#this has so many run on sentences but i just had to word vomit or id explode after last night

[poughkeepsies]

Not to make this 1000 times worse for everyone but actually, 614 and 615 were the episodes for both Buck and Eddie mutually rejecting each other and the other's place in their lives by implying that they are lacking in the area that is the other's love language. Lemme see if I can hold my pieces together long enough to explain.

614 with Eddie rejecting Buck was much more subtle and didn't show a reaction from Buck beyond general jealousy because I fully believe that Buck doesn't know he's in love with Eddie, because he never even allowed himself to consider it as an option. He is too petrified of people leaving and too incapable of accepting that he can be loved to ever put himself in a position to hope for something that has the potential to devastate him so thoroughly. But whether he knows he's in love with Eddie or not, over the past 5 seasons he has thrown himself completely and utterly head-first into being there for Eddie and Christopher, being their best friend and their safe place. He exists as a part of their lives that no one but Shannon has ever even come close to occupying. Buck doesn't do grand declarations like Eddie does, but he shows his love through quality time and acts of service and all of that boils down to making sure the Diaz boys are never, ever alone. And yet, just last episode Eddie decided that he wants to start dating because he doesn't want to be "alone" anymore. Eddie is scared of dying alone when Buck has proven time and time again that there is no mess, battlefield, or locked door that could keep him from Eddie if he's ever in danger. So if Eddie is still feeling alone, still scared of dying alone, then maybe the kind of partnership and presence Buck brings to their lives simply isn't what Eddie is looking for, at least in a romantic sense. Even if he isn't aware of his feelings yet, even subconsciously Buck would take that as a door closing in his face before he even had the chance to knock. And so continues the pattern of Eddie jumping back into the dating game and Buck diving in seconds after him.

Now, of course, Eddie isn't saying that because Buck isn't enough. Buck is everything he wants or needs in a partner, but that scares him because Eddie is aware of his feelings and that makes him so acutely aware of the fact that Buck will find someone else to settle down with and start his own family with any day now, and when that happens Eddie really will be well and truly alone. He can't break his own heart, he needs to start being proactive because he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life alone after Buck has moved on.

And in 615, when Buck says that Natalia really sees him, he's discounting the way Eddie has always unspokenly expressed his love for him. Because maybe Eddie hasn't ever used those exact words before, but every one of his major declarations, including "there's no one in this world I trust with my son more than you" (THE TO BE SEEN, TO BE FOUND SCENE?? HELLO???), "I love him enough to never stop trying and I know you do too", "I forgive you", "I know", "It's in my will if I die you become Christopher's legal guardian", and especially "you act like you're expendable, but you're wrong", have been just another way of Eddie telling him I see you for all that you are and I love you for it. The expandability line is a particularly unsubtle standout because it's absolutely paralleled with both Taylor and Margaret telling Buck "you think you're invincible but you're wrong," and there Eddie was again, paired against Buck's mom and his girlfriend, two of the people who should know him and love him the best and yet just don't. And oh shit I'm realizing this just as I'm typing this but Eddie is yet again being paralleled against Buck's mom and his girlfriend (the girlfriend now being Natalia). In 6x10 when Margaret calls him a "miracle baby" and the way Natalia gushes about his death - Buck's death and his birth, two of the most traumatic things that have ever happened to him and Buck is someone who so desperately wants everything to be okay, wants the trauma to have some grand meaning, so he takes the out and takes the win and he lets them let him hide behind the superficial positive bullshit. But Eddie, Eddie sees Buck and Eddie knows him and loves him enough that he can tell just how not okay all of this is, not just for Buck but for all the rest of the people who love him as well, and he doesn't want him to hide away from it because Buck shouldn't have to pretend to be unchanged but he should acknowledge the way he's changed. Eddie is seeing Buck more than Buck can handle being seen right now and Buck is unconsciously rejecting it by placing preference over the way Natalia sees him. Except to an Eddie who is already convinced Buck doesn't feel the same, who is so scared of being alone after Buck has moved on, this feels like just another way he won't be enough for Buck and the time when he'll really well and truly be alone is more and more drawing near. There's even something to be said about the fact that we see Eddie visibly realize just how much Buck has been affected as he's talking - the fact that he's realizing this so late may be making him even more sure of his inadequacy.

[darkphoenix07]

Hi~

Can you do brat tamer!san with 7, 10, 16 & 24

-✨🐢

San brat taming you

Masterlist

Mental health request

Paring : San x Reader

Word Count : 2.7k

Genre : Smut

Warning : Degradation, Cursing, Spanking, Slapping, Rough, Brat taming, Choking, Deepthroating, Riding, Licking.

11:32 p.m.

You love midnight parties. Specially when you could see your mortal enemy there sticking his tongue out to devour other girls. You loathed him. Maybe not because he always badmouthed about you, because of his tongue going in and out in someone else's pussy not yours.

You've heard from the college girls what type of dick he is but at the same time his tongue has always worked like the best vibrator in the world. You had a thing for the way he treated you. He disgraced you, looked at you with burning eyes. He pushed you everytime he passed by you. Not only you, he had the same feelings going on within him knowing well what he wanted.

Just like other midnight parties, tonight was crowded, full of drunk people and couples one another. Many people approached you but you were too busy digging into your drinks hoping something different will come and save you from this boring night.

And just when you were about to give up, you hear his voice, "Finished already?"

You didn't look at him. But you could smell his sweat, his body heat inches away from him. His minty cologne always makes you light headed but if you look at him right now, he will know it.

"Are you out of girls to sink your throat in?" You ask him rolling your eyes at the hot bartender in front of you. He has been devouring you from the time you've sat here. But you couldn't care less.

"Does it make you tempted?" He asks grazing your arms with his.

You look at him moving away because his heat has collided with yours now, "Question over question. That's all you can do?"

"You have no idea what I can do," he says smirking as he orders vodkas for him.

You hate vodka, it tastes like vomit to you. He knows it because he replaced your whiskey with vodka once making you choke on your drink.

You keep your palm on his chest, "I know what you can do. Those are in airs."

He looks at your hand and starts to push your hands as he comes towards you, "Do they make you think about me often?" His lips brushes your earlobe as he whispers. It leaves shiver running through your whole body reaching your core.

You don't want to give in yet, "Don't be so proud of yourself. Shows your narcissism a bit too much," you tell him with the same tone, he talked to you a while ago.

He chuckles grabbing your hand pulling you close to him, "Does your mouth only work good when you are talking?"

"You'll never find out," you tell him taking your hand away.

The vodkas are placed in front of you two and he takes shots after shots of them time by time. But his irritating gaze not leaving yours as the vodka drops drip his lips down to his throat.

"Ma'am, don't you want to order something?" The bartender asks as you are sitting lazily browsing your phone so you forget about the man next to you.

"No, I am not getting drunk tonight," you tell him.

You leave the bar and walk inside the bathroom to fix your make-up. Only your lipstick has smudged a bit so you put on some more of the glossy brown lipstick. You don't notice when the same minty smell touches your nostrils. But your body stiffens seeing him in the mirror behind you.

"He was ogling you the whole time," that's the first thing he says after your eyes met his.

"I liked that. He wasn't a dick after all," you tell him still putting your lipstick on.

"So you are an attention seeker whore? I give you a lot. Does it make you want to touch yourself?" His sentences make you smile as you keep your lipstick in your purse and face him.

"I don't like who smells like garbage when he has vodka all over them," you tell him crossing your hands.

"Your mouth runs so bad."

"Are you out of words? Is that why you are saying this?" You ask him bending a little looking up at him.

"You dance a little tonight and your dress is going to leave your body. How can you wear something so tight?" He asks you ignoring what you said.

You chuckle clapping in front of his face, "Choi San? Are you jealous?"

"You bet," he rolls his eyes.

"Then don't keep ogling me everytime you see me in something like this. I like it better when it's other men. I hate it when it is specially you," you point your index finger at him making his blood boil.

"Keep talking about any other man and I swear you will taste my dick next," he says moving closer to you.

"I bet the bartender's one tastes better than yours," you tell him as the side of your lips curve.

He grabs your chin and digs his fingers into your cheeks, "I warned you."

"Did you think you can scare me?" You keep pushing him to his limits because every cell of your body want him. You want him to break you while you keep degrading him with your mouth.

"You'll be scared if you don't stop your pretty little mouth," he says pushing you until your hip hits the sink.

"I am scared your cock is not as big as your pride is."

You know where you hit because he smashes his lips on yours like they are made for each other to destroy. His hands digging your cheeks more as he deepens the kiss while his knee makes your legs spread nudging your core. Your warmth makes his knee tremble but he keeps it together as he ravages your mouth forcing his tongue in it. His tongue molds in yours as they want to devour you alive.

He doesn't let you breath as he picks you up and makes you sit on the sink. His hand slipping on your throat pressing it harder. You wheeze under him as he digs his nails in your neck sides releasing the kiss, "Do you understand what may come next if you keep talking like a brat?"

"You are a little too weak for that. I have had better," you push him again and this time he pulls you down making you face the mirror.

"Bend over," he commands you but you only smirks which screams, "make me."

Caution for y'all who can't read these.🔞

You feel your heart thudding inside your chest as he grabs your neck and presses you cheek on the sink by one hand while his other hand pulls your blank skirt down, "You like being a little brat don't you?"

"Find out too quick."

He spanks you without any warning as he says, "Don't talk, just spread your legs."

You listen to him as you spread your legs for him to have a nice view of your black thong drenched by your cum.

"Your pussy says otherwise," he only smirks slapping your butt cheeks again.

"Are you sorry now, brat?" He asks but you only shake your head making him more tempted.

He hits you harder this time making you flinch, "You need more of this until you are sorry for running your mouth."

He pulls your thong and wraps it around his two fingers while it is still on you making it stick in your pussy and asshole more tightly, "San, please."

"What? I haven't even started. I thought you will put up a good fight," he mocks you as he pulls your thong more only to make your thighs tremble.

He bends over you as he hisses, "You haven't seen half of it yet."

As soon as he stands up, he places a spank on you and you flinch. All these together feel too much that tears start coming down from your eyes.

After his continuous spanks. He asks you again, "Tell me you are sorry for running your mouth like a brat and this will end."

"Go fuck yourself," you tell him even though your butt cheeks are red with his finger marks all over.

He puts his hand under your throat and makes your face up as he squeezes your throat, "Such a slutty mouth."

He leaves you and you hear his pants unbuckling sound. Your mouth already waters but you suck it in. You won't like it if it ends it here.

He pulls you by hand and pushes you on your knees grabbing your neck hair, pulling them to see your face, "More tears, brat. I am not satisfied yet."

"Is it because of your little cock?" You say earning a slap from him but you chuckle.

He smirks seeing your face, "You'll know once I make you gag."

His pants is on his ankle while his boxer is still on him. You pull his boxer down and your eyes are flat open seeing his length. You worry about yourself thinking how will you ever deepthroat him.

"Shocked already?" He asks taking his cock in on hand rubbing it with the precum on the tip. He touches your cheek with his wet hand while his another hand is still on your hair, "Open your little mouth and take me in like a brat. Will you?"

You nod as you open your mouth and keep pushing his tip further in it. You stop moving your head backwards.

"Eyes on me, brat," he says and you look at him while sucking his cock, bobbing your head up and down.

"Such a bad girl," you leave his cock and lick his balls, suck on them, come back to take his cock again while the saltines of his cum gives you a feeling of drunken.

You massage his pelvis while taking his cock as much as you can but as you make a gag sound, you feel his cock vibrating filling your throat with his cum.

"Swallow. All of it," he says looking at you with pride in his eyes and you shallow each drop of it while seeing his eyes rolling back in the back of his head.

You don't stop bobbing your head until he picks you up and crashes his lips on your neck this time pulling your skirt up, "I don't wanna fuck you for the first time in the bathroom," he says picking you up on his shoulder placing a single spank before taking you upstairs in his friends' house room.

He throws you on the bed like a cloth and undress himself first before diving into bed on you, "You are still not sorry?"

You shake your head and he drags your skirt down with your shoes, throws them somewhere on the couch, "This night will be a long night for a bad girl like you."

"Have you seen another like me before?" You as him as he places himself on top of you.

He smiles, "Not a single one yet."

He tugs your hands on the bed as he grabs your wrists, "Be a good whore for me and you will be forgiven."

"You wish," you say and he bites the spot on your collarbone making you moan.

You try to stop yourself from moaning so you bite down on your bottom lip. But he leaves your one hand and slaps your breast, "Scream my name if you want to be fucked."

You don't give in which makes him more frustrated. He likes the game you are playing with him but you are aroused like a mad woman, you don't understand where it ends.

He leaves your hand and pulls your dress lace down from your shoulder revealing your upper part to him. He keeps pulling your honey colored top down until it is off you and hovers over you again.

He grabs one of your breasts in his fist and keeps licking your nipple. He does the same with your another breast but you can't keep yourself from moaning things, "You are a piece of shit."

He only smirks when your eyes meet, continues his torture on your body. Your breasts look red by the way he was clenching them, moving them.

"Is that cunt as dirty as that mouth of yours?" He asks staring down.

"Why don't you check that for yourself if you are that much tempted?"

He chuckles pushing himself up before hus fingers land on your clothes pussy a little too hard. You winch in pain as he does that again, "Is it throbbing, brat?"

"Yes. Please."

"Do you want it again?"

"I want your cock," you tell him.

"You don't deserve it," he tells you hitting the same spot giving you electric shock all over your body.

You try to push him down but he doesn't even budge. Your mouth waters as you see him rubbing his cock on your clothed pussy. It feels like an abuse to your body as your body keeps trembling under him.

"Are you sorry for your bratty mouth?" He asks you again but your mind is too occupied imagining how good it will feel when he will be inside of you.

So you answer him, "Yes. I am sorry. I am too much sorry for being like this. Fuck me. Fuck me like I am your ragdoll."

"Yes you are," he says and you feel his cock on your pelvis.

He rips your thong and the way he pulls your thong off you, you feel aching pain in your entrance.

"Do you want it inside, brat?" He asks and you nod so eagerly making him chuckle.

"That's my girl," he says grabbing your legs from your knees pushing them aside, "So wet. Is it for me?"

"Only you, I swear," your words aren't yours anymore because you've lost your mind a while ago, there is no coming back.

"Good girl," your body lumps hearing him before you feel his tip inside your hole slowly making its way.

"Fuck yes," you scream but grab your mouth feeling another wave of scream feeling your body as he settles in properly.

"Don't cover your mouth... I like hearing you," he commands removing your hands and pinning them beside your head once again while he inserts you.

You winch in pain and pleasure all together and his perfect face makes your heart ache, "God yes. Perfect."

He pushes your knees bending them on your body as he pushes himself deeper inside you, "Can you take it, baby? Because I've just begun."

"Yes, more," it's harder to breath but you can't care less.

You both are moving in a rhythmic way. It's too hot in here though the air conditioner is at lowest.

"You've no idea how many times I've dreamt of this," he says keeping his pace up. You start to feel the orgasm of yours building inside your stomach as he doesn't stop.

"Me too," you agree with him as the feeling of orgasming washes over you and he smiles.

As he pulls out and pulls you on his cock, you finally realize he has been wearing a condom. You were too into him that you didn't even notice if he was careful enough.

You sit slowly as you squeeze his shoulders. Your forehead touching together as he grabs onto your hip and keeps moving inside of you helping your body move like your hip is his controller.

"Fuckin the pride out of you is my favorite game," he says staring at you as you keep moving. You cum again but that doesn't make him stop pounding inside of you.

"I could watch you ride me all day."

The way his throat vibrates while saying that makes you kiss him, making his lip bleed. Your breasts keep bouncing as your pace keeps getting faster by each kiss, "Fuck," he groans feeling your breasts touching his chest again and again.

He squeezes your hip tighter moving you faster as he pounds inside of you, "Don't stop," feeling your another orgasm building you cry out. He keeps the plea pounding inside of you like he hasn't forgiven you yet.

As the night goes by with him rocking with you, you make plan for being brat for him again because for the first time in life vodka tasted like heaven through his mouth.

Taglist

@theaufanartist @hwanchaesong @littleninja97 @fudgeflyssworld @loosmyshit @pinki-minki @sanshinee-world @harusoraa @kitty4hwa @northerngalxy

[sadiegirl2021]

Writing tag game by @bonecarversbestie !

Describe your writing process from idea to posting/publishing?

I have a notes app called EasyNotes where I jot down all my ideas as I get them; bits of dialogue I think would work in a fic, interactions between characters (which always come to me just as I'm about to drift off to sleep) and very, very rough outlines of chapters.

Then, I'll word vomit onto a doc and copy in any notes I had.

Because I'm better at dialogue than describing the scene, I'll write out all of that first and then work from there to flesh it out. Like starting with the skeleton.

Once I have the first draft done, I start my editing process. I go paragraph by paragraph correcting spelling and grammar (I have a Chrome extension called LanguageTool), and then I play the whole chapter through another Chrome extension called Read Aloud. Because of my ADHD, it can be difficult to catch all my errors by reading alone, so hearing it out loud helps A LOT! Would recommend it. (Although the voices used are hilarious. Hearing your smut scene's read out by a monotone robot is slightly traumatising 😂)

Once I'm happy with a paragraph, I will add HTML coding to it - the <p> tag. In my head, it's just the easiest way to mark that a paragraph is complete. If I'm still not sure about a sentence or paragraph, I will mark it in red to rework. I also add all my <i> tags as I'm writing, so I don't forget about them later!

I realise I'm doing too much! But, I quite enjoy the editing process.

Once I get a chapter or One Shot uploaded, I try my best not to read it again so I'm not continuously making little changes.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I want to be a plotter SO BAD! I've got Excel sheets, multiple docs with outlines, plot points, and a solid plan. And then boom! The characters run off like a crazed toddler in the opposite direction, and all I can do is follow. So… I guess I'm a pantser!

What do you listen to when you are writing?

I have multiple Spotify playlists depending on the mood of the fic/chapter I'm writing. If I need to write emotional scenes, I'll put on some heartbreaking Emo songs from 2006! Or, if my energy drops while writing, I'll switch to 90s pop. Generally, though, I just listen to instrumental music. One of my fav playlists is this one.

What’s your drink of choice (while writing)?

Water. I am booooooring. It is sparkling, though!

Promote yourself! What’s your favourite thing you’ve written?

I think it's Hot Girl Summer. This was supposed to be a little funny, 5-10 chapter fic that wasn't serious. And it has spiralled into a multi POV, 40-chapter story with so much plot! I'm loving the process, though. And I think I will definitely have to get it bound when it's all done.

Share a fic of yours that you think is underrated/deserves more love.

I'm going to say Hot Girl Summer too. I think a lot of people aren't as interested in stories that follow both Gwynriel and Elucien (and sometimes E/riel or another pairing with their favourite characters) at the same time. I haven't seen many fics that do it, but they’re some of my favourites in the fandom, and I’m so happy to add to that list. If you're hesitant, I highly recommend giving them a try!

My favs are:

Call Me Home (by @propagandaprincess)

A Court of Vision and Bloom (by studentwriter666)

Best Laid Plans (by @trappedoutside124)

Do you have any advice for new writers?

First of all, just do it! It took me 33 years to build the confidence to try. For most of my life, I didn't think I was good enough to write, even though I had so many stories to tell. In my 20s, I probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to take the plunge. Writing opens you up to criticism (which I hate!), but I’m forever grateful that 99.9% of my readers have only ever been incredibly supportive and encouraging.

Don’t be afraid to use tools that help you. I know my limitations with ADHD, so I created a process that works for me. Everyone has a different method, and the right one is whatever works for you.

Finally, finding a community of like-minded people makes the whole process a lot more fun. I love helping others develop fic ideas or beta-reading for them, and appreciate all the support they give me. It really motivates me to keep writing.

What is a writing style/technique that others do really well that you'd like to get better at?

Flow and angst! I'm really working on improving these areas in my writing. I'm quite impatient and tend to rush through the plot rather than building up tension. I know I need to slow down and let the story breathe, but it's so hard! I just want my characters to kiss within the first 5 seconds 😂

Is there a character you were surprised you enjoyed writing as much as you did?

Eris Vanserra!

Gods, I love torturing this man! I've redeemed him so much in my fic that I'll be heartbroken if he truly turns out to be just a dickhead in the canon ACOTAR world!

Thank you for tagging me @olenvasynyt

No pressure tags: @sunshinebingo @avabrynne @thevalkyriesshadow @aldbooks @hlizr50

[daydream-cement]

Violet and Rose Ch. 10

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Authors Note: Shorter chapter. Someone commented that they didn't normally like pregnancy fics until this. Me too bro. Typically, I'm like ugh no, but yall have changed me rn. (the gif isn't violets, but i do what i want)

You avoided talking to Larissa for over 24 hours since you learned of your pregnancy. You parents even enabled you by taking her with them to do chores or run errands under the guise of bonding with their new 'daughter-in-law to-be'. Larissa knew something was wrong. Moments when you could sit together in the same room, you were hidden away somewhere with your mother, crying while she comforted you.

"Honey, you can't keep this from Larissa forever. She will hardly even talk to your father and I anymore. You have her worried sick." You were laying in your parent's bed with your mother. You were wrapped up in her arms like you were when you were a little girl. You were so relieved to have found out about the pregnancy now rather than when you were in London days from now.

"Mom, what do I even say to her? She is going to run as soon as I mention having a baby. There is a reason she has no children. She probably doesn't want any."

"What is the key word that sentence? Probably?" Your mother was never one to sit and let you be sad.

"You know what I mean, mom."

"No, I don't. You have a woman out there who loves you and you are laying in bed, crying to your mother." You wanted to roll your eyes and be annoyed, but you knew she was right.

"I just... I need more time..."

-----

"Hiya, sweetie." Your father kissed the top of your head and pulled up a chair next to you at the kitchen table. Diane had taken Larissa into town to get groceries for dinner even when Larissa tried protesting to so she could stay here with you.

"Hey, dad..." You mutter before shoving more pancake into your mouth. How you loved the pancakes your mother made.

"How are you feeling? Sick or tired?

"Sick and tired of feeling sick and tired."

He chuckled at your response. This was something he said frequently as you were growing up, "Now, you know I try and mind my business... You should talk to Rissa about this. I think she will be real happy about this."

You didn't speak, instead you push the plate away from yourself, having lost your appetite from the rising anxiety that was building in your chest again.

"I was so happy when your mother told me we were going to have you. You weren't planned either, honey, but you have made us so happy." Your father placed a hand on your shoulder and pushed himself up out of the chair, knowing her didn't want to make you any more upset than what you were, "When I didn't think I could love your mother more, she gave me you."

------

You were nauseated, vomiting, and extremely emotional. You were weighing all of your options. While you loved Larissa deeply and knew you wanted to spend your life with her, but children... children were a different level of commitment. Of course, you couldn't make a decision until you talked to Larissa about it all. There was a part of you that wanted to have the baby with her, knowing you would raise the most wonderful of children together.

You sat out in the pasture watching the horses graze. Wiping your eyes of another round of crying, you stare down at the swaying grass around you, allowing yourself to space out. You saw a little violet growing in the grass near you, it brought a smile to your face. It was a late bloomer.

Typically, you avoided making flowers bloom outside of their normal season, but you pressed a hand to the ground, pushing many other violets from their hiding spots. Flecks of purple and white began to surround you. You used to pick violets with your mother and make a 'magic' tea with them that changed colors when mixed with lemonade. The memory comforts you and you wonder if you could do the same with your child one day.

"They're beautiful..." Larissa's voice speaks up behind you, but she doesn't sit, rather she stands near you for a few moments, allowing a bit of silence before she speaks again, "Do you- Should I leave Fern? You haven't spoken to me in what feels like forever... If you don't want to be with me anymore, I'd rather have you say it now..."

Her words sting. You never wanted her to leave. You wanted to be with her forever. You shake your head and draw your knees up to your chest and bury your face into your arms, feeling a sob course through you. You felt guilty for lying. You felt guilty for making her feel like she wasn't wanted. You felt guilty for being unsure if you wanted her baby. You felt so guilty.

Larissa lowered herself on the ground next to you, bringing a hand to your back, but not initiating any other contact. Her hand rubbed circles and her voice cracked when she spoke, "Talk to me... Please."

You keep your head resting on your hands, but you turn your head to look at her. Your eyes were red and tear-soaked. You pull your lips between your teeth and stare at her for a moment, tears still running down your cheeks.

"Fern, I don't know what I did wrong. Please talk to me. I can change. I can make it better. I just want you to be happy." She was begging now, seriously thinking that you were about to break up with her. You could see the tears running down her face. You needed to tell the truth otherwise you would continue breaking her heart.

As you spoke, the sobs came even harder, making your words almost impossible to understand, "I-I'm- I'm..."

You felt Larissa's hand leave your back and move to her own face, preparing herself to hear the worst.

"I'm p-pregnant, Larissa." You wished you felt more relief after admitting it to her, but you felt more anxious than ever. You wondered in you were going to be sick. You buried your face back in your arms, waiting to here her own response. Was she going to be breaking up with you now? Would she want anything to do with you after this?

She was silent. You couldn't see her face, but you pictured her reaction. She was probably crying thinking about how she was stuck with you. She might be planning on how she could convince you to terminate the pregnancy before she decides to break up with you. All of the thoughts running through your mind ended in Larissa deciding to break your heart.

“You’re pregnant? But we-” Larissa finally spoke up, her words were completely confused until you heard her come to the same realization she had, “…Oh…Oh, Fern… Honey… Really?”

Did her voice seem happy?

You felt her move closer to you, her hand coming around your middle before pulling you towards her. There you were, straddling Larissa, your arms wrapped around her middle as you bury your face into her chest. Her arms came around your shoulders and held your tight to her, rocking you back and forth, "I would love to have a baby with you."

Her words were almost shocking to you. You waited to hear her say the word 'but', but it never came. Instead you felt her press a kiss against your forehead and she spoke once more, "I wonder if they will be a shapeshifter or have powers like you? I won't lie, but I hope it's a girl."

Your tears began to slow when she began talking about the baby. It made you feel like everything would be okay. You still weren't speaking. Larissa decided to change the subject a bit to take your mind off the pregnancy, "What kind of flowers are these?"

You sniffed before turning your head to look out on the little field of purple and white flowers you had created, "Violets."

"That would be a good name for a baby girl..."

Link to Chapter 11

[cbk1000]

I am bored, so I have decided to pick a random word from the book next to me, and search that random word in each Merlin fic I've posted*, and post the first sentence/passage that contains that word. Why? I dunno; this is how I spend my free time, I guess.

First word is 'know'.

From that fic where I rewrite the entire show, plus Arthurian legend:

“How would you know?” Arthur snapped, but in a princely way, since he did not allow peasants to rile him up to anything which could be credibly called peevishness, or even mild pique. 

From that fic where they have a lot of sex in a cave (Merlin is claiming he can smell storms, btw; I didn’twant to include the full argument because it's them, so it's long):

“I can smell it, and it’s going to be a nasty one, and if you insist on going out to shoot tiny, innocent little baby deer in it, I can’t say what will happen to us. Especially in a wood with obvious murderers in it. Do you know, there are these little old women who live in huts, and they--”

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, in a very pleasant tone of voice. “There’s only one murderer in this wood, and it’s going to be me.” 

From that fic where they have a lot of sex on a train:

"How's work?"

“Like arse,” Merlin said, paying for their coffees, and handing Arthur his. “I think they would have asked me to push off my holiday, except they know I’m a biter. And not just the sexy kind.”

From that fic where they heal sick animals, and then have a lot of sex (starting to sense a pattern):

“Oh, crap. I guess you don’t know; the schooling’s changed since Gaius went. Yeah. They teach you just to ram it up there and stir it round a bit. Really, if the horse isn’t shrieking, you’re doing something wrong.” He looked up from under the curling fringe, going round behind the mare, and speaking to her in a far lovelier tone than he had used on Arthur. “Someone want to hold her? And by someone, I mean the person who didn’t call me a useless infant baby who has no business touching his precious capitalist wet dreams.”

From that fic where they have a lot of sex in a sex club:

“Why would she think that?” Arthur demanded. “Why would she go to a sex club--whip people, or whatever it is you do there, and think, ‘Oh, you know who’d fancy this? Merlin.’”

From that fic where Arthur comes out and they hook up and Merlin is still too stupid to figure out that Arthur’s attracted to him:

“You’re the one who wanted to go for a run. Didn’t you let the weather know a Pendragon would be in attendance, and it ought to have put out its best silverware and the tablecloth it inherited from five generations of Tory wealth?” 

“Try not to be a wanker, Merlin.”

“I will not try, it’s bloody five am in the bloody morning.”

From that fic where they're gay farmers:

Because folklore has a right to a certain poetical flair, it is stated, many times over, by many various people, that the Once and Future King shall rise again: and there is a certain implication of glamour, as if he were going to come in as he had gone out, wielding a very large sword, under a very heroic banner. People in folklore are rather more grandiose than real ones, because no one really likes to read, in a nice little book of fairies, about how a great king might actually go about getting himself out of his tomb, which was what the lake was. They would not like to know that he did not just appear one day, jauntily from nowhere, a bit shiny round the edges, to show that he was a legendary rather than ordinary man; but that his first act upon the new earth was to crawl out onto its shores and vomit up some lake water with weed in it. 

From that fic where they think they can be friends with benefits:

“You’re the one who broke up with Freya.”

“I know; I don’t mean a relationship anyway. I don’t think I have time for one. Between work and you, I don’t have the emotional energy for a girlfriend. Or boyfriend.”

“What do you mean, ‘between work and you’? What have I done?” Arthur demanded, sitting up on his bed where he had been lounging back whilst Merlin carried on with the business of packing, and throwing at him a pair of socks which had not yet gone into the luggage.

“What do you mean, what have you done?” Merlin asked, throwing the socks back at him. “We’re practically married. I was chatting with Lance the other day and realised I haven’t talked with him or Gwen for almost three weeks, but you texted me yesterday to tell me you had got a hangnail that was bothering you. And asked me to go to Tesco for you because the washing up liquid was out. Whilst I was at work, you daft numpty.”

From that fic where Arthur is a sexy water demon/spirit/creature of folklore who lures people with his naked wiles and drowns them:

“Well I order you to get in the water,” Arthur snapped. Now because the poor cog took up so much of the introduction, there was never any mention of what or who it was carrying; and anyway what had marked it for royalty was unrecognisable in the crush. So it is helpful now to mention that Arthur in his life had been a prince: disinherited, to be sure, by his own death, but still the marked superior of this peasant. He was not used to being disobeyed. No one had ever looked up to his station, and spat on it. 

“Well I’m not going to, you patronizing prick.”

“Do you know who I am ?” Arthur demanded. 

“You’re an areshole in a lake.”

And finally, from that other fic where I rewrite the whole show, but also T.H. White's 'The Once and Future King':

But this is not the case. Arthur was given a tutor (a great many tutors, actually) as you remember, but it was a tutor who was not Merlin, because Merlin was still a boy in a small village called Ealdor making cracking good sport of his magic, as he was a child, and children do not yet know that Man is the only beast who has learned to fear what is innocent, and pervert it accordingly, and then, having quite thoroughly ruined it, kill it with the worst of their weapons, known even to this day as Justice. 

*Excluding the social media fics, since I can't do a ctr f on images.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd, implied abuse references, gambling addiction, vomit, implied possible alcoholism

AO3 link

Chapter 11 - Jesper

At first Jesper thought that Wylan was just avoiding him; he’d pushed too far too fast, and Wylan didn’t want to talk about it. But an entire week rolled by without a single sight of him - Jesper managed to make it to one business lecture and two biology lectures, and Wylan wasn’t in any of them. 

“We haven’t seen him all week,” said Nina in a falsely light tone as they left a biology lecture that Jesper hadn’t listened to, “I’ve just been hanging around hoping he’ll show up. Inej went to scope out the house-”

Of course she did. Saints, what did Kaz want with Wylan?

“- and she said he hasn’t left his room once, but he doesn’t seem to be ill. The staff bring him his meals and he doesn’t even talk to them,”

That was two days ago. Now Jesper was sitting at the Crow Club, eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table about a girl from the Menagerie who had gone missing two weeks ago. If there was anything about the disappearance worth knowing then Kaz probably already knew it, but it still couldn’t hurt to pick anything up and pass it on. Might make Jepser feel useful for once. He glanced down at his cards, then tossed a few more chips into the centre of the table and promptly lost. Then again, and then again. Dammit. By the time he was wandering back towards the Slat dawn was beginning, he’d lost count of how many drinks he’d ordered, and he got the fright of his life when the Wraith appeared at his shoulder.

“He dropped out,”

“Saints!” Jesper jumped away, hands flying to his revolvers before he’d had time to properly acknowledge who was there, “Inej what are you - wait, what?”

“Wylan,” said Inej softly, nodding in the direction of the Slat as they slipped out the other side of the thick crowd outside the Crow Club, “He dropped out. Nina and I are coming home,”

“What?”

“Kaz isn’t happy,” Inej breathed, “It was an expensive venture to have to cancel the job. But Kaz is never happy, and it isn’t directed at you anymore so I thought you’d want to know,”

Jesper hadn’t quite processed that part yet. Wylan was dropping out? Wylan?

“Do you know why he’s leaving?”

“No idea. The staff at the house are paid too well to bribe, and as far as listening in got me was that he hasn’t left his room or spoken a word to anyone all week. No word of him dropping out on their end, I found out from the school offices. Anyway, if you’re staying out tonight you need to be alert, Kaz and I just had a run in with the Black Tips,”

Jesper frowned, not really listening to Inej’s last sentence. Something felt off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it - and let’s be fair, he wasn’t sober enough to think it through properly. He blinked, trying to sort through his thoughts, and when he came back into focus he realised that Inej was looking up at him with that look of disappointment catching in her dark eyes. 

“You need to sleep, Jes,”

“What did Kaz want with the kid?”

She shrugged.

“Nothing he told me about. I expect it’s as simple as Van Eck has something Kaz wants, and getting close to Wylan would give us an easy way in. He probably knows some safe code or business details that Kaz wants,”

Jesper shook his head.

“Barking up the wrong tree then, anyway. Wylan isn’t set to inherit the business,”

Inej looked up at him, surprised.

“He said his stepmother’s pregnant, and her kid’ll take it once their grown,”

“His stepmother’s barely older than us, you know,” Inej shook her head, “Married six months ago; two months pregnant. Van Eck… I don’t know. He’s an unusual man. There’s a portrait of him and Alys up where there used to be one of him with Wylan’s mother and Wylan, when he was little. Apparently he had the old one burned,”

“Burned?”

Inej nodded.

“Grief is strange,” she murmured, “But there are no portraits of Wylan or his mother anywhere in the house; it’s not even like they’re being stored somewhere,”

Jesper swallowed, his mind slowly catching up to itself. 

“Where’s Nina?”

He needed to talk to her. He needed to ask her about the night she went to the Van Eck mansion. 

“I- at the university, but why-?”

“I’ve got to go,”

“What? Jesper-”

“I’ll be back!” he shouted over his shoulder, as he began to run towards the University District.

He raced back past the Crow Club and towards the canal, then followed it South until he reached the wide waterway that ran beneath the Financial District. This early there was no-one in the area to see him but he felt strangely on show anyway, moving faster than his head could keep up with in the slowly growing light. He had to stop running not long before he got to the university, his brain swimming and his feet unsteady as the dizziness and nausea of the drinks and the sudden movement finally caught up with him. He promptly threw up in the first bin he walked past, and after that there were few thoughts in his head beyond getting to anywhere he could lie down. 

“Oh Saints, Jesper,”

Inej. She had followed him. She followed everybody, somehow. Jesper was faintly amused, and very vaguely aware of Inej’s hand on his as they wandered through the slowly lightening streets of campus.

“Where’s your dorm?”

He directed her absently, and the next thing he was really aware of was stumbling into his room and Inej closing the door behind them. At some point she gave him a glass of water and not long afterwards, Jesper was asleep.

He woke up alone, not many hours later, with the headache to end all headaches and a vague memory of needing to talk to Nina about something important. He couldn’t remember what. What had he been talking to Inej about? The job was cancelled. She and Nina were going back to the Barrel. Kaz was pissed off, but at least he wasn’t pissed off at Jesper anymore. But why…? Wylan. Wylan had dropped out of university.

Jesper sighed, hunting through his wardrobe for the least creased shirt he could find and downing a glass of water before grabbing his revolvers from the desk - Inej must have taken them off him last night - and leaving the dorm room. He’d go back to the Slat, sleep off the headache, and hopefully be conscious again in time for his shift at the Crow Club. He should find Inej and apologise to her as well. But maybe that could wait until after he’d slept. He was so completely and utterly exhausted that he briefly wondered if he was imagining it when he crossed in front of one of the libraries - the one near where he had his business lectures - and saw Wylan Van Eck. 

“Wylan?”

“Jesper…” Wylan paused, then nodded vaguely towards the corner of the building.

They walked to it together, finding themselves stood half hidden in the shadows cast by the tall stone steps that lead up the library. For a moment no-one said anything. Wylan bit his lip.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered.

Jesper hesitated.

“Why are you then?”

“I… I wanted to explain. And apologise,”

“Apologise?”

Apologise for what?

“You asked me what I really want to do,” Wylan swallowed, “It’s music. I… I play the flute, but I never thought it could go anywhere - you know, if I couldn’t see the sheet music,”

“Okay…”

“But I got into the music school in Belendt, just found out. Apparently they’ve had students like me before - even for piano,” his face briefly lit up and then dropped again just as quickly, “I just… I didn’t want to just disappear without telling you,”

Oh. Jesper nodded, slowly. 

“Right,” he shrugged, “Well, thanks. Have fun, I guess,”

“Jesper-”

He turned away. He was being awful and he knew it, but he didn’t want to say anything else. Why should he? Wylan had avoided him for over a week, just to show up and tell him he was leaving - but then something struck him. Had Wylan been avoiding him?

“What do you mean that you’re not supposed to be here?” he asked, slowly turning back to face him.

He hasn’t left his room once, but he doesn’t seem to be ill.

I have to get home pretty quickly after class. My father worries.

He doesn’t even talk to them.

I just… I’m not supposed to stay out too long.

What was Wylan Van Eck doing in the library every day from eight in the morning?

And what had Inej been telling him last night? There are no portraits of Wylan or his mother anywhere in the house.

Wylan’s cheeks flooded.

“I just - I’m supposed to be staying at home,” he managed.

“Why?”

Wylan didn’t say anything for a moment. And then:

“I have to go - I’m sorry. I just wanted to say goodbye,”

“Wylan, what aren’t you telling me?”

Wylan turned around and Jesper felt an unknown panic seizing him. He grabbed Wylan’s wrist to try and pull him back, and the merchling flinched as he spun back to face him. The hand holding his cane rose to cover his face for a bare millisecond before he righted himself again, pulling away from Jesper. 

“What happened? When you got home late last week?”

“Nothing,” Wylan’s face glowed pink, highlighting the scar that stayed thin and silvery over the rush of colour, “Goodbye, Jesper,”

“Don’t go,”

“I have to, I-”

“No. Look - I have a second place, in the city. I can stay there and you can take my dorm, as long as you need it. I mean, you might want to give me an hour to clean in there but…”

“Jesper I’m going home, and then I’m going to Belendt. I’m sorry, I really just wanted to say goodbye,”

He turned to leave again and Jesper grabbed him arm - refusing to let go this time, even as Wylan tried to twist away.

“I…” he wasn’t entirely certain what his end goal was here, “I can’t let you go back,”

“Let go of me,” said Wylan, quietly.

His voice had suddenly taken on an almost dangerous quality, like something raw was tugging at the edges of his soft, calm tone, and something flashed across the cloudy blue of his eyes. Jesper was reminded briefly and almost disturbingly of Kaz. He let go.

“Wylan, you can’t go back,”

There was long pause, and then Wylan murmured:

“I’m not running away, and I’m not finding out what happens if I try to. I’m sorry, Jesper, I-”

“Please don’t apologise,”

Wylan smiled. He stepped closer and reached out slowly, hand finding Jesper’s wrist and slipping down to tightly squeeze his fingers. He smiled.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s okay, Jes. I promise. I’m okay,”

Nothing was okay. 

But Wylan was walking away and Jesper didn’t know what to do to stop him. There was something going on in that house and Jesper was just standing here, watching, letting Wylan walk straight back into it. But what could he do? He couldn’t force Wylan to stay with him.

There was only one thing he could think of. It was either going to fix everything or make it all ten times worse, but that tended to be how most of Jesper’s ideas went. And he couldn’t see another option.

He was desperate. 

He went to Kaz.

[renegadeknight]

Can I be super obnoxious about the ask game? ‘Cause I’m gonna.

2, 4, 17, 18

If you only want to answer one… 17 or 18. (You know I’m a whore for the snips.)

love that for me 💙

2. a character whose POV you're currently exploring

I'm actually currently trying to wrangle some Tommy POV, which has been harder than I thought it would be 😅

4. a story idea you haven't written yet

Ugh so many but one I'm really excited to get to eventually is another alt meet au where Joel finds an injured Ellie in the woods while he's on a remote-ish Jackson patrol and then he has to deal with the fallout when some raiders/fireflies come looking to take her back

17 got a little long so I put it under the cut with 18, thank you for the ask!

fic writer ask game!

17. talk about your writing and editing process

it feels like a chaotic mess to me but I usually start with a very rough just bare bones draft of something, I usually call this "word vomit" cause that helps me combat the perfectionism and just get shit on the page. some parts will be more fleshed out than others on this initial pass if a certain scene/moment strikes me, but sometimes it's literally just "Ellie says something that makes Tommy want to walk in front of a train" like vibes and what I want are easier to jot down at first even if I don't know how it's going to play out quite yet then I go back through for a second pass and try to flesh out the structure of the scene, what's my goal and who goes where and does what to achieve that goal. this can be more or less polished depending on how many mental drafts I've done of the scene. sometimes if it's a lot of convo I'll cut that to another document to work on just the dialog with no narrative distractions and then cut it back in to work out the body language interactions etc. but I still sometimes leave carrots like "<something something he asks one more question and she snaps something back" and leave it for future me to figure out and then the third pass is where I start to finalize things and paying more attention to how I'm saying things instead of what I'm saying. I try to work out all the carrots that I left behind and make sure I've hit all the story beats I was aiming for. if I'm not completely done with it after that, I'll read through one more time just for a flow/vibe check, pick up some typos if I'm paying close enough attention and then post it immediately because if I don't then I will keep picking at it until my eyes bleed

18. if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

This was some very early drafting for Stubborn Love where I thought Joel might push for Ellie to get a say that first time Tess came to take her to a permanent placement, and then Ellie promptly disappeared from said placement. Obviously I ended up going a different way with it, cause I felt like it was too early in the game for her to be running away and Joel to know exactly where she went. So I used that later 😉

And this was also very early SL drafting of the "not your dad/not my daughter" conversation where initially I had this idea that Ellie thought Joel was just estranged/ghosted Sarah and so she sort of stepped in it a bit. Ultimately I decided to let Ellie figure that out before this conversation cause it felt like she would piece that together. (also an example of mostly keeping to the dialog in early drafting, and "Silence for a hot second" would defs get revised to something more eloquent lol)

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP list, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Ok so… this is where we get into just how utterly chaotic my creative process is, but not in a way that results in oodles of files that have creative interesting names - quite the opposite in fact.

You see… I have currently have 16 files and the titles are:

Moonrat Moonrat 2 Moonrat 3 Moonrat 4 … all the way up to the current Moonrat 16

The reason for this is that I don't actually separate different stories into individual files until they end up on Ao3. It's all just one long running thing all squished together with a few spaces between 'chunks' that sometimes, but not always, end up being separate stories and/or chapters. And I'm a packrat (pack-moonrat?) and never throw anything away so if something is cut out it's usually shoved in a free spot at the bottom of everything else to be used in something else later.

When Google docs starts taking too long to load and spazzes on me with lag, that's when I start a new file.

Because my first drafts end up looking more like free-verse poetry than stories, with usually only between 1 and 5 words on a line, either in bits of un-attributed dialogue or point form ideas, it often goes on for a ridiculous number of pages, so these tend to be large documents. I also am really really bad at titles. Except in very rare situations, everything comes out as untitled brain vomit and then is titled very close to the end (sometimes mid Ao3 post when I realize 'oh yes, titles are a thing - oops') long after I've turned it into actual sentences with real grammar and such.

Basic unfinished idea-chunks that are ongoing include, but are not limited to:

30-some pages of the first Dawning story that is still unfinished (I ended up realizing I would not finish the writing challenge in time if I continued the inordinately long Dawning story I had begun so I wrote "Dawning Oasis" instead and will finish this one some other time)

the Drifter on a special secret mission for Eris in the Sepulcher lost sector in the Throne World

Eris finding a renegade Hive chapel dedicated to her on the Moon

the last chapter(s) of "Dance with Vengeance" (this has since been posted)

several false starts based upon lyrics to other Crane Wives songs for that one writing challenge I did (as opposed to the completed one with sad Drifter having nightmares called "Ashes, Ashes")

oodles of random snippets of dialogue

Drifter teaching Eris to cook and/or cooking and/or Eris eating various dishes

various iterations of Eris exhibiting telepathy and/or non-normative vision that I have rejected from current projects for consistency reasons which may end up in other things later

more Immaru bullying like in "Visitation" and "Wind Chimes" (he knows what he did)

lots more nightmares because, when I'm not writing fanfiction, that's one of my narrative specialities

several false starts for the sequel/enactment of the private gambit match discussed in "Hide and Seek"

bits pertaining to and/or including/referencing that one bog slug

Per the rules above, you are invited to ask/message about any/all of these (or, quite frankly, anything else - I do not bite unless we both agree that I wish to bite you and you wish to be bitten).

I have never done a thing like this before, nor have I ever tagged anyone else on tumblr before, so here's hoping I did this correctly. I was tagged by: @flowers-of-io and I am tagging: @redbutterflies-blueeyes @synnthamonsugar @bbyfacedx and @annieruok94

I would love to tag more people but I actually have quite the serious disconnect between who people are on Ao3 and who people are on here and I am very easily confused. If you look at this and go "But why did you not tag me? Do you not love me?" The answer is: "No I just have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Please say hello and tell me who you are on Ao3 so I can include you if I ever do a thing like this again."

That is all.

[twignotstick]

TMNT: SECOND SHOT - Arc 1, Chapter 6: Pursuit of Progress 🌇

<- Chapter 5: Old Wounds 🩸

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): mention & threats of violence

Words: 3,396

Summary: April finally befriends Cassie. Old friends reunite. Things are going perfectly.

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

April had been standing still for much too long. She probably looked like a lunatic, rocking on her heels and glancing over at a bench 30 feet away.

But she was there, and April couldn't build the courage to get any closer.

Cassie was wearing a red bomber jacket, with white fluff lining the inside and collar. Her chemical bleached black jeans had a couple scuffs on them, along with some ridiculously impractical straps and pockets. Her Doc Martens were tapping on the floor. The clunkiest red and gray headphones were mounted on her head and plugged into the phone in her hand.

Irma and CJ had spent 2 actual hours hyping April up for this. Irma kept promising that Cassie really wanted to spend time with her, jabbing CJ's shoulder with her elbow for some reason. All that hyping, and yet, April still wanted to turn around and run. It was really happening.

She was going on a (albeit, impromptu) date with Cassie Casey Jones.

Not a romantic date, by any means. Cassie would probably vomit at that idea, April thought.

Imagining the worst case scenario (one in which Cassie doesn't, in fact, recognize her, and she has to walk away with shame), April takes the biggest breath she can hold in her lungs and walks forward. Following the winding park sidewalk, she gets closer and closer to the girl who she's been swooning over for over 2 years. The girl who she's wanted to gush over every living second of the day. The girl that made her feel like she was fighting gravity.

She stopped at the corner of the bench. Cassie was engrossed in whatever she was looking at on her phone for an uncomfortable minute, then realized the feet standing just a few feet away and yanked her headphones down around her neck.

Their eyes finally met.

April felt like she might die, maybe just because all the blood in her body was gushing to her brain.

Maybe because this was it.

Her eyes were a million times prettier up close. They looked dark from a distance, but they were magnetic now. Flecks of grey and brown in the iris. The perfect ratio of sclera/iris/pupil. She had red eyeliner on her lower eyelid and subtle black eyeshadow on the upper, tying her outfit together perfectly.

They stared at each other for just a bit too long, waiting to see who would act first.

April caved.

“...hi-” she rasped, coughing to get rid of the phlegm in her throat.

Cassie snorted. “Hi? Are you okay?” Her voice sounded like a perfect choir of angels and songbirds, yet had a harsh scratchiness to it.

April laughed a bit, trying to ignore the moisture on her sides. “Yeah, I-I'm fine,” she assured, voice still shaky.

“Good, I guess?” Cassie said, smiling widely. There was a perfect pink shade on her cheeks.

Wait, pink? The only time her cheeks were pink was when she was working out. Her skin was almost always perfectly fair. Why now?

“What are you doing out here?” Cassie questioned.

“Oh,” April squeaked, swallowing thickly. “So, Irma got her phone, like, totally smashed, and like-” her fingers were pointing and flailing wildly- “she had to drive out really far to get somewhere that could fix it-” should she really be taking this many breaths in a single sentence?- “so she couldn't get out here to meet you, and she's stuck in traffic, and so she asked me to come out and meet you and tell you that.”

After a second of stillness, Cassie laughed again. Wow, that is a good laugh. “Well, that explains why she's been ignoring my barrage of texts. I was startin’ to think she'd died or somethin’.”

April rubbed the back of her neck, quickly aborting that action when she remembered her sweatiness. “Yep, not- not dead. Just a dead phone. But she, uh, told me about what you guys wanted to do today? And I got the animal feed you guys talked about- if you just want to take it, that's totally chill.”

Cassie blinked in response, then her face got even pinker. “Do… Do you want to go feed the birds with me?”

“ONLY IF YOU WANT ME TO-” April yelped, holding her hands out, one holding the bag of aforementioned feed. “I can, like, totally leave, I know this was supposed to be you guys' like, ‘girls day'-”

“I'd love that, April!”

Her name, said by that incredible voice.

And so excitedly, too?

Maybe Irma wasn't lying.

Cassie stood up from the bench with energy, shoving her phone in her jacket pocket. She shot her hand out, fingers spread. April looked, stunned.

“I, uh,” Cassie fumbled, messing with her headphones’ cord, “I don't think we've properly met, actually. I'm Cassie Casey Jones, not Cassandra, it's either Cassie, Casey, or Cassie Casey Jones. No other options.” She sucked in a breath after the monologue.

April looked at the hand presented to her. Touching her hand. I didn't think I'd get that far. Frantically, she rubbed the sweat off of her own hand on her pants and grabbed Cassie's. “W-well, I'm April. But you already knew that. Or April O'Neil. Either works. Or Apes, CJ calls me that sometimes. Irma calls me Roja too. I'm open to nicknames, I guess,” she laughed awkwardly.

“‘Roja’?” Cassie questioned, letting go of her hand. (One question answered.) “Like ‘Red’? That's so cute, I'm stealing that.”

Cute. She just called you cute, SAY SOMETHING!

“Yeah, guess it's that Hispanic razzle-dazzle, y'know?”

…why did you say anything.

Cassie laughed again. So genuinely. “Yeah, I guess,” she agreed, smiling. “You know, she calls me ‘Enojada’ sometimes.”

“Isn't that just… ‘annoyed’?”

“THAT'S WHAT I SAID!” Cassie shouted, holding her arms out. “I have so many other intriguing aspects to my personality, and she just calls me ‘the angry one’?? What kinda friend DOES that?!”

“The same kind that calls their roommate a color, I guess.”

“I GUESS!” Cassie snickered, beginning their walk forward. April followed at her side, making sure to keep up pace, laughing along.

The girls cruised along the sidewalk, throwing various anecdotes and comments at each other. They never actually talked about one another; that would be preposterous. No one just talks about the fact that they've been obsessing over someone else to that someone.

Oh, but how she wished she could.

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

Barton Axum stood in front of the door, knocking evenly, regardless of the fact that he had already rung the doorbell. He knew that Baxter was inside. He wanted to be sure that Baxter would open the door. Just to see the shock on his face.

It was even better than he was hoping.

“What are you doing here?” Baxter interrogated. His eyes were empty and tired. Something had been haunting this man.

Axum knew just what.

“You know why I'm here, Doctor,” Axum said, holding a tall and dominating posture, but slipping into a smile. “Our project is coming off hiatus! I cannot just continue our work without consulting my collaborator and confidant, Dr. Stockman.”

Stockman's eyes held shock for a moment, almost unnoticeable, then fell into frustration and faux confusion. “What are you talking about, Barry? I told you that I never want to-”

“Oh Doctor, please!” Axum barked, shoving his way inside. “We must maintain a level of professionalism in this working environment! And goodness, do we have work to do.”

Stockman shut the door with a huff and followed as the estranged man sauntered through his own home like he owned it. Axum's white lab coat floated loosely behind him, and his coarse hair was pulled back in a tight half up-half down style.

“Fortunately for us,” Axum continued, “I have been hard at work refining my mutagen for over a decade, so perfecting them should be simple. After we get rid of that prototype, of course…”

“What are you talking about?” Baxter begged, still holding up his charade. “Why couldn't you just keep one promise? You shouldn't be-”

“Stockman, your Mouser network has been under my eyes for years,” Axum hissed, stopping abruptly in the doorframe of Baxter's office. “It's quite impressive work. I never thought you'd stoop so low as to send them after an innocent child, but perhaps you've changed…”

The tired man almost lost his balance.

Taking the man's faltering confidence as an opportunity, Axum stepped further into the office and approached the computer. “They're incredible as drones. Easy to maneuver, even easier to put an A.I. into, you really outdid yourself, Doctor!” Axum sat in the office chair, rolling around to face the awestruck man behind him. “But, perhaps we could revive their initial intended purpose?”

Axum knew what the Mousers were supposed to be. Exterminators. To get rid of New York's disgusting rat problem. Stockman only whispered wistfully about the plans and schematics back when they still knew each other.

The reason for the project's change in direction was somewhat obvious, and hilariously ironic.

“What do you want with them?” Stockman asked, shakily. He looked on the verge of supporting himself on the doorframe. His eyes were shattered.

“I want to complete them, Doctor.” Axum crossed his legs and puffed out his chest. “It's obvious from what your little bots have surveyed that their mutation wasn't fully effective, just as I initially assumed it wouldn't be. The refined mutagen I have tirelessly crafted for years will make them perfect.”

“They don't deserve any of this!” Baxter cried. “They're living, and they're completely fine as they are!”

“Don't deserve what?” Axum asked coldly, raising a brow. “A purpose? A reason for their broken existence?”

“We don't know what your ‘refined mutagen’ will even do to them! You could kill them, or make them monsters!”

“THEY WERE MONSTERS TO BEGIN WITH!” The chair flew backwards into the desk as Axum stood up. He breathed heavily, calming himself down from his outburst. As he took one more heavy inhale, he sat down once more. “It is our decision what they will be, and I have decided that they must be perfect.”

“That's all you ever wanted, isn't it?”

Axum laughed. “What could be better?”

He had worked so hard. For years. His master kept forcing him onto new projects. New distractions, he thought. But now, they were here. Alive. Incomplete, of course, but Axum took pride in fixing his mistakes.

This opportunity would not be squandered.

He turned to face the computer, sticking a USB into a port quickly. Stockman bolted over, but Axum stopped him before he could interrupt the process. 

“What are you doing?!”

“Making it easier for us to retrieve them, of course!”

Multiple windows opened and closed on the screen, eventually ending on the Mouser interface. The scene displayed almost brought tears to Axum's eyes.

The largest turtle was laying down, likely exhausted after endless hours of pacing. The second largest was sitting close to the smallest, both leaning against the largest's side. They always seemed to be close. The second smallest was beside the rat, having a conversation, with a purple soft cooler in its hands.

All of them. Gathered in one place. It was almost funny.

The windows closed, and the computer shut down.

“...what was that?”

Axum giggled. “To put it simply, I took control of your Mousers.” Axum walked toward the office door, brushing past Stockman's shoulder and aghast expression. “To put it properly… the bots will have them in a matter of minutes. Regardless of how much blood needs to be spilt.”

Axum waited for any sound behind him. Rage. Fear. Disappointment. None of it came.

He heard Stockman's shuffling feet and started running.

The chase down the hall should have been expected, but Stockman's sudden speed was off-putting. Axum couldn't look back, for fear of losing any ground he had over the delirious man.

“You can't kill progress, Baxter!” Axum screamed as he shoved open the front door and rushed into the street. “You planted a seed that day, and I will nurse it to grow! I will finish what you started! I WILL MAKE THEM PERFECT!”

As he stood on the street, arms outstretched, his loyal drones came down to him. Two robots, both moderately sized, designed to be his personal advisors.

They doubled as escape tools, but that was another topic.

As the drones shifted their forms, they became wicked wings that lifted Axum into the sky. Stockman watched from the ground in awe and horror.

“Come to the lab!” Axum offered, grinning madly as he ascended. “I'll even let you do the honors of squashing that pesky failure!”

After the sound of Axum's machines faded away like the fading sunlight, Baxter finally caught his breath. His lightheadedness threatened to overtake him, but he stumbled back to his porch instead of falling to the ground. He analyzed every possible option.

Those monsters were going to either die, or become the most terrifying weapons known to man. All because he couldn't let go of his own stupid paranoia.

Justified stupid paranoia, as it turned out.

His best friend, his worst enemy, abusing his masterpiece.

And Axum reveled in his fear.

The rodent couldn't hide anymore.

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

“So, you've been playing since you were 5?”

“Yep! I grew up out on the ice!” Cassie said, leaning further back on the bench where she sat next to April.

“Wow.” April leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I've never played any sports outside of P.E. Well, other than softball in middle school, but that's-” April mumbled a bit.

“It's fun! You should totally come out to the rink with me! I could teach you how to play,” Cassie offered.

April was amazed. Somehow, this date- no, just a friendly meet-up, that's what this was- had gone a million times better than she could have ever imagined. They actually hit it off! Talking about classes, living in New York, about what they liked to do, it was incredible! And Cassie was even more amazing after getting to know her.

Of course, the good couldn't last.

“O'NEIL!!”

April sat up quickly to face the man running toward their bench, wearing a sweater vest and brown slacks.

“Dr. Stockman?”

Stockman firmly grabbed April's shoulder when he finally reached her, causing her to flinch. “O'Neil, I need to speak with you, now.”

“Hey,” Cassie said, standing up to face the man, “I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to back off.”

Stockman's eyes stayed locked on April's. “Please, April. I need your help.”

“Wh…what do you-”

“They need your help,” Stockman whispered.

April's eyes widened, taking mental note of the fear and desperation in Stockman's eyes and voice. The man was begging, pleading.

They?

“Did you not hear me?!” Cassie shouted. “I said, BACK. OFF-”

“I'm so sorry, Cassie, I have to go,” April blurted, standing up abruptly. “I'll see you around?”

Cassie recoiled slightly. “Uh… s-sure?”

April turned back to Stockman and nodded, jogging off at his side. Leaving Cassie alone.

“Wait, I never got your-!”

Cassie slumped in defeat, watching the girl she had just fallen deeper in love with run away again.

“...number.”

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

“You MADE THEM?!”

“I TOLD YOU ITS COMPLICATED! YES, I MADE THEM!” Stockman clutched tighter on his steering wheel, hunching his shoulders. “Well, not JUST me,” he admitted, “me and my partner, Barton Axum.”

“Barton- what?” April was struggling to divide her focus, texting CJ frantically while also absorbing the absolutely insane story coming from Stockman's mouth.

He made them.

“We designed them as super soldiers. They were bioengineered to have human sentience when they hatched- at least, that was the goal. We experimented on Splinter beforehand, though he was already almost fully grown, so the mutation didn't develop how we wanted.”

“Splinter?”

Stockman's lip formed a tight line. “Th-the rat. He was a prototype. I was supposed to dispose of him, but he- he fought back. The lab was destroyed, we thought they were-”

“Waitwaitwait, ‘dispose of him’?” April interjected. “This is a lot of crazy talk, Doc. If you tried to kill him, why do you want to protect them now? From what?”

“Axum,” Stockman pressed sternly. “Barry wants to resume the project. To complete their mutation.” Stockman took a second to breathe deeply and shake his head. “If Axum is able to do what he wishes, he will create monstrous supermutant soldiers capable of taking down entire armies single-handedly.”

April stared into the side of Stockman's face, mouth agape. The turtles, the ones who had only shown themselves to be a happy family scraping by together, had the ability to become war machines. Cute and vulnerable Tiny. Clever and cunning Wit. Rough yet sensitive Spiky. Caring and protective Old Navy.

It sounded impossible.

“And how do I know you aren't working with him?” April questioned. “That I'm not just leading you to them so you can ‘resume’ your ‘project’?”

Stockman stayed silent for a minute or so, waiting until they reached a red light. Then, he breathed deeply, turned to face April with a broken expression, and spoke. “I have already played God, O'Neil. That is a terrible game that you cannot win. I had hoped that they had died without my involvement, so I could live without knowing I destroyed the humanity I created.”

As Stockman took another shaky breath, April only stared discerningly. “My only wish,” he resumed, “is to save what little humanity Barry has left.”

April, still grappling with distrust in her gut, settled with that answer. If something went wrong, CJ would be there to witness it. She resumed giving the instructions necessary to reach the nearest sewer entrance to the mutants’ home.

Arriving at the alleyway where CJ stood, April and Stockman jogged up. He had a small bag slung over his shoulder, and held a baseball bat in one hand and a hockey stick in the other. “Finally,” he sighed, “I was starting to freak out… wait, is that Professor Stockman? From RateMyProfessor?”

“Well, I see my reputation precedes me-”

“Oh boy, let's keep chit-chatting about our careers, MUTANTS IN DANGER!!” April screamed, gesturing wildly and wrenching the bat out of CJ's hand before running over to rip up the manhole cover.

The trio hopped down quickly, catching CJ up on the little details as they went. The entrance wasn't on top of the mutants’ hideout by any means; they still had a way to run.

They didn't know if there would be enough time.

There wouldn't.

April rounded the final corner, only to feel a sudden weight hit her chest and send her flying backwards to the floor. All of her effort went into keeping her head from smashing against the floor, so she could barely register the metal thing stomping on her ribs and snapping its metal jaws in her face.

The robot was small, maybe only the size of a cat. It had two heavy feet, and a comically large head with jagged metal “teeth”. A single red light served as its eye.

The bot trilled aggressively in April's face. Before it could close its maw on her skull, a THWACK from CJ's hockey stick sent it flying into the far sewer wall in a shower of sparks.

April heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, CJ.”

“Anytime, don't sweat it.”

“...oh no…”

Stockman's shaking voice ripped April and CJ from their small moment of solace. As CJ lifted the redhead from the ground, they both turned to see the sight that Stockman beheld.

More motionless, sparking robot bodies littered the tunnel. At least two dozen, maybe more. It was hard to tell with some of the bodies. Each of them were in varying states of destruction, from simply ripped apart to completely smashed. Only a few of their red eyes still flickered. But the robots, however strange and new they may have been, were not what concerned the humans.

Clear signs of a struggle were plastered everywhere. Scratches on the floor and walls, reminiscent of those slashes that Wit used to leave by Murakami's fence. Divots and dents in the bricks, in the concrete.

Blood splattered on the floor and walls.

In the fangs of the robots.

And no sign of a single living soul.

A purple soft cooler, sitting unzipped and purposeless against the wall.

“...we're too late.”

○●○●○●○

:)

me when i make a major villain's name a joke: heheehe 🤓

Chapter 7: An Act of Creation 🎭 ->

[moxfirefly]

I wanted angst. It feels very word vomit but I’m in a slump so sorry.

TW: Angst (a given), relationship problems, arguments, post breakup discussion, ns*w themes

Rated Mature (18+ only)

“Maybe I’ll never see your ass again. Maybe I’ll see you when the gigs up.”

Nobody really tells you how intricate love is, how tricky the whole system is wired.

It’s like one big mine field and you’re trusting your legs to deliver you across.

While wearing a blindfold.

Doesn’t sound fun but it’s highly impulsive and addictive and we question it every step of the way while still doing it. Repetition, so much repetition and so little time to comprehend. Donnie was and forever is the brains of the operation but nobody could tell him that heartbreak, heartache was just as painful as broken limbs and shattered expectations. For the life of it he couldn’t really state what was the pinpoint, the second things sort off tipped over into an area that he simply wasn’t qualified and by the looks of it, neither were you.

To put it simply, it just fucking hurt.

And nobody told him the ache could follow you for days, for weeks, for years…

It only just moves around to different corners of your brain, makes a pit stop here and there. Takes a hold of nostalgia, of the comforts of repetition and routine. Still, it’s just varian levels of pain. Years after he had said his goodbyes to what you and him had been, he felt that the ache eventually subsides but the name, the scents, the memories, it never goes away.

You never really left.

It’s one autumn evening, where you’re name flashes on his phone, a message that he wonders if you typed up and erased as many times as he had done as some point, that he figures this is gonna reopen wounds again.

Because when you and him stopped, when you and him became a past tense sentence, you did the smart thing and left anything he had taken up space in to heal. Like quitting cold turkey, but he didn’t have options, he couldn’t pack up and move to a new spot and forget that every inch of his things had been consumed, touched or were yours. He’s deeply concerned at first, maybe sometimes wrong and he needs to go play hero but you’re calm, you’re soft, when you say hi, when you ask how he’s been.

It’s been so long but you never forget how somebody you loved made you feel.

It’s impossible to forget that once upon a time you had brought him so much security and comfort.

The idle chats shifts to what each of you had been up to, how was everyone back home, where your career had taken you. There’s a pause at the hour mark, where the pleasantries have been discussed, where he wonders if this is the last he’ll hear of you.

“Listen… I’m in town and well-“ Your words seem to stumble, unsure if this is too unreasonable.

“Would you like to meet up?” He suggest, his voice a lot less shaky than he expected it to be. Donnie’s been fighting a lump in his throat the entire time he’s been talking to you, every second you chuckled or whenever you said his name. It’s pinpricks on his fingertips, a little too much for how numb he’s felt since this whole thing went down.

It pales in comparison when he sees you for the first time in a year.

Because nobody tells you that everything hits like a tidal wave, that every moment shared could flare up and burn and soothe all at the same time. It hurts to see you climb into the truck, just like you did so many times before, but feel the same awkward air that had settled when things ended.

Donnie takes a greedy moment to look at you, brown eyes running through the changes a year has settled on you both physically and in the shift of energy around you. You’re still beautiful, no doubt there, never was one to be begin with. You do the same, your heart all sorts of dizzy because he does look different, he’s thirty, so are you, shits so different when you’re in your early twenties.

“Hey” It’s soft, you aren’t even sure if he even heard you but the corner of his mouth lifts just enough to make your eyes sting.

You don’t want to cry.

Donnie doesn’t want to cry.

Because you both had done your fair share of crying over what all of this was and the bitter end it arrived at. He grips the steering wheel because there’s a second where he wants to reach over and touch your face, to have your lips cross his palm to plant a gentle kiss to it.

But it’s not right. So he bottles up everything, pushes one to many memories to a corner of his chest and instead turns the engine on.

He can concentrate on driving, he can multitask hearing you speak in more details about how things have back in your hometown. It’s a familiar dance and he hasn’t forgotten how it goes, he used to do this all the time whenever he picked you up from dates. He could drive around for hours with you, with the sound of you peppered with music in the background and the feel of your hand on his thigh.

But that isn’t there of course. Even if he wished it were, there was a high percentage that the act itself would make him crumble.

He doesn’t know how long its been, before he’s pulling to a stop in a spot you both would often end your drives. He can’t ignore the way your eyes look everything over because it has been a year since you stopped here.

You take another breath and settle on the seat to better look at him. Something sticks in your chest, wether its his gaze or how many chemical stains and scars his hands have now. Maybe its how broad his shoulders look, that’s a part you can’t forget, it was one of your favorite parts of hugging him, feeling for him when he had left you a painted mess on any surface.

You always tugged him back by his shoulders.

“I’ve played something like this in my head, you know?” What he would say if he had the chance to see you once more.

“Not the only one, its kinda why I texted you” You play with your fingers, spinning the rings on them much like did whenever you were nervous.

Truth be told Donnie had a monologue, a plethora of thoughts he had strung together to somehow explain exactly how his heart felt, How every little fragment of his days could have you in the back burner.

But it all goes to shit, the second his eyes meet yours and they are already watering. So are his.

“I don’t think ‘sorry’ cuts it, because I know we both had our issues and we both did shit wrong but…” You can’t keep your gaze, its too watery and your lower lip already trembles. That instinct to reach out and grab you is pulsating but he settles for pressing his knuckles to your arm, runs them up and down the skin he knew better than his own. The act itself makes you want to cry more but you hold for the sake of pride maybe. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry” Donnie manages and he’s actually surprised he could, because deep down he was. There is bitterness, there is regret but there is also sadness for how it all transpired. Even if pieces of him say this is for the better, even if he feels like his heart is shattering all over again, he has to apologize.

Your hand grabs his own, grips it tight and for the next few seconds you both hold hands as if life itself depends on it, a white knuckle grip that only he could sustain. The size difference guts you, once again you feel like you’ll make it back to your hotel with your heart and guts missing because the whirlwind has got you nauseous. It’s muscle memory when your other hand runs the length of his forearm. That movement only serves to ruin his life more, all these touches had been phantom pains to him for the past year or so.

When Donnie feels the tug he doesn’t want to look, can’t afford to lay his gaze on you but he loses his resolve. Brown eyes meet your own and he’s down for the count, feels the tug that leads him towards your mouth and you’re kissing him.

The salt of your tears hits him, the scent of your shampoo too.

God he wants to cry.

He’s crying.

He’s kissing you and he’s crying.

Had he taken these moments for granted once upon a time? Had you selfishly assumed they would be never ending?

You should stop it, back up and exit the truck because what is this doing? It’s not fixing anything, it won’t fix the two of you.

But these past 365 days have been so numbing.

Those hands of his tug you close, onto his lap with your thighs on either side of his own and a mouth that won’t quit. He can’t recall the last time this felt like ice picks poking through his gut but it’s something, he can feel something for once. You pull slightly away, nose against his snout and lips still a little shakey.

Donnie feels your palms run down his plastron and you might as well drag acid while you’re at it. Stab every corner of his heart with broken glass, but you’re kissing him again and it’s just the tiniest bit of liberating to think things didn’t go to shit even if it’s for ten minutes or ten lifetimes.

You grind against him, feel those big hands grip your thighs and a moan escapes you. It forced him to push you down onto his crotch, to arch against you while this familiar song and dance comes back to him so effortlessly.

He’s lost in it again, lost in you. The way you sigh his name against his lips and moan so brokenly for more.

Being inside you again.

The way your nails dig into his shoulders.

How you hold on to him.

How he wraps his arms around and rocks the two of you into a rhythm that has you gasping.

If this is a dream it’s the cruelest.

But he knows you’ll leave.

This is the cruelest.

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[supercorpkid]

Get the door, it’s depression.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader.

Word Count: 2850.

Warning: Yep, it’s depression. May cause some triggers, please do not read this if it could cause you any discomfort or pain.

You hear the knock on your door. Kara’s wake up call. You open your eyes, only for them to be filled with tears immediately. You can’t. Can’t get up from bed, can’t go to school, can’t face the world right now.

The knock comes with a weird tug in the stomach. You feel like throwing up. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweating, yet your mouth is completely dry.

Not another panic attack, not another panic attack.

You shut your eyes hard and pray to Rao they forget about your existence. You pray Lena doesn’t open your bedroom’s door with the same old wake up call. You can practically hear her saying, ‘come on, baby. School. Let’s go.’ The sentence makes your stomach twist and turn inside you.

“Babygirl.” You hear Lena’s voice and oh no, here it comes. You turn to the side of your bed. There’s no time to move her out of the way and run to the bathroom, so you vomit right there. “Baby!”

Lena rushes to your side, holding your hair out of the way, while you keep throwing up something that cannot be described as food. You haven’t eaten in more than 18 hours. This yellow thing coming out of you, is not food.

“KARA! Help, please!” Lena yells, stroking your back lightly, trying to calm you down.

“What’s wrong? What’s-?” Kara's face appears in the bedroom. By the time she walks in, you’re basically done leaving everything you had on your stomach on the floor. “Oh no.” She swopes you in, in bridal style, getting you out of your vomited bedroom and into theirs. “You’re ok. Mommy is here. It’s ok, little one.” She says while laying you down in their bed.

“What are you feeling, babygirl?” Lena asks and you think about it. What are you feeling?

You’re feeling sick, but you’re not sick. You’re feeling tired, but you can’t get physically tired so it’s obviously not it. There’s nothing left in your stomach still the tug is right there.There are no words to explain what you’re feeling. There’s no illness you can blame it on.

What if they tell you to go to school? What if they tell you that you must get out of bed? You can’t get up. Your body is not responding to movement.

“Just-” You think about it. Just what? What is this? Why can’t you find the words to describe it? “Sick.” You can’t believe you’re doing this, but you fake cough. Like Kara usually fakes cough. And it’s so obvious, it’s so ridiculously over the top, that you’re sure they’re going to yell at you about it.

They don’t yell. Instead, they share a look. They have one of their telepathic conversations that you are usually not a part of. But this time you can tell what they’re thinking. They know you’re lying. Maybe the fake cough was a little too much. But they also know you don’t lie. Well, almost never, anyways. And you did throw up, and you also skipped meals, and Lena is looking at you like that. So, she knows something is up, she just doesn’t know exactly what.

“Ok.” Lena lets it out, like a sigh. “So you’re sick.” She goes to the bed, sitting next to you and investigating you further. “That means you won’t go to school.”

“Thanks.” You’re immediately relieved about it. Maybe it shows because they look at each other again, no more puzzlement in their faces.

“Do you want to stay in bed today?” Kara asks, and you agree with your head weakly. Not because you’re faking being sick. What you wanted, right now, was to vividly agree with your head because staying in bed is all you want. But weak is all you can do, for some reason. “Do you want mommy to stay with you?”

“Ummm.” No. You don’t want Kara around. You can’t even fathom the thought of her trying to cheer you up or shoving food at your face like all of this can be solved with food. “It’s ok, you should go to work. Is nothing serious.”

“Ok.” She looks disappointed at your answer. “How about if Lena stays?”

No. You also don’t want Lena around. Just the thought of having Lena pressing you to tell her what’s wrong, or that she can look at your face and see all that you’re hiding, sends shivers down your spine.

“Guys, it’s ok. It’s just some stupid cold or something like that.” You can’t get a cold, moron. How is this a cold?

“I’ll bring something for you to eat.” Kara makes her way downstairs and you look at Lena, still looking too knowing next to you.

“I’m ok. I just need to sleep a little more.” You pat her leg to comfort her. Feels weird comforting her when you know you’re the one who needs it so bad. “Go to work, mom. There’s a lot to do before L Corp launches the new device.”

Lena’s hand goes to your cheek. Usually, you would try giving her a little smile, but there’s nothing inside you that would be able to fake a believable smile right now, and you don’t have to give her more reasons to worry.

“Go.” You pat her leg again.

She gives you the longest forehead kiss you’ve ever gotten in your life. “I love you.”

“I’m not dying, you know.” You complain a little, but Lena doesn’t move. Green eyes pleading you to say the same. “I love you too.”

“Rest, baby.” Another forehead kiss. “I’ll ask Kara to check in on you later.”

“Thanks mom.”

When Lena leaves the bedroom, you let out a relieved sigh. It’s ok. They don’t know. You don’t have to explain yourself; you don’t need to find words, you don’t even know, to describe how you’re feeling. You can try and find as many words as you would like but there’s only one that will do. You’re feeling empty.

There is this crushing feeling of worthlessness and hopelessness. There is a war inside your mind, and at the same time you feel like you’re underwater. And you don’t even know how this is possible. You keep hearing ‘you should die’, you keep thinking you hate the Luthor name, you keep wondering why you had to be born with super powers. But at the same time that’s all hard to understand, because your mind feels drowned in muffled noises. You are exhausted.

You hear when Kara walks back into the room with food. You pretend you’re asleep. She knows you’re faking. You know she knows. Yet, you don’t open your eyes, nor does she call you on your lie.

You feel Kara’s big warm hand stroking your arm. You hear a worried sigh. You hear her saying she loves you. And you fall asleep.

When you wake up, it’s because you hear Kara again. You don’t know how long it has been since she left, but you hear her on the phone, and still, you don’t open your eyes.

“Still asleep, love.” She says, right outside the bedroom door. If you wanted, you could use your super hearing and listen to what Lena is saying too, but it’s too much effort and you’re exhausted. “No, she hasn't eaten anything yet. I know, Lena! I’m worried too! Ok, fine. I’ll wake her up. Call you later.”

You bite the inside of your mouth, hold your breath, and wait for it. But Kara doesn’t come in, instead you hear a whoosh of air, and she flies out. You breathe out again. Great, you can go back to sleep.

“Little one. Hey.” You feel Kara’s hand on your hair. “Wake up baby, I brought you donuts.”

“No, thanks. I just want to sleep some more.” You shuffle in bed, turning to the other side and ignoring Kara’s loud sighs.

“You’ve been sleeping for eight hours straight. You’ve skipped dinner last night, breakfast and lunch today. I’m sorry, my heart, but you have to wake up and eat something.” She tries again, even more soft than she was talking before.

“I don’t want to.”

“Please baby, just eat a little bit. There’s donuts, pizza, and your mom sent your favorite pasta from that place you like so much.” Kara’s hand is stroking your back, and it feels nice. But her voice is annoying you. And you’re oh, so, so tired. Her hands move to your face, and she strokes your cheek. “There’s so much stuff you like, sweet girl.”

“Please leave.”

“Little one…”

“Momma, just leave.”

She does, you reckon. You can’t really tell. Your mind is foggy, and you think you’re asleep again. Or maybe you’re awake. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe it’s reality. Maybe-

“Hey kiddo. Can you hear me?” You can. You wish the world would just stop talking to you, though. You wish your phone would stop ringing. You wish there wasn’t a hot yellow sun lamp on top of your body right now. There’s really no reason for it. “It’s aunt Alex. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

“I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

“Your body functions are normal. Heartbeat, oxygen, temperature. The yellow sun light is on. You’re not supposed to be tired.” She says again, touching the pulse point on your neck.

“Leave, please.” You beg, weakly. There’s no strength, there is no will power inside you.

You pray the world would just stop. The world doesn’t.

“Listen-” The mattress dips next to you when she sits. Alex easily turns your face to her. “Open your eyes and look at me. Please.”

“Why won’t you leave?” You whine, incapable of doing what she’s asking.

“Because I’m worried, your moms are worried, your cousin is worried, and we need to figure this out.” You feel her hands cupping your face, her two thumbs getting under your eyes and pulling the skin down. Your eyes unwittingly open. “Keep them open, please.” Reluctantly, you do. “Follow my finger.” She starts moving her finger in front of your face from one side to the other. “Good. Besides feeling tired, what else do you feel?”

“Annoyed at your presence.” It’s out of your mouth before you can think about it. It’s not a lie, but also not something you would just come out and say it like that. But you have no strength to take it back.

She sighs, loudly. “Just tell me what happened, kiddo. I’m sure I can help you.”

“You can’t.” Your jaw hardens at its own accord. The thought of ‘what happened’ keeps pulling the string around your neck tighter and tighter. The pit on your stomach feels infinite. “No one can, so just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Would you be willing to talk to anyone about this?” Alex doesn’t leave. You wish you were angry about it. You wish you could just tell her to go to hell. But tears find their way into your eyes and down your cheeks without your control. You hate not feeling in control of your own body. She cleans the tears with her thumb, softly. “If you don’t want to talk to me. Maybe to one of your moms?”

“No. Please, no.”

“Jamie?” You think about it. You think about anyone you would like to talk to right now. Not a single name comes to mind.

“Can I just sleep and talk to someone tomorrow?” You beg again. All that you’ve been doing is begging and whining and praying, still not a single soul responds to it. “Please, I’m-I’m exhausted. I can’t do any more talking today.”

“Ok.” Alex agrees. “You can talk tomorrow, but you have to eat today and that is non-negotiable.”

“Ok. I’ll eat.” But you close your eyes again, and before you know it, you’re drifting back to sleep.

It’s night, it’s day. Maybe night again.

Time passes, but it doesn’t.

You twist and turn, and sleep, and sleep-

Kara doesn’t let go of you. Lena sighs and whispers. They worry, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You have no strength to do anything about it.

They sigh, you feel bad. Then worse. Then you don’t feel anything at all.

They cry, you feel shitty. Instead of making them stop crying, you cry too. Then it’s like you’ve never even knew tears in your life.

It’s a full circle.

And then maybe it’s day again.

“Please, little one, wake up.” You blink your eyes at the request. Kara is holding food, and Lena is holding water in front of your face. “It’s been two days, you have to eat or Alex will use the red sun lamp to do an IV rehydration, and it’s going to be so much worse.”

“Mommy.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“I’m sorry, baby. But you need food.” She sets the food on the side of the bed and sits you up. “Come on, you eat a little and we’ll let you go back to sleep, how about that?”

“How about I just sleep?”

“Hey. No, no.” She holds you up, before you try to lay down again. You hear Kara whispering in your ear. “Remember that you are my heart, and I need my heart to be strong. So please.”

You whine one more time, like a hurt puppy, but you still eat. Anything they put in your mouth, really, you don’t even care what it is. You eat and drink, then sleep and sleep-

“Babygirl. Hey, mom is here with you, ok?” You feel Lena’s hand on your hair, scraping your scalp so softly; you want nothing but that for the rest of your life.

“Don’t stop.” You wail. You must be begging again. It’s all you do.

“Playing with your hair?” She asks and you hum in agreement. “Ok, I won’t. Can I hold you?”

“Yes. But no talking.”

Lena gets comfortable next to you. One arm is around your ribcage, the other one on your hair, scrapping, playing, stroking it.

Your heart is empty, your stomach is empty, now your mind feels the same. It’s almost nice to feel nothing at all.

“Your phone doesn’t stop buzzing.” Lena says a while later and again your words leave your mouth before you can even process them.

“Ignore it. It’s them.”

“Who’s them?”

“The bullies.” Lena’s hand stops moving on your hair, her body stiffens close to yours. But your mind is foggy. The string around your neck tightens harder. Your stomach is an endless void. “Don’t stop, please.”

Jamie comes, she leaves unnoticed.

Maya comes, she leaves unanswered.

You haven’t left your moms’ bed in so long. It’s day, it’s night. Is it day again?

Your therapist comes.

She is in a depressive episode, he says.

Your moms yell, our baby is depressed?

No. She is having a depressive episode. Those are different things, he answers.

You want to scoff. There’s no strength.

You’re not depressed, you’re tired. The world is an infinite pit of misery. He wouldn’t say that you’re depressed if he knew what you’ve been through. Oh, wait. He does.

You’re an infinite pit of despair. You wish people would just go on with their lives, everyone but you. You wish your life would just stopped until you’re not tired anymore and can deal with things.

Every time you’re awake, you hear a voice in your ear saying, ‘You should die. Your family will be better off without you’. And you’re so beaten down, you believe it. So you close your eyes, and sleep and sleep-

“Here, my love.” Lena holds a little pill in front of your face, with a bottle of water.

“What’s that?”

“This will help. I promise.” She asks, or is she begging? You don’t take it. “Please baby, you have to take it.”

“Here, little one.” Kara has to physically open your mouth and put the pill on your tongue. Water washes over it soon after. “You’re going to be fine, my heart. We promise.”

“What was that?” You try again. Their answers weren’t satisfactory.

They look at each other. Must be telepathic talking. You lay your head down on your pillow again. You’re exhausted. So, so fucking tired.

Why the fuck is the world still spinning? Why is the world still standing?

It’s night, it’s day. Is it night again?

“Are you reading this?” You hear far away. Like a dream. Like you might be imagining, projecting, or even hallucinating.

“I-I can’t read any more of that, Lena. Look at the things they are telling her.”

“All because of my stupid last name.”

“For how long? How long did we let this happen for? We should’ve-We-My God, Lena! How did we not notice this before?”

“Too long. But that’s enough. That’s it, Kara. I mean it.”

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming? You feel so disconnected from reality. But it matters not, if it’s real or hallucination. The pull tights around your neck, heart and stomach. There is no hope, no help. Anything they do, will make things worse. But your mind is foggy. By now, you’re just a shell of a person. So instead of screaming for them to stop, you sleep and sleep and sleep-

Notes:

@lilyduranhanna prompted me this and as painful as it was to write, I hope is still enjoyable somehow?

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Uhmmm.... so I had a prompt idea. What if hero arrested villain, and handed him to the authorites, and he basically told her that he'd make her pay for it. Then hero goes to the prison for a different reason weeks later, where she sees villain, terrified, sick, and drugged. So, she reluctantly takes him home and cares for him. She is scared he will attack her when he's lucid, but when he does fully wake up, he's just terrified.

This is such a good idea! I saw your submission right before I went to bed and laid there thinking about it, so as you can see I was quite excited to write it.

Paying For It

Warnings: threats, horrible treatment by authorities, left to be sick, fever, blood, drugged, forced sedation, unconsciousness, nightmares, smoking mention, paralysis (due to sickness), sick animal analogy, delirium

~

"You will pay for this," he growled as the handcuffs clicked into place. "I will make you you pay for this and not by money, no-" a chuckle "- I will hurt you."

Hero shuddered as she walked down the icy path back to the same prison that she recently turned Villain into. Horrible thoughts of that said villain breaking out and torturing her flooded into her mind, making her already chilly veins even colder. She hugged her fleece tighter around her and adjusted her scarf, suddenly wishing she wore her winter coat.

Before she knew it, Hero was trotting up the steps towards the concrete building. It was, by design, barren yet strong.

She had some documents to bring to the office. There was a new supervillain in town, actually more like ten, but Hero only managed to get information about the one. They most likely moved in after the biggest threat around, Villain, was arrested.

She opened the door, closing it quietly, and walked up to the desk. The hero, a young boy, most likely a sidekick holding down the fort while his mentor went to do something else, sitting up there was lazily playing a video game on his phone.

Hero coughed to get his attention. The boy didn't respond.

"Hello?" Hero asked.

The boy startled, tossing his phone backwards. "I wasn't," he defended, "on my phone, I swear."

"Uh huh," Hero grunted, sliding the papers over to the boy. "Where's your boss?"

"Probably smoking or something," the boy chuckled, then stopped and looked at Hero with a nervously apologetic expression. "I shouldn't have- you weren't meant to know."

Hero shook her head and said, "I don't care about my colleagues personal habits, but can you get him for me?"

The boy nodded and rushed off, returning later with a stern looking man.

"Superhero," Hero acknowledged, nodding slightly. He smiled then looked at the papers on the desk.

"Are these about..." He looked up at Hero.

"The new villain, yes," Hero finished his sentence, crossing her arms.

"Good, very good," Superhero momentarily flipped through them. In that silence, a thought bubbled up in Hero's mind.

"How's Villain?" She asked. "It's been awhile."

Superhero's face paled, as his toe nervously tapped the floor. Hero raised an eyebrow.

"We've had some... issues, so Villain is spending sometime in detention," Superhero said. He coughed, then said in an overly joyful tone, "Thanks for this Hero, do you want me to escort you to your car?"

"I would actually like to see Villain. Maybe I can, you know, talk to him about his behavior," Hero declined the offer, stepping in front of the papers. Something isn't right...

"Well you see, that wouldn't be beneficial. If anything it would be detrimental towards Villain's... redemption," Superhero pointed out, unconsciously chewing at his lip.

"We aren't a redemption center, Superhero," Hero said quietly, almost a whisper. "Let me see Villain or-" Hero grabbed the papers and proceeded to rip them "- these aren't your's."

Superhero rushed forward, putting his hands on top of Hero's and slid the papers back towards him. He gave a tiny smile and consented to her request.

They walked down the corridor and then down a couple flight of stairs until they reached a steel door with three locks- all with different keys. Hero watched with a stoned expression, thinking about what would happen if one of those keys were unfortunately lost...

"He's in here," Superhero spoke, dancing on his feet.

Hero stepped into the dark room, recognizing the detention cell that she helped invent, and flipped on the lights.

In the corner of the capacious cell, was a huddled figure. His back was towards her, legs spread out. With a pang in her chest, Hero walked up to him.

"V-villain," Hero breathed and crouched next to the figure. Villain whimpered and pulled himself deeper into himself, but his legs didn't seem to be connected to his brain.

Hero gently rolled Villain's head up to face her and nearly gasped when she took in the sight. He looked like a sick, stray cat. Mucus drained out of his nose as vomit spewed out from the corner of his mouth. His half-lidded eyes were bloodshot and had deep eyebags underneath with dried blood coating his cheeks. He had multiple, nasty cold sores all around his lips- or were they infected cuts? Maybe both.

"Why is he in this state?" Hero asked, astounded. This violated so many regulations and rules- the prison could be shut down, many heroes arrested or fined.

Superhero didn't respond. Instead, he appeared at Hero's side and crouched down next to Villain. The villain who didn't even seem to be aware of their presences.

Hero grabbed one of the wrists that were so protectively cuddled next to Villain's chest. He whimpered, trying to resist Hero's touch.

"No," he mumbled. "No no no no. Don't give... m-more... that mm stop." Villain started to breath heavily, his already fast pulse speeding up. With a heavy heart, Hero knew without even looking that he was drugged badly.

"Superhero... why?" Hero squeaked, turning over a wrist to see them heavily bruised and still bleeding from his most recent dose.

Villain started thrashing, but his legs wouldn't move.

"Why can't he move?" Hero asked, running a hand along Villain's shoulder. "Why can't he move his legs?!"

Superhero inhaled deeply then said, "He's very sick, uh... he probably has some sort of infection that makes it hard for him to move his lower body. Maybe, I don't really know."

"You don't even know what's wrong with your prisoner," Hero scoffed in disbelief, dragging Villain's limp body into her lap. She tried not to notice the wetness seeping into her jeans. It would only infuriate her that such a sick person would be kept in a wet and cold cell on top of being drugged daily without any medicines to help kick his fever.

"He's sick."

Obviously.

"I'm taking him home," Hero said, and scooped his way too light form up. His legs dangled uselessly, head falling off towards the side.

"That's illegal," Superhero pointed out. "He is in our custody now."

"And where does our rules permit excessive use of sedatives," Hero said in the same, authoritive tone. "Minimal use only to relax a distressed prisoner and only when necessary. Also, never to the point of unconsciousness." Hero gestured with her head towards Villain's closed eyes.

"And where do they permit us heroes to contain a villain on private property?" Superhero tutted. "Set him down and let me do my job."

"I'll call the authorities," Hero threatened, "and take you to court."

Superhero groaned and threw his hands in the air. That was not a risk he could take.

"Fine," he growled, storming out of the room, leaving Hero in silence other than the slow dripping from a leaky pipe.

She quickly tore off her fleece and wrapped Villain's shivering body up. His eyes fluttered open and he mumbled something incoherently, but that was all as his eyelids slipped closed once again.

Then, she carried his ragdoll-like body out of the prison, down those steps, and into her car.

She laid Villain's limp form on one of the backseats, propping his lolling head against the window and buckled him in. His arms hung lifeless at his sides, legs completely devoid of strength.

With a nervous whimper, Hero sped home.

At home, Hero took a warm washcloth and wiped off the dried blood and mucus to reveal unevenly toned skin underneath. She delicately picked the dry crust off his eyelashes and eyebrows. It was rock hard and the warm water wouldn't loosen it, so she was forced to pull on the tiny hairs. At least he wasn't conscious for the pinpoints of pain.

Hero suddered, thinking about what would happen when he did wake up. Surely, he would keep to his word and hurt her, beating her up for imprisoning him and then of course this newfound dilemma.

She looked down at his sleeping form and sighed. She had him elevated to make sure his airways stayed clear, but his head kept falling to the side and onto the backrest of her daybed. His lips quivered, forming soundless words and pleas.

Hero gently touched his forehead, retreating at the burning heat. His eyes slowly blinked open at the contact, he moaned, and then they rolled back again and closed.

Hero sat next to him for rest of the day, worriedly anticipating his attitude upon awakening. However, as the hours went on and Villain didn't seem to be regaining consciousness too much, Hero realized that they would be in for a roughly long time.

Villain was probably drugged like that the moment he entered that building and judging by his health and state of his wrists, Hero also guessed that there was no care whatsoever during the admission or the aftercare.

Hero ran her fingers over Villain's pale cheeks. His mouth was parted open and he snored slightly from the congestion. Tears leaked from his eyes, irritating the tender skin below. Hero went and grabbed some lotion, smearing the white cream over the red rashes.

Villain jerked away suddenly, curling into himself and protectively guarding his arms. His heavy breathing went shallower and quicker as tiny noises escaped his mouth. Hero sighed and stopped touching him; he was likely trapped in a nightmare.

Hours turned into days, and only then was Villain awake enough to be aware of Hero's looming presence.

Though, his reaction was not what Hero was expecting.

He screamed, shoving himself and his weak form to a corner of the bed and gathering his leaden limbs into a huddled mass of burning skin. He shrieked and sobbed, and watched Hero with wide, exhausted eyes.

"Leave me alone!" He yelled, pulling up the covers in a bade to protect himself. "Please."

Hero never once in her life felt so utterly useless.

She was, like Villain promised she would, paying for her actions.

[sarcasmandships]

yellow | paul lahote

paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, but especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself.

word count: 3.8k

angst, hurt + minimal comfort

trigger warnings: eating disorder, death, hospital/medical scene, vomit

paul imprinted on y/n nearly a year ago, it wasn’t something he ever wanted. in fact, he tried so hard to fight the imprint at first that he made himself ill.

paul was only just beginning to learn that he couldn’t fight off every problem he encountered. imprinting on y/n had been a harsh awakening for him, and he knew now that he couldn’t punch and kick his way through life.

that didn’t stop him trying though, he stared at the hole he’d just created in the dry wall of his bedroom. he was going to have to buy another poster.

“paul, are you still there?” y/n’s voice was muffled through the phone which lay face down on his bed, “i heard a bang.”

and paul could hear her concern so he snatched the phone and held it up to his ear, “yeah i’m still here don’t worry,” he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“okay...” she said uncertainly, “are you alright?”

he was clenching his fists, his jaw, and every other muscle in his body, “yeah, yeah i’m fine,” he said, trying to maintain a light and airy tone as much as possible but the words just came out flat, “i should be asking if you’re okay.”

y/n took several minutes to answer, “you don’t need to worry about me paul.”

if only she knew that his entire life now revolved around worrying about her. about wanting to protect her, from the leeches, from every creep and asshole in this town, from every bout of stress or sadness.

“i never do anything else,” he tried to say jokingly, but his voice broke mid-way through the sentence and he punched his mattress.

“look paul...” he could hear her frowning through the phone as she sighed, “i gotta go to my appointment now but I’ll see you later for the bonfire, yeah?”

tears were burning in paul’s eyes as he croaked out a response, “yeah, do you need me to pick you up?”

“it’s all good, i’m going to emily’s first to give her a hand with the food so i’ll go down with her.”

“yeah, sounds great,” he said flatly, “i’ll see you there then.”

“bye paul,” she whispered and hung up the phone.

he launched the phone at the wall, and it shattered into chunks of useless plastic. he held his head in his hands and before he knew it, his whole body was racked with dry sobs.

paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, but especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself.

he grabbed a pair of beat-up trainers from under his bed and pulled them on. he thundered downstairs and out the front door, ignoring the protests of his drunken father.

paul ran.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul,’ y/n would tease him.

maybe not, but he couldn’t do anything else because she wouldn’t fucking let him. y/n had always been stubborn but in the last few months she’d become increasingly closed off and defensive. if paul made the slightest attempt to ‘stick his nose where it didn’t belong’ then she’d shut him out for weeks on end.

being apart from her was agonising.

he used to think sam and jared were exaggerating when they talked about the pain of not seeing their imprints. but now he knew it was all too real and he couldn’t stand it, so paul had learned to bite his tongue so she wouldn’t give him the silent treatment.

that was something that did not come easy to him, but it was easier than not seeing her, not talking to her, not being close to her.

paul knew on some level it was selfish to let y/n play out her fantasises and pretend that everything was fine, he knew it was wrong for indulging her. but whenever he tried to confront her, to help her, then she would shut him out again and he couldn’t bare that.

it was raining heavily now, the hail stones battered off his exposed skin as he dove out of sight behind the tree line.

staying calm was not something paul was good at, he had to spend so much of his energy focusing on blocking out his anger and sadness and pain and anguish just to make sure he didn’t shift at an inappropriate moment.

but right now, he could smash through that blockade and let every emotion flood through his body as his flesh ripped and his bones snapped, and he shed his human form to leave a large, grey wolf in his place.

paul relished in the release, it felt good to finally let go of every negative emotion he was holding onto and embrace the wolf inside of him. he ran through the trees, taking in the smell of the wet earth and the salty sea air.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’

y/n told him that once after a particularly explosive fight he’d had with his father. they sat on the beach, and she stroked his hair as he laid with his head on her lap. he told her he was going to leave home, she pointed out he had no money, he told her that he’d live in the streets if he had to.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’ she had said, her fingers entangled in his hair.

but y/n didn’t seem to adopt that mentality when it came to her own problems, and paul’s desire to protect her made her problems, his problems. and now he had an overwhelming number of problems that everyone kept telling him he couldn’t run away from, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

he kicked up soil and dead leaves behind him as he ran through the woods, the hailstones has subsided to a light drizzle which still managed to soak his fur. he paused to shake the water off him when he hear someone else’s voice in his head, someone else had shifted.

“hey paul.”

“hey jake.”

paul tried to shut off his inner monologue so that jacob couldn’t hear what he was thinking, he thought he was doing an alright job until-

“rough day, huh?”

paul growled.

“yeah i guess, y/n’s seeing her therapist right now....”

“is she getting better?”

paul could sense the concern in jacob’s thoughts but this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’

well, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? everyone kept telling him that he couldn’t run away but no one was offering any alternative solutions.

it was always ‘calm down, paul.’

‘you can’t fight your way out of everything, paul.’

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’

well why the fuck not?

no one seemed to understand that he wasn’t running for his own sake but for everyone else’s. and most importantly, for y/n’s. it was excruciatingly difficult to keep those thoughts to himself and out of jacob’s mind, so he began running through the trees again to provide some kind of distraction.

“yeah, she’s going over to emily’s first to help out so i’m meeting her there.”

“do you think you might finally tell her tonight? it’s been nearly a year and she still has no idea....”

“she can’t handle it; she’s got enough going o,n i can’t burden her with all of this too.”

that was only part of it. paul was worried about how y/n would take the news that he, and all his friends were shapeshifting wolves that existed to protect the town from vampires. and even more concerning, how would she take the news that he had imprinted on her? y/n was too fragile right now, he had to protect her even if that meant keeping the truth from her.

but beyond that, he was worried that she wouldn’t accept him. paul had a crippling fear of rejection at the best of times, but the prospect of his own imprint rejecting him was unimaginable.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

maybe not forever, but for right now he was going to sprint as fast as he could.

***

the blazing bonfire crackled just meters in front of them and yet y/n was still shivering; paul wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close into his chest. she nuzzled into him and paul was filled with a burst of euphoria at their closeness. her eyes were barely open as she leaned into him, he tightened his grip on her frozen frame.

“are you okay?” he mumbled into her hair, it smelled like lavender.

she nodded slowly, “yeah, i’m just tired, today was pretty rough.”

paul frowned. he wished that they weren’t surrounded by so many people, they were sat a little away from the rest of the group, but they didn’t have the privacy he would’ve liked.

“do you want to talk about it?”

y/n sniffled, when paul looked down at her he saw tears slowly running down her cheeks and his heart shattered.

he pulled her in closer and wiped away the tears, “hey, hey what’s wrong?”

y/n just shook her head, “i don’t want to talk about it.”

‘you can’t run away from your problems, y/n’ he wanted to say.

“are you sure?” he asked hesitantly, desperately wanting to help but also not wanting her to clam up again.

she looked away from him; the glare from the roaring bonfire reflected in her glassy eyes. paul enveloped one of her cold, bony hand in his and squeezed it gently but her frown persisted. there was a hollowness in his chest as he stared at her miserable expression; paul knew he couldn’t punch away anyone’s problems but as it turns out, holding hands is just as ineffective.

“dr charles wants me to go to inpatient treatment,” she said bluntly, “he says my physical health is deteriorating too much.”

something twisted in his gut.

“but i thought you were…getting better?” he said cautiously.

paul knew that was a lie.

y/n knew that was a lie, but she was so good at pretending otherwise she had everyone convinced that she was getting better. everyone but him, and he didn’t want her to know that she wasn’t fooling him with the ‘i’m eating again, i’m doing great’ routine she had become so well-versed in.

“well, i’m not better,” she snapped, pushing paul off her as she leapt to her feet.

superhuman hearing or otherwise, everyone else around the bonfire heard y/n’s exclamation, and their heads snapped over to stare between her and paul. emily began to stand up but paul waved her off and she sat back down next to sam. he approached y/n slowly, tears continued to stream down her face but when he moved to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she pushed him away.

he held up his hands, “okay, okay – i won’t touch you, why don’t we go somewhere quiet to talk-”

“no,” she snapped, “i don’t want to talk paul, all i ever do is fucking talk about my feelings and as long as i say the right things then everyone thinks i’m better, but i’m not fucking better, okay?”

“i know,” he roared back, “i know you’re not better, in fact you’re getting worse. i watch you get sicker every single day, i watch you withering away, i watch you dying and there is nothing that i can do because you won’t let me.”

y/n bit her lip and looked away from him.

tears were burning in paul’s eyes, “i can’t make you better, i can’t make you eat, i can’t look after you and it’s killing me.”

“i never asked you to look after me,” she screamed back, tears flowing freely down her face now, “i don’t know why you think it’s your job to keep me alive but it isn’t-”

“yes, it is!”

paul was shaking now, he was trying to hold onto his humanity with every fibre of his being, but the pain and anger was overwhelming. he was reaching his breaking point. he tried to focus on y/n; she was his anchor and usually the thought of her, focusing on the sound of her heartbeat was enough to calm him down. but usually, she wasn’t the focus is his anger, and now when he looked at her all he saw was how frail and weak she looked.

she was dying and she wouldn’t let him help her.

everyone was staring now; paul didn’t want to be on this beach anymore, he couldn’t deal with this right now. it was all too much; his head was spinning and his limbs were trembling.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

sam leapt to his feet, ready to jump in and tackle paul to the ground as he lurched towards y/n. but instead of shifting and attacking her, he grabbed her hand and led her away from the bonfire and the rest of the pack.

“paul what are you doing?” y/n asked through chattering teeth.

she didn’t try to fight him off but paul knew this was more likely a sign of her lack of energy, and not her willingness to go with him. they were at the edge of the beach now, where the sand bordered with the rough concrete path that led back towards the heart of la push. paul stopped in his tracks and turned to face y/n as he heard her breathing become increasingly shallow.

he studied her intently, emaciated body, pale lips, hollow cheeks. he could hear her heart beating slowly and irregularly inside her chest, he could see her struggling to catch a breath. despite her weakened body she stared back at him, with a clenched jaw and arms crossed across her chest.

“you can’t run away from your problems, y/n,” he finally said.

she snorted, “i’m not you, paul.”

“no, but you’re my impr-” he stopped himself before he revealed too much and ran a hand through his hair, “you’re my best friend y/n i-”

“no, jared is your best friend,” she said pointedly.

“for god’s sake can you stop being difficult for two damn seconds?” he snapped.

she let out a shrill laugh, “right sorry, i forget i’m just an inconvenience to everyone around here, i should just go.”

paul grabbed her hand before she could turn away from him. he towered over her, but when their eyes met it was like nothing else mattered. in every second of his existence, paul was acutely aware that gravity and the laws of nature didn’t bind him to the earth; she did. and when she looked into his eyes like that it only reminded him that she was his everything, before paul knew it, his anger was melting away and there was nothing but pure euphoria flowing through his body.

paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself. but in that moment, nothing else mattered except for the fact that y/n was standing chest to chest with him, and she was staring into his eyes. nothing else mattered; not her anger towards him, her disease, his feelings of helplessness, his fear of rejection.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

“do you believe in soulmates, y/n?” he asked breathily.

“what?” she asked; her breath billowed out of her chapped lips and hung visibly in the cool september air, thick, like cigarette smoke.

he took a deep breath; it was now or never.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

“y/n, there’s something i have to tell you-”

she was the first to break eye contact with him, her pupils dilated suddenly, and her eyes fluttered shut. she managed to grip onto his bicep lightly as she collapsed, but her hand turned limp and rolled gently onto the sand as she lay unconscious in his arms.

***

“clear!” carlisle hollered.

paul reluctantly dropped y/n’s hand as carlisle pressed the paddles to her chest and sent two hundred volts of electricity searing through her lifeless body.

he frowned at the consistent flatline on the monitor, “push ten of epi and charge again,” he ordered the nurse, resuming chest compressions as he waited for the next round of medication to be administered.

paul grabbed her hand again while he had the chance, she was already turning cold. the blood had drained from her face, and paul couldn’t focus on her heartbeat to calm him because she no longer had one.

“clear!”

they repeated the routine they had been performing for the last several minutes; paul let go of her hand, carlisle shocked her, the flatline remained.

the nurse shook her head, “asystole,” she said flatly.

“what does that mean?” paul asked frantically, he looked between carlisle and y/n, “why aren’t you helping her?”

carlisle retrieved a neuro torch from the pocket of his lab coat, peeling back y/n’s eyelids he shone the light over each of her eyes, “pupil’s are fixed and dilated,” he said to the nurse.

“why are you stopping? fix her!” paul wailed.

“i’m sorry paul, there’s nothing else we can do for her,” he said softly, “time of death, 19.08.”

the nurse nodded and made a note on y/n’s chart before exiting the trauma room, leaving just paul, sam, and carlisle in the room with y/n’s lifeless body.

paul didn’t cry, or scream, or phase into a giant wolf. he stood by y/n’s bedside, clutching her hand in his and staring straight ahead at the monitor she was attached to. it continued to let out a continuous, monotone beep. sam, who was just waiting for paul to explode, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder; paul didn’t have the energy to push him away.

“bring her back,” he croaked.

carlisle looked between paul and sam, “i am very sorry for your loss, paul, but there is nothing else i can do, she’s gone-”

“well bring her back!” he roared, falling to his knees as he continued to clutch y/n’s hand, “you fix her, you bring her back, you change her i don’t care-”

“you know i can’t do that-”

“yes, you can. you’ve done it before, change her i don’t care if she’s a vampire just bring her back,” he sobbed.

“paul, we can’t violate the treaty,” sam barked.

“i don’t give a fuck about the treaty,” he turned his head to snarl at sam, “bring her back right now doc or i swear to god i will-”

“i am very sorry paul, but even if i wanted to change her i couldn’t, it’s too late. there are some things even venom can’t fix, even if i tried the venom wouldn’t be able to circulate her body without a heartbeat.”

paul rose from his knees and dropped y/n’s hand. he was robotic as he began chest compressions, despite protests from carlisle. sam tried to pull paul’s arms away from y/n, but he shoved him off roughly and continued to rhythmically administer cpr.

“paul, you need to stop,” carlisle said, “she’s gone – that isn’t going to help her.”

he ignored him.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’.

he wasn’t running anymore.

for once in his life paul was facing his problem head on.

he wasn’t running anymore.

he was doing what everyone always wanted, and yet sam and carlisle were trying to stop him.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

sam and carlisle winced as there was an audible crack.

“you’re breaking her ribs, paul,” carlisle said, attempting to remove paul’s hands from y/n’s body but he flinched away from the vampire’s icy touch.

carlisle looked at sam pleadingly; sam nodded briefly at him before reaching forward and attempting to drag paul away from y/n’s body. he resisted, struggling against sam’s grip as he maintained the rhythmic compressions. his vision blurred in front of him, refusing to take on the scene before him.

he never got a chance to tell her about the imprint.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

she never regained consciousness after she collapsed.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

he never got to say goodbye.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

he never got to tell her he loved her.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

sam was dragging him backwards, away from y/n; his rigid grip kept paul’s arms pinned to his sides and stopped him from reaching out to cling to y/n.

paul couldn’t breathe.

everything was spinning.

the harsh, fluorescent hospital lights burned his watery eyes; he wanted nothing more than to sink down into darkness till he could awake from this nightmare.

y/n couldn’t be dead.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

“someone will need to contact her family, they will need to make arrangements,” carlisle commented quietly, “ i will call them myself if you give me the number.”

“this is my fault,” paul choked out.

“what?”

“it’s my fault,” his voice caught in his throat, “i let her slowly kill herself because i didn’t want her shut me out.”

“y/n was sick for a long time paul-” carlisle began.

“and i could’ve fixed her, but i was too selfish to let her go and now she’s gone forever.”

his knuckles turned white as he gripped the metal pole that ran along the side of y/n’s bed, he couldn’t bring himself to look at her body.

sam placed a hand on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done paul, you already did everything you could for her - you can’t love someone back together.”

“what if it was emily?” paul snarled, “would you be so calm and condescending if it was your imprint lying dead in front of you?”

paul’s heart pounded in his chest, he was still unable to look at her. he wanted to remember her alive and breathing, not like this.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

“if you’ll excuse me, i should get started on some paperwork,” carlisle said quietly.

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, but especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself.

“c’mon paul, you should get out of here.”

‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’

his eyes flickered up, and the sight of y/n’s corpse sent acidic vomit bubbling up his throat and into his mouth. he turned sharply on his heel and choked out his stomach contents into a bin in the corner.

after he composed himself paul did what he did best.

he ran.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Harry Gets Food Poisoning While at Your House

This prompt was requested by this ask and I just put my own take on it. Hope everyone enjoys.

Things to help you understand this story better:

(Boyfriend-Girlfriend/Dating for 2 years/Harry stays over at your place a lot/You ate something different than Harry/Dunkirk Harry era)

(wish that photo was really Harry but unfortunately its not. dead give away by the hand :( )

Harry and yourself decided to order Chinese take-out for a at-home date night. You both scoffed down the tasty food while sitting on the sofa watching romantic comedies. Once you finished eating, you and Harry cuddled together on the sofa under a warm fluffy blanket. You laying on your back and Harry laying on his tummy between your legs, with his head resting on your boobs. While focusing on the film, you run your small fingers in his brown curls and he relaxes into your touch, letting out content sighs.

About an hour after eating, Harry becomes restless on top of you. Before, he was laying peacefully, but now he's squirming every few seconds. "You alright babe?" you question down to Harry on your chest.

"Mhmm my stomachs starting to hurt." he replies truthfully. He's unsure the cause but his stomach is swirling and his heart rate is picking up at the mere thought of having to be sick. Especially the thought of being sick at his girlfriends house during the at-home date you had planed. He doesn't want to ruin it by getting sick.

"Oh m'sorry. Do you think it was the Chinese food?" you speak remorsefully.

"I don't know but I don't want to be sick," Harry says with a voice crack indicating he's actually getting upset, "and ruin our date night." When he finishes his sentence, he starts softly sobbing into your chest.

"Hey, hey, Harry," you say sternly but still in your caring voice, "you would not be ruining our date night. You can't help if your feel sick. Do you maybe want to go sit in the bathroom so you're closer to the toilet?"

Harry just nods his head and you help him stand up from his position on your chest and onto his barley stable feet. Then you guide him to your downstairs hall bathroom because its the closest bathroom to your living room. You walk Harry up to the toilet and help him kneel down in front and you squat down behind him. "I feel so sick y/n!" Harry moans out through shallow breaths.

"It's gonna be okay Harry. I'm right here. It's okay to be sick. I won't be mad." you reassure your boyfriend so he knows he doesn't have to keep in his sick for your sake and so he'll feel better. Because you know undoubtedly he has food poisoning from the Chinese food he ate earlier and if he keeps the toxins in his body, he will just feel sicker and sicker.

Harry's back arches over the toilet as he lets out a sickly sounding gag. You grimace at the noise but know you must keep it together to take care of him and comfort him. He's breathing rather heavy with his mouth hanging open and saliva dripping out into the water. "Shhh babe, just relax and throw up. Your tummy will feel so much better after." you gently coo in his ear. You have one hand rubbing circles on his muscular back and one hand pushing back his curly bangs that's falling in his face. He lets out a harsh dry heave and it follows with a long stream of vomit exiting out his mouth and splattering in the toilet water. You have to close your eyes to not be sick yourself.

In-between spells of emptying his stomach, Harry mutters, "You can leave me in here alone. Don't want you seeing me like this." He is absolutely crazy to think you'd leave him in such a vulnerable state. You love Harry and him being sick doesn't stray you away from being by his side in such a situation.

"Harry, I am not leaving you. I don't care if you're sick. You've seen me sick many times and took care of me each of those times. So I'm taking care of you." you calmly say back. Honestly, Harry feels so sick that he doesn't try and argue with you. If he's being truthful, he's actually thankful you're with him, comforting him, because he hates being sick alone. He may not admit that out loud but its true. Something else that happens when Harry's sick, alone or with someone there with him, he gets emotional. An uncontrollable emotion that follows during or after getting sick. One thing he hates most about this situation right now is looking weak in front of you. He's always so strong and being this vulnerable in your eyes suck.

What Harry doesn't know is that you like this side of him. Not the sick version of course but the weak side. It shows he isn't perfect and you honestly don't think you could even date someone who puts themselves out as such.

Harry forcefully throws up a few more times until he's just dry heaving with nothing more to expel. "I think you're done babe." you tell Harry softly as he's dry heaving with no results.

Harry just shakes his head weakly and replies, "I still feel sick though. My stomach hurts so bad." Tears are rolling down his face and his hands that grip the sides of the toilet seat are slightly shaking.

"I know but I think the toilet is making you feel more sick." You reach over him to flush his puke down the toilet so he doesn't have to look at it a minute longer. Harry sits up straight and turns his head back slowly to look at you. This is the first time you have seen his face clearly since he's gotten sick tonight and the first thing you notice is how red his eyes are, probably from all the gagging and dry heaving, and you see the wetness of his cheeks due to crying. Along with the bit of vomit that his on the corner of his pink lips and line of sweat on his forehead. You feel horrible for him. You'd hate to be in his position but almost wish the roles were reversed, just to take his discomfort away. That's how much you love him. You'd do just about anything for Harry. Even if that means take his food poisoning away from him and have it yourself.

You reach for some toilet paper and rip a piece off to wipe his mouth clean. While wiping his vomit covered mouth, Harry just sits and stares at you. He feels so little right now. Almost like he's a small child who's just been sick and their mum is cleaning them up. Even though Harry is embarrassed he got sick on what was supposed to be a lovely date night where you both ate non contaminated food, watched film after film, trying not to fall asleep, or maybe had some romantic intimacy at the end of the night, he actually feels happy right now. Not happy his stomach is upset but happy he got lucky enough to have a caring girlfriend that is by his side during his ugliest moments. He thinks he may have just fell more in love with you. Seeing how compassionate you are towards him when he's sick.

When you finish wiping around his mouth and a little bit of nasty drainage from his nose, Harry becomes emotional again. Like stated previously, he always gets quite emotional when he's sick but that's not the only cause of his emotions right now. He is also crying because he's thinking about how much he truly loves you and how he never thought he'd find someone with your level of compassion.

You throw away the soiled tissue and pull Harry forward so you can embrace him in a warm hug. You don't really understand why he's crying so much. Is it because his stomach is still hurting or he's embarrassed? "Why are you crying Harry?" you question him then continue, "It's alright. I'll give you medicine to make you feel better. Don't worry about that."

While rubbing both hands up and down his sweaty back, Harry says through soft sobs, "I just love you so much. How did I get so lucky. I've had partners in the past to push me away when I was sick and you didn't. You stayed and took care of me." He lifts his head so he can view your face when he mutters out the rest. "I'm gonna marry you one day you know. Want to call you my wife. Want to have lots of babies with you. Be with you till I'm a hundred. Promise I do."

His words have brought tears to your eyes. Knowing how grateful Harry is that you're taking care of him when he's sick means so much. You didn't think twice before helping him when he said he felt sick, so it must be the true love you feel for this man crying in your hold. With a shaky smile and watery eyes, you look at him in his glossy green eyes and say, "I would kiss you right now but I have a feeling your breath smells like puke so I'll pass. Love you so much Harry and of course I took care of you. I love you and that's what you do for the people you love. Take care of them in their weakest moments."

You hold him for a few more minutes on the bathroom floor until your bum gets sore from the hard tiles. You help Harry stand to his feet and walk him to your bedroom located up the stairs of your house. Then you help him slide into bed and tell him you'll be right back with some medicine and a glass of water.

A few minutes later, you come back with the upset stomach tablets and water for Harry to take and ease his turning tummy. Once he's taken the medicine, you go grab your mini trash bin in your bathroom and place it beside the bed incase he feels like he's gonna throw up again. Then you turn all the lights off and crawl under the warm blankets with your boyfriend. Without hesitation, Harry scoots over and places his head on your chest. He's past the point of being scared to look weak. He just wants comfort and the one thing that brings him the most is you. The love of his life. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight." Harry whispers with a hoarse voice.

"You don't need to thank me babe. I was glad to be there for you. I know you don't like getting sick and I was happy to at least make the experience a little bit better. Now go to sleep and if you feel sick again, the bin is on the floor beside the bed for you. Also don't be afraid to wake me up if you feel nauseous. I want to be there to comfort you." you reply back in a whispered tone. You kiss the top of his messy curls and Harry relaxes into your hold on him. Feeling safe and secure in your loving arms. Then you both fall fast asleep.

Thankfully Harry didn't get sick anymore through-out the night and the medicine you gave him seemed to have worked. The next day he was just exhausted form exerting so much energy being sick the day before but other than that, his stomach felt calm. You made him homemade chicken soup and cuddled him in bed, watching his favorite movies all day. Loving every second you get to spend with Harry before he has to leave and go on his world tour in a months time.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[hoedorokishoto]

MHA Characters when you are pregnant/Dads.

Dedicated to my very best friend who is having a hard time at the moment, and I thought some headcannons of dilf my hero characters would cheer her up.

Eijiro Kirishima 

The cryer.

Crys when you are having sex to get pregnant, crys when the test is positive, crys while you are vomiting in the toilet and crys when your jeans stop fitting because of your bump.

Assures you that crying is manly and sticks by that.

Fusses over you as soon as you find out, even putting foam bumpers on tables and corners so you do not hurt yourself or your growing bump.

Is so excited to tell his friends. Calling Bakugo immediately after finding out, the pee was still warm on the stick as he dialed.

Yelled into the phone with just random words that had something to do with babies. No actual sentences.

Watches in awe of your body and how it changes. Loves all the stretch marks that you may grow.

Thinks growing a human is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done. Constantly asking weird anatomy related questions.

On that note says things like, “Babe, can you believe my cum helped make this tiny human growing in your stomach!”

As your due date gets closer, watches you like a hawk. Any slight noise you make, makes him thinks it go time. Already at the door with your bags and your just like “I literally yawned.”

When you do go into labour, he is right there next to you. Holding you close as he sits behind you, holding your legs back, your head rolled back and rested against his shoulder.

“You are doing amazing baby.” “God, I fucking love you.” “You are already the best mum in the whole world.”

Crys as soon as your baby is born, crys with you as he leans his head on your shoulder and watches you and your baby have skin to skin.

You wake up to him holding your only hours old baby. Whispering to them how much he loves them and nothing bad is ever going to happen to them and that they are the best thing he has ever done.

Katsuki Bakugo 

Gloats when you tell him you are pregnant. “Of course you got pregnant the first time, I’m the best.”

Even though he leaves the room with the biggest goofiest smile on his face.

The night you both find out he starts sleeping with his arm around you and his hand firmly cradling your stomach.

Wakes up before you every morning and makes you food, then hold your hair back as you vomit said food into the toilet.

Complains to no end. But never leaves your side and rubs your back as he puts a cold washer on your forehead. Wiping vomit and spit away from your face.

“We have to tell that old hag! She has been bugging us about having a brat since our first date.” He would say even though he is beyond excited to finally tell his parents.

“I’ve never been more excited! I knew you had it in ya!” This leads to dinner being over and the two blonds yelling back and forth.

Masaru just sits next to you and offers you some tea as his wife and son bicker. Both of you used to it by now.

You tell all his friends eventually. “Congratulation Kacchan!” “Shut up Deku, don’t talk too loud around my unborn child. I don’t want them to catch being a loser!” Even though you see the small hug he accepts out of the corner of your eye.  

Keep his phone close to him regardless of what he is doing. Does not want to miss any videos or picture you might send of you bump. Or in case something happens.

Always brings home snacks that you crave. From gummy bears to celery. You name it he buys it. Again he complains and pretends you annoy him but he would do absolutely anything for you.

Wakes you up unintentionally in the middle of the night by spontaneously putting baby furniture together. Pre parental panic finally hitting him as he hammers different pieces of wood together.

“Tsuki? Are you gonna come to bed?”

“I can’t! I’ve got to get this together and then I’ve got to fireproof everything in case the kid gets my quirk and then……”

“Fireproof? You think it’s just gonna blast its way out of me and already have a quirk?” You laughed.

He smiles, finally calming down. Then gets mad again and says not to make fun of him.

Your due date finally comes and still nothing. Even after eating multiple pineapples, bouncing on many exercise balls and having as much sex as you could manage there was still no baby.

10 days later your water breaks and you rush to the hospital.

The baby getting stuck on the way down. Being as stubborn as their father.

You had to be rushed for a C-section. Katsuki never leaving your side. Refusing to go anywhere even as they prepped you.

He looks very good in scrubs. 

He stroked your face as he sat next to your head, the large curtain covering anything too gory from both of you.

Flinches when he hears the first cry, looks into your eyes and presses his forehead against yours.

“You did it Teddy bear. You are so fucking tough.”

Let’s a tear slip as he watches the baby get weighted.

Cuts the cord and watched the tiny little human you have made in awe.

He always though he was born to be a hero. Now he thinks he was put here to do this, be the best dad that he can be for his little brat.  

Shota Aizawa 

Being a dad falls into his lap accidently both times.

First with Eri and second with your 2-year-old daughter.

You met in the girl’s section of a clothing store, him holding up 2 equally as ugly sweaters and looking very confused.

You and your daughter walked up to him and offered him a hand and the rest is history.

Doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have 3 girls that he adores more than anyone else.

Can’t comprehend that anyone would want to treat you or your daughter badly and makes it his mission to treat you right every single day, so you forget all about the past.

Activates his quirk, his hair floating around his face and watches your daughter yell and laugh as she runs around and gets caught up in his capture scarf, Shota just catching her before she hits the floor.

Let’s both the girl’s braid and put bows in his long hair and blush on his cheeks.

You have photos but have been threatened that if anyone sees them, he will have to take drastic action.

Loves watching Eri and your daughter play together. Singing songs and hugging each other as you dance around the living room.

Takes the girls to U.A. to meet his students. All the students cooing over them, saying how cute they are. Midoriya making both of them candy apples as Mirio picks you both up and puts you on his shoulders.

You both fit it. It’s like you were the missing piece and now he is whole.

Starts to think that maybe it’s a good time to give the girls a sibling.

You agree but, in the meantime, you adopt 2 cats, both of them making themselves at home rather quickly.

Shota will forever be thankful that he picked up those 2 ugly sweaters as he looks at his bed which is currently occupied by his 2 daughters, 2 cats and you. Lightly snoring, small hand over your swollen stomach.