nothing else mattered.

Except—

She stopped. Dead.

Jamie was standing by the counter, casually buttering a piece of toast. Shirt on top. Nothing else.

Her soul left her body.

“JAMIE.”

He looked up, completely unfazed. “Mornin’, love.”

She slapped a hand over her face. “What. The fuck.”

Jamie blinked. “What?”

She gestured wildly at all of him. “Why are you NAKED in my kitchen?!”

He snorted. “Not naked. Got me top on.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“‘Course it does,” he argued, taking a massively casual bite of toast. “Top half’s covered. Bottom half’s—y’know—free. I get hot at night an— ”

She made a strangled noise. “Jamie. Put. Some. Pants. On.”

He smirked. “Why? You peekin’?”

She almost threw a dish towel at him.

Instead, she turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen. “This is exactly why you should be at a hotel.”

Jamie called after her, still grinning. “Oi, if we were married, ya wouldn’t be so uptight about seein’ your husband in his natural state.”

She grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his head.

Idiot.... His ass is fuckin' phenomenal, though.

Day Three: The Honeymoon

She had no idea how this happened.

One moment, they were watching a movie. The next, Jamie was close. Way too close.

He was draped across the couch, arm along the back, body turned toward her in a way that made the air feel different. His knee bumped against hers, and his stupid cologne was messing with her ability to think straight. They were freaking cuddling on the couch aka Jamie's current bed.

Then, he turned his head toward her, voice softer than usual. “This is nice.”

She swallowed, face beet-red. “Yeah. Kinda cozy.”

Jamie’s gaze flickered down to her lips, and suddenly, the air shifted.

Thick. Heavy. Loaded with something unspoken.

His eyes searched hers. Daring. Waiting.

And then—he smirked.

“Kinda romantic, yeah?” he teased. “Like it's our honeymoon, just without the sex. I mean doesn't have to be—”

The moment shattered.

She groaned, shoving him away. “Oh my God, GO TO BED.”

Jamie cackled. “Sweet dreams, missus Tartt.”

She threw a pillow at him. Again.

Day Four: Maybe, just maybe…it ain't so bad.

By the time Day Four rolled around, she had officially lost control of her own flat.

Jamie had taken over every inch of her space—his socks scattered around the floor, his duffel bag still wide open, and somehow, his ridiculous number of protein bars had migrated into her kitchen cabinets like they belonged there.

She could handle all of that. She could even handle the way he walked around half-naked and left his stupid expensive (sexy) cologne smell lingering on her couch.

But what she couldn’t handle was the way he was making it too easy.

Too easy to get used to. Too easy to imagine him sticking around.

And that thought? That was dangerous.

Because Jamie Tartt wasn’t hers.

She was his assistant. This was temporary.

Right?

So why did it feel like something was shifting?

Jamie was still a slob. A slob that cared... He can't seem to pick up his socks but does the dishes every night. He's so bad at cooking, but he makes her the best damn coffee every morning.

That night, everything came to a head.

It started with an argument.

A stupid one.

She’d been exhausted, running on fumes after a long day of sorting out his schedule, making calls, and handling things she probably should’ve let him deal with himself.

So when she got back to the flat and saw Jamie sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up like he didn’t have a single care in the world, something inside her snapped.

“Do you ever clean up after yourself?” she blurted, tossing her bag onto the table.

Jamie blinked up at her. “What?”

She gestured wildly. “This! All of this! Your boots, your socks, your ridiculous protein bars in my cabinets—Jamie, you’ve turned my flat into your personal playground.”

Jamie sat up, frowning now. ���Alright, what’s this really about?”

“What do you mean?”

He tilted his head. “You ain’t mad about the boots. You’re mad about somethin’ else.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m mad that you act like this is normal. Like we—like you’re supposed to be here.”

Jamie stared at her for a long moment.

Then, his voice softened. “And what if I enjoy being here with you?”

Her stomach flipped.

She shook her head. “Jamie—”

“I really like bein’ here,” he admitted, standing now, his expression serious in a way that made her breath hitch. “I like wakin’ up in the morning and seein’ you walk out all grumpy ‘cause you ain’t had coffee yet. I like makin’ you laugh when you’re tryin’ real hard to be pissed off at me.”

She swallowed. “That’s—”

He stepped closer. “And I like sittin’ on that couch with you, watchin’ shite movies, even when you’re yellin’ at me for leavin’ crumbs everywhere.”

Her heart was pounding.

Jamie reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Gentle. Careful.

“I don't know, feels right, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Like I belong here. With you. Near you.”

Her breath caught.

She could feel it—the moment balancing on a knife’s edge.

The air was thick with something dangerous. Something inevitable.

She could step back. Laugh it off. Pretend like this wasn’t happening.

Or—

Jamie’s fingers traced down her jaw, his eyes locked on hers.

“Tell me I’m wrong Y/N and I'll be out that door, no more socks on the floor, no more coffee in the mornin',” he whispered.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she did the only thing she could—

She closed the gap and kissed him.

[derww]

despite all mocha's expectations, it isn’t painful at all: he just closes his eyes in his shredded, torn-apart body on the arena, and the next time he opens them, something is different.

sun hits him right in the face. the grass bends under his paws. the wind rustles in his fur. it's... new. he lets himself relax a little longer. five, ten, twenty more minutes – doesn’t matter... mocha smiles. finally being free doesn’t seem to be that bad.

mocha remembers himself being not-dead only when he hears steps, but he didn’t move. and when a rough hand touches his cheek, he mewls and caresses forward, letting himself be petted. he smiles and opens his eyes.

– welcome back, mocha, – pangi says softly.

– i'm happy to see you too, pangi, – he answers, and he just can’t stop laughing. they hug, clutching at each other as if they were trying to tear each other apart.

the gods are silent, and birds around continue chirping and singing. mocha pulls away – only a little – and looks around.

– it's... new, – he finally says, – but you are here, so i don’t mind.

– welcome to lifesteal, – pangi laughs, – you’d like it here, i promise.

– i trust you then, – mocha calmly agrees. he feels... soft. but is it really surprising after being dead? suddenly illuminated by something, he glances down, then stretches out his hand toward the stiff fabric pangi holds against his chest. pangi quickly notices his attention.

– oh, yeah, – he says, almost embarrassed, – i’ve got a little gift for you.

he lets go, and for a moment mocha freezes. these are flags – roughly but familiarly sewn, with long ribbons stretching down, frayed and worn. there are only a couple of blue ones here, but the vast majority are yellow. almost all of them are bloody.

mocha exhales loudly, then giggles.

– you actually prepared me a gift, pangi? – he asks cheerfully, – did you really miss me so much, aah? and now i’m in another world with you, wow! you can’t-

he stops mid-sentence and slowly turns his head to pangi. his eyes shine with anticipation.

– wait, – he whispers, already broadly smiling, – if this is lifesteal, then clown is here! – he jumps with excitement, – i can ask him for a date! – he hums, laughing and spinning, – i can ask him for a date! – he repeats louder, – and maybe this time we don’t even have to kill each other!

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 1: Vocal Chords

Central Character: Wild

Warnings: Injury

---

With the last of the monsters dead, Time ran over and dropped to his knees next to Twilight and Wild. He didn't know how the champion had been hurt, but he was clutching frantically at his throat, curled up in a ball on the grass.

"Wild!" cried Twilight, trying to pull his mentee onto his back. "What's wrong?"

Hyrule and Warriors had also run over. At a word from Warriors, Sky started to pull Twilight aside.

"Let them work," he said softly. "Come on, just give them some space."

Hyule slipped a glowing hand between Wild's hunched shoulder and his jaw and for a moment everything was still. Then Hyrule relaxed with something between a sigh and a grimace.

"Wild, it's just a bruise!" he exclaimed.

"It can't be just a bruise," said Twilight, glaring sidelong at Hyrule. "Wild, what's wrong?"

Wild let out a panicked whimper. His breathing was quick and frantic.

"OK, Wild, calm down, it's OK," said Time. "Let Warriors take a look at your throat."

Gradually, between them, they got Wild to uncurl enough for Warriors to pry his hands clear and look at his throat. Time tilted his head to see and winced in sympathy as he saw the dark, bruised line across Wild's throat. The teen's breathing was still panicked and there were tears spilling from under his tightly-closed eyelids as he clutched at the bruise again.

"I need to see it, Wild," said Warriors, once again pulling his hand away and feeling at the discolored flesh.

"Wild, it's OK," said Twilight gently, exchanging a confused look with Time and Warriors. "Breathe, OK?" He helped Wild sit up, propped against his chest. "Breathe with me."

"Hyrule, can you heal that?" asked Warriors, nodding at the bruise. "You're right; it is just a bruise, but it's deep and we don't want it to swell any more than it already has."

Hyrule was also looking more serious as it became clear just how much distress Wild was in and he carefully laid a softly-glowing hand on Wild's bruised throat. After a moment, he frowned and leaned in a little, focussing a little more, and a moment later Wild took a deeper, easier breath.

Hyrule drew back with a wince. "Sorry," he said. "It was deep; that must have hurt."

Wild was starting to calm down as Twilight continued to coach his breathing and he said, "Thanks," and let out a quick, uneasy sob.

"You're OK," said Twilight, looking at Time with clear confusion.

Time was confused too. This wasn't just pain or even the panic of finding himself unable to breathe cleanly; this was real fear.

"Wild," he said, kneeling down next to the others. "Wild, what happened? What's wrong?"

Wild took another shuddering breath. "I… thought I'd lost… my voice again."

"Again?" echoed Twilight.

Wild nodded, rubbing tears from his eyes. "I… in all my memories… I never talked. Zelda says… I did sometimes… but… I just remember…" He was calming down now and looked down, starting to go red. "Sorry, I… it was just… a spear shaft across the throat. Not actually that bad."

"But you thought your vocal chords were ruined?" guessed Time.

"I couldn't talk," murmured Wild. "And… I got really scared for a moment…" His breath hiccupped and he hunched down. "Sorry."

[sufferu]

Finally read the most recently translated Arc 9 chapters (up to chapter 18).

Aldebaran is fucking crazy but we all knew that. Wasn’t prepared for him to start paralleling all of the IF Routes and also Natchuki Subawu like that though oh my GOD. —Well I WAS, but not to THAT EXTENT—

Including a parallel to the pinky promise scene was vile lmao. Love it

Heinkel is amazing. Truly the universe’s punching bag. I’m really wondering about his “sturdiness” now lol — but also, him and Reinhard…!

PETRA KNOWWWS— But she only read that one Book, hmm…? So she only knows a little bit… BUT ITS ENOUGH—

I wonder if the Witch of Envy would have come out if Petra had read Any Other Book, or if it was specifically because Subaru had confessed about Return By Death that she surfaced like that…

I love that none of these people were trying to kill Aldebaran lmao. Ezzo, Garfiel, Reinhard, and I’m pretty sure Felt, too — all of them were just trying to fucking pacify him. And then he kept killing himself over and over again. What were they thinking in all those loops? What the fuck was that?

What do you MEAN Reinhard doesn’t actually have the [Divine Protection of Wind Reading]?! I mean it makes sense in context but WOW. OKAY.

(…BTZ just got ever so slightly easier to write, not gonna lie— like I had plans for how to deal with that, but I guess I don’t need them after all)

…You know, I knew that Al would be paralleling Subaru and Subawu and all the IF Barus. I did NOT expect to see Arc 3 Rem being paralleled by an “all-purpose maid” character who is explicitly, openly, and gleefully facilitating Aldebaran’s sprint towards his own self-destruction and eventual suicide. That’s — wow. Even when Amnesiac!Rem isn’t around, Arc 3 Rem isn’t getting even a single break in the subtext of the story, is she?

Interpreting Priscilla as a symbol of fate within the story of Re:Zero really adds a whole other layer to Aldebaran’s internal contemplation about her character and how she interacted with those around her.

These characters sure do love commenting on death, suicide, immortality, and all that junk, don’t they? It really takes on a different tone when you realize that everything they’re saying is supposed to be applicable to Subaru in some way (and also Aldebaran).

Aldebaran needs to get rid of Natsuki Subaru “So that I can be myself.” …I really have the feeling that he read Subaru’s Book of the Dead and it blended their identities together somewhat, and that’s why he’s like this. Could also match with him losing his Authority when he got de-aged while Subaru didn’t — as well as why baby!Al was like. DRASTICALLY different from baby!Subaru, with him being a huge crybaby and all while Natchuki Subawu himself was off chasing shinobis and being a little hell-raiser. If that experience got temporarily reversed due to the whole de-aging thing, then that could very well explain all that. …Wonder who he would have been before that.

The idea of Aldebaran wanting to kill himself immediately after gaining his own identity WOULD parallel how Sphinx only finally got her own identity in the instant before she croaked.

The Witch of Envy IGNORES him, he says? …Huh.

Okay so Aldebaran SPECIFICALLY learned Al Shario from Echidna because she expected him to take over Volcanica and use it to fight Reinhard. Which means that she planned for this to happen. Which means that she planned for everything up to this point to happen. …There are a LOT of implications that come with that reveal. A LOT OF THEM.

Felt showed up with FIVE HUNDRED FRIENDS. REINHARD HAS FRIENDS.

Man tho I’m really looking forward to all the Felt Camp focus. They’ve had some really great moments already…!

[outsidersheadcanons]

Do you have any headcanons about Ponyboy getting appendicitis or his appendix bursting?

do I 🤩

So. It all started pretty mildly. Pony had a stomachache for a few days and Darry assumed it was a stomach bug he got at school or something but after a few days pass it's obvious it's MUCH worse.

It's safe to say Pony's NOT having a good time 😭 he's in pretty serious pain, with a rising fever. Once it hits 102 with no signs of stopping Darry takes him to the ER.

Ponyboy's freaking out the whole time (as far as he's concerned he's already dead 😭) so Soda has to lie w/ him to keep him calm enough to be able to cooperate w/ medical staff.

He's diagnosed pretty quickly?? Thankfully Darry acted fast and the doctor tells them they came right on time.

I dare to say Ponyboy's a little.... excited to have appendicitis (he reads a lot of books OK? And A LOT of people in books seem to get appendicitis... and just. his own morbid curiosity distracts him from his fear just for a little bit).

He kinda starts freaking out when they take him into the operating room :( he's been glued to Soda the whole time up to this point 😭 but thankfully the doctor is nice to him; Pony tells him about his friends and the books he's reading until he passes out.

The surgery ends up going pretty well (it's pretty damn swollen, but it doesn't burst). Ponyboy deliriously asks the doctor if he can see it when it's over, and to his surprise he's able to (in a jar of fluid for a moment. It's the 60s what can I say)

After that he stays a few days in the pediatric ward, he's a little shit only some of the time (but everyone there is used to it. kids don't like hospitals 😭)

Ofc everyone visits him. Darry even gets a day off of work and spends the whole day at his bedside. A few kids from school even write him a card when they figure out he's sick and he's genuinely surprised how many people sign it?

Overall. It's a pretty neutral experience 😭 Ponyboy IS happy he gets a tuff scar tho. He'll show it off to everyone and anyone who he mentions it to

[bidisasterevankinard]

Hello friend 💕 can I request a platonic eddie & tommy snippet?

hi Gat<333 I'm pretty sure it's not what you wanted, but I love bitchy hurtful Eddie and he's bestie was hurt so he needs anger out so.

It's not Tommy bashing, but it's Eddie's pov and he's angry on Tommy and scared for Buck. so let's say it's Eddie's interpretation

Eddie loses the fight against sleep, when Tommy’s voice gets him back from word of slumber.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says mournfully. “I have no right.”

“Not for you to decide. Buck changed his papers, adding you as his emergency contact after he dislocated his shoulder and he had almost five months to change them again. But he didn’t,” Eddie says with closed eyes.

He still feels Tommy fidgeting uncomfortably. Man’s shoulder rubs on the fabric of Eddie's sweater. Buck knitted it for him. When baking was too much he got into a new hobby and at least this one is not the danger to their sugar level. And Buck is really good at making stuff from some yarns. Eddie never had such a comfy sweater before. 

He doesn’t want to think he might never have another one again.

It’s Buck. He never stays dead for long.

But it doesn’t mean you’re not scared it’s this time his luck ended.

“I still think I should go,” Tommy’s voice sounds … uncertain. It's like he's at a crossroads. Doesn't know what to choose.

“Go,” Eddie shrugs still with his eyes closed, “you walked on him once, when he gave you the idea he wants forever. Why stay now?”

“He’s hurt. He-he might die. I couldn’t not come.”

Eddie sees red. Yet, he doesn’t want to be not in the hospital when Buck wakes up.

When. Not if.

“Get the fuck out then,” he opens his eyes to see Tommy look at him scared and bewildered. Surprisingly even with all anger he talks almost with no emotions. “Get. The. Fuck. Out,” he shakes Tommy’s seat. “If you’re here just because he's hurt, because you want to love him till you’re ready to run again when he’s  healed, get out,” he points to the door. “He spent twenty years of his life doing everything he could to almost kill himself so people can love him, he still does sometimes, and I won’t allow the man, who already took so much love and will to live from him to get him in that circle again.”

Tommy stays in his place and Eddie wants to add the red and blue to the red eyes and eye bags he has. With his fists. 

“He can’t love me.”

Eddie smiles ruefully, “yeah, tell yourself you know him or his feelings better than him or the man who sees him getting over the worst heartbreak he ever had.”

Eddie closes his eyes again, counting to ten, “get out, Kinard. He needs people who stay because they love him anyway. Not the ones who keep their legs out of the door. Buck always loves with all he has. The moment he starts he’s all in, the door blocked from the outside. He doesn’t need a person who can’t do the same. At least try. For him.”

“He didn’t call or text. Or came to see me.”

“And you would if someone said to you what you did breaking your heart? Would you reach first?”

Tommy doesn’t answer him and Eddie hopes when he will wake up from another nap the man would finally run again. He has no strength to get the man he still likes, even though all the anger, out of the hospital. But he said the truth. He won’t allow Tommy to mess with Buck again.

He hits where it hurts.

Eddie opens his eyes to enjoy the torture. Sue him. He has a devil in him.

“Buck was waiting for Abby for months. The one who used him to finally rebound after you,” Tommy hunches over so much that Eddis starts to suspect the man has a plasticine spine. “Months. He tried to call, text. Tried to be the one to reach the person who told him not to wait. And he learned his lesson when she ghosted him and then came back with fiance.”  

Tommy sniffs.

Eddie feels awful satisfaction from it.

“The lesson was not to chase the one who decided to leave. Especially when they tell you it’s a bad idea. For him to love them it’s a bad idea.” 

“He didn’t tell me he loves me.”

“You didn't either, yet Buck believes it’s true. And he still waits. For you to ask about another chance. So decide Kinard. You want another chance, but NOT because he’s hurt. Or you shouldn’t be here and you leave.”

Eddie closes his eyes again. One last blow, though.

“But know that I’d tell him you were there, but left. What do you think will be his conclusion?”    

[monsterxmade]

Anya is good at what she’s been made to do - there is no doubt about that - but the advantage here is not hers. She does not have a weapon in her hands the way they do. She does not have time to contemplate the best strategy to overcome this. The halls are narrow. The corridor a dead end until Rand got the door open. Stealth is already out the window and when the first shot sounds, she knows it has alerted every guard on this floor. At least, it seemed, this first one was a terrible shot. The dart whistles past her thigh, bouncing off the all white linoleum beneath their feet. Rookie? She has to move and she has to do it quickly. By the time the second shot sounds, she’s advancing. By the third, she’s on them. The guns are pointless at close range. Free hands move to the knives on their belts.

The armor the guards wear provides protection not just from bullets and knives, fists and feet, but after Anya managed to kill several in an escape attempt nearly a decade ago, it had been made fireproof as well. Aided by her own reckless actions, Father had thought of nearly everything. Except one weakness Anya had noticed years ago and never got the chance to exploit. If the guards moved just right, a seam between the high neck of their shirts and the bottom of their helmets opens, not usually visible but always there. It’s enough.

A strong kick to the stomach pushes the first guard back into the second and both stagger to steady themselves. In the moment of surprise and mindless movement, she gets in close again, curling her fingers beneath the edge of his helmet. It’s a tight fit. She’s not even sure how they get these things on, but she makes it work. Heat builds in her belly, working through her veins until sears his skin. The screaming starts instantly but Anya urges the flames to grow, even after he pulls her hand away from his face. For a moment, her wrist is caught in his grip as flames light the helmet from the inside out but pain makes him weak. His knees buckle and she wrenches her arm free just as the second guard lunges with the knife. She dodges, disarms, puts the blade through the bottom of his chin.

“The lock’s undone.”

Anya glances back at Rand, expression softening already. She yanks the knife free, splattering her face and clothes with blood. It’s too good a weapon to leave behind.

“Go!” she shouts as she runs towards him. She hears the stomp of more boots behind her, approaching too quickly.

Her hand finds Rand as she catches up with him a moment later, pulling him through the door with her just as more guns fire, darts clanging off the already closing door.

His eyes fall closed on the knowing what was about to happen and what they were risking. He hates the thought that he had sent her to do it, he hates thinking that she was keeping the guards at bay as he worked on this bloody lock.

A low groan escaped his lips because the lock was hard. It was very slowly budging even as he could hear the sound of fighting on the other side. He had thought that running free of this place was going to be the start that she needed, that the two of them needed. Maybe it could start a little while after this moment here.

Eventually the lock loosens and he feels it start to pry loose there in his palm. It's hot and near molten, he can even see that his powers had worked expertly on getting them free.

"The lock's undone"

[dilidos]

Rewatching season 1 and can't stop tearing up every time Petey is on screen. He was looking at Mark with so much trust and desperation but oMark has no way to know how much they mean to each other. That scene when Petey was standing at the gas station looking so lost and alone and the moment his eyes landed on Mark he just lit up. He looked so relieved. For a split second he probably thought Mark would (could) make everything ok now that he was here. And then at the funeral we're shown Mark grieving the man he didn't know he knew while Petey's body was being violated in the next room. I hope we get more Petey in s2 because he deserves much more than being a matyr (sacrificial animal, lifestock).

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

[whirlybirbs]

there's a funny "birbs in the wild" story below the cut.

yesterday, i stood in the pouring rain surrounded by a gaggle of nearly ten men in u.s. wwii uniforms, while literal tanks rolled behind me, and shot blanks out of an m1 garand into the woods. i had a handsome man do the "let me show you" trope with the rifle. i was the belle of the ball. i was a princess, and these men were doing everything for me. gathering raincoats from their packs, offering me period-accurate rations. "do you want to shoot my pistol?" "let me show you my foxhole!" living history, etc, etc.

i need to document this for fourteen year old me to know that her band of brothers fantasy came true.

but. y'know. all good things must come to and end. i hope fourteen year old me isn't too crushed by the part where the brother she's there on a date with ends up being an insanely open racist over dinner.

so, you know. i guess that was period accurate too.

[virtueofsanityx]

for a moment, the very real fear that she's somehow already upset him settles deep in her chest, watching him carefully and trying to read an unreadable expression. she's sensitive, she's been told that a hundred times before, and she's always on the lookout for changes in the people around her, to try and keep them happy. a people pleaser to an extreme. she watches him now, trying very hard to understand where she might have taken a misstep, until it occurs to her what he's doing and she stops dead.

eyes wide, holding her breath, not moving a single muscle, terrified. because she can hear them down below, shuffling around, little groans and creaks, poised and ready to attack at any moment, and she's never been a fighter. she's a runner. running has gotten her this far, sheer force of will and a minor stint in high school track and field.

her chest hurts, lungs starting to burn from holding her breath, and she doesn't let it out again until he looks up at her and speaks again. it comes out hard, and she pants for a moment to try and catch it again before forcing herself to try and calm completely. everything is fine. nothing bad happened. nothing bad is going to happen.

right?

"it's kind of amazing, how many kids i've actually seen out and around, even in all of this." her voice is softer, too, but that doesn't really matter. she eyes their hand for a moment, a beat, before she reaches out to take it, making sure her footfalls are light and quick, not letting herself stand or linger too long on any one piece of the floor, not ready to be rotter food, today, and when she's got their hand, she grips it a little too hard, that fear manifesting physically for a moment before she realizes what she's doing and eases up.

The search is slow and methodical for the most part. The place is absolutely destroyed and one wrong move could land you in the pit of the bottom floor of the building--probably surrounded by those things. A surefire way to get yourself killed. Luckily, he's light on his feet, so climbing over cracks and clambouring over piles of rubble proves rather easy for him. Still, actually finding anything is a whole beast of its own.

Rhys is surprisingly good at finding what no one else might notice. Digging around in piles of splintered wood and broken chunks of drywall, he's tossing pieces that seem like they'd be useless into his sack. In the right pair of hands, the things he was finding could prove very useful. It helped that even before the world fell apart he had a bit of experience in searching for lost things--for supplies otherwise tossed aside in garbage heaps and abandoned buildings. At the time, it was an unfortunate reality he'd had to deal with, but now? Now that poverty and famine felt more like it had bred an important skill set for this post-apocalyptic world they're stuck in. Sad but true, billionaires and even middle class families were some of the first to go when the plague came.

His own backpack is slung back over his shoulder once he's out of the way of the rotten boards and broken cracks in the flooring that seemed most precarious. Head tilts when she speaks and then he nods, a bit more serious and less friendly than before. It wasn't purposeful, he was just...focused.

Brows quirk downward for a moment as she speaks, eyes flickering to her lips and then away to their environment. A pebble tossed off to the side and he watches it roll down the tilted foundation and drip off the edge of a splintered hole in the ground. The tick of it hitting the ground is followed by shuffling, shambling sounds of creatures below... His fingertips graze the ground as he kneels, waits to feel the vibrations of the floor if they should try to come up there one way or another. Not that they expected that they could, but they had a plan if they did. They watch silently for a moment until the shuffling stops again. So they were stuck down there. Good.

"Oh, yeah, um..." Lips purse a little and he blinks up at her as if he hadn't just tested the waters of a very dangerous group of creatures slumbering deep below. "Actually, we do have kids...if- if you could believe that." A soft chuckle. Slinging his bag over his shoulder once again, he stretches out a hand her way for her to take. Serious, but soft eyes meet hers, just waiting for her to take it, to follow.

[sebbyisland]

akanematic.mp4 (youtube link)