#this was so cathartic to write

[skatermusic]

The sound of Mayor Lewis' jaw breaking was music to the ears of everyone in Pelican Town.

Willy would've clenched his fist had the act of violence not broken his hand. "First, you and Marnie sneak around like teenagers. Then, you do a such a shitty job as Mayor that the only things holding this town together are hot glue and bandages. And, to put the cherry on the shit-sundae, you blackmail my son." Willy hadn't meant for that to slip out, but there was no taking it back now. "Go fuck yourself, Lewis Hudson. I hope you rot in that cell."

If Mayor Lewis' jaw breaking was music to the town's ears, approaching police sirens were an entire orchestra.

Willy flipped Lewis the bird with his good hand, then spat on the former mayor as Harvey and Elliott escorted him to the clinic.

[limitlessscion]

for the first time in rather a long while, fear -- how terrible it is to love something that death can touch -- therein smothered by some sense of understanding, of peace; the very same they feel in their friend. for such a great creature, kaen feels remarkably small right now, curled up there against him, little vessel tucked close against him as if looking to enfold within him--

it is a gentle moment, despite everything, despite knowing what approaches. forgive them how they cling to this time with him, for it is - quite literally - amongst the numbered last.

they tip their head, looking up at him, "... stay," seems like too big a request given what he's just told them. "jus' fer t'night." it's all they want (the company, at least, the time); they can forget all else for one night, right? who cares? kaen sighs, looking away again, resigned to the inevitable refusal, "... please..."

Nineteen days. It's been nineteen days since Satoru made his mistakes, let his heart falter and allowed the ghosts of his past to be weaponized so cruelly against him.

At the time he hadn't been able to feel beyond his own immense grief and rage, but in the lonely emptiness of his imprisoned days he'd recognized the feeling of another sharing in his pain.

His freedom had been a violent affair, as all important things in his life were ultimately fated to be. He demolished that challenge set before him, as he have many others, declared war, set aside grief for many he'd have no time to mourn for now.

Then he'd come here.

Among the chaos that Tokyo had descended to, Kaeltyr's cursed form wasn't even that out of place. Cursed spirits roamed freely, but none dared even approach the one who held infinity and his journey was peaceful and short, following the residuals of his friend.

Here they were now, his forehead against theirs.

"In a little over a month's time, I am going to fight something very powerful. I'll be honest with you, Kaen, I..."

Heavy words caught in his throat, the shackles of his existence forbidding him from uttering them; he had never been allowed to even entertain the thought and he would never have allowed it to cloud him when in the presence of humans who pinned their future on him. But Kaen deserved to know, and he so desperately wanted to set the burden down, just this once.

In Kaen's presence there had always been the relief of being able to drop the pretenses of humanity. But in this moment, he felt more human than he had ever been while walking among mortals.

"I don't think I'm coming back this time."

Something unexpected happened. Relief hit him with palpable force, his knees suddenly weak and a tremble made its way into his frame. But it was not fear, not sadness-- he started laughing. The admission was freeing in a way he could have never imagined before.

"Is it weird that I'm looking forward to it? The fight, I mean, not the dying part. Ah, never mind, that came out wrong." He pulled Kaen in closer, hugged tighter, understanding how soothing the other found such gestures. "I just needed you to understand, I do need to do this, and I'm okay with it. And I'm sorry that I might be leaving you behind."

"... stay...jus' fer t'night...please..."

"Now how could I possibly turn down such an earnest request?" He didn't hesitate, cracking a grin. "I'm sure everyone can keep things handled for just one day."

He wasn't ready to return just yet either.

For just today, he didn't have the strength to pick back up that burden of divinity and false humanity both.

[bunnieswithknives]

Thanks.

Prev

[starry-bi-sky]

The first time disciple Shen Yuan/Shen Qingqiu meets Liu Qingge, it is during a Bai Zhan peak raid. And what ends up happening is that Shen Qingqiu gets kicked in the jaw with such force he feels his teeth clack together unpleasantly. And frustrated with his situation, the system, and quite frankly a ton of other little things that have been building up over the course of the last few weeks, he feels something snap in the back of his mind like that of a rubber band after being stretched too far.

What ends up happening is that Shen Qingqiu turns and locks onto the very first figure he can see that is dressed in grey-and-white like a homing missile, and then with the force of a twin-tailed mountain tiger, lunges towards said figure with an equally menacing snarl.

He ends up taking the Bai Zhan peak disciple by utter surprise, and they both collide into the ground in a tangle of angry yelling and limbs. What ends up happening is that Liu Qingge gets the subsequent wind knocked out of him and pinned into the dirt by a Qing Jing peak disciple who is filled with the might and fury of a scholar having their peaceful afternoon interrupted and a once-grown-man re-experiencing puberty.

It is with that might and fury that Liu Qingge meets the wild, frenzied eyes of Shen Qingqiu, with his lips pulled back into a truly ferocious scowl. Shen Qingqiu hisses out, with such force it makes his voice rasp, as if he might as well sink his teeth into Liu Qingge's throat and rip it out; "Get the fuck off my mountain."

Liu Qingge is so shocked by -- well, quite a many things, but most importantly the fact that he has been pinned, and the way the sun is bouncing off this boy's face, -- that his brain needs five seconds to reboot. It's five seconds too long, because by the time he registers what just happened, Shen Yuan has clambered off him and disappeared. Gone and thrown himself into the closest dust cloud scuffling in order to unleash the rest of his fury on the other Bai Zhan Peak kids.

Qing Jing Peak experiences an unfortunate uptick in Bai Zhan disciple visits -- specifically of the Liu Qingge variety. Specifically Liu Qingge, actually. Who very much wants to find the boy that managed to get one over on him and demand a rematch. (Or maybe kiss him.)

[north-noire]

Behold! I am the magic anon #058! Now it’s time to dropkick William Afton into the fifteenth dimension!

The FNAF good ending just dropped.

[butchcarmy]

Idk if you've written this but can you write about carmy and the reader arguing and he makes her cry? Idk I just feel like thatd be good angst fluff lol

AHH I got carried away as per usual. anyway this is good stuff. wrote a bunch. enjoy!!

word count: 1.3k

tags: traumatized carmy, mentally ill carmy and reader, arguing, language, HURT/COMFORT, ANGST/FLUFF, carmy being a sweetie

Hm…i'm spending a lot of time thinking about the set-up for this. Carmy is a very careful person when it comes to those he’s romantically involved in, but at the same time, he has a hard time controlling his temper when he's in the darkness, as i'll put it. 

here's something awful i think about that i wanna write about. carmy's stressed about work, because of course he is. he's carmy. his head is whirring, spinning with anxiety and self-hatred. i think you're just like him. mentally ill for mentally ill if you will. you're also in a bad mood, and he comes home from The Bear exhausted and keyed up.

“I hate when you push me away like this,” you admit. You've been trying to get him to talk to you since he's been home. Maybe he just needs space, but separation makes you anxious. Especially when he shuts down. 

“I'm sorry that it's so hard for you,” he spits, finally snapping and turning to face you. You've followed him into the dark bedroom, lit only by the harsh moonlight through the window. You flinch. You never quite get used to seeing him like this. 

“I—I just—“ you feel pressure beginning in the back of your eyes. You will it away. “How can I help you if you don’t talk to me?”

“Why do you care so much? Does it make you feel better to take care of someone more fucked up than you?” He snaps, voice raised. His words go down bitter, leaving an awful taste in your mouth. Something in you shatters.

“How could you ask me that?” Your vision’s gone hot and blurry. “I’m your partner. I love you, that’s why I care, you asshole!” You’re stifling sobs. You hate crying in fights like this, but it hurts. You can’t help it.

“Fuck,” Carmy mutters under his breath. He’s gone still in your blurred vision. “Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—“

“That was so fucked up, Carmy.” You move to sit on the bed, trying to wipe your tears away, but they keep coming. “What’s your problem?”

“You know what my problem is.” His remorse has swept away the anger, leaving him quiet before you. He leans down at your knees, hands on your thighs. “I shouldn’t have said that. Any of that.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Carmy nods quickly, and he raises a hand to your wet cheeks. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“I know.” He takes your pain, your anger in its entirety. His other hand brings your knuckles to his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.“

“Sure sounded like you meant it.” Anger flares up in your chest, hurt and betrayed, but you tamp it down, leaning into his hand cradling his face. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Damnit, Carmy.”

“I know. I know.” He’s still kissing your hand. “You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you.” You hate it when he talks like this, because you can tell he really believes it.

“Don’t say that. Please.” 

“But it’s true.” You look down at him in the moonlight, at his sad blue eyes. “I always find ways to hurt you. I…”

“That’s what being in a relationship is, Carm.” You pat the space next to you. “Sit with me?”

“I keep having to remind myself of that.” He sinks into the bed next to you. “I’m so sorry for talking about you like that. Like you’re only doing this out of…I don’t know. Obligation.” He drags a hand across his tired face. “You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry. I just, I just think that—that I’m—fuck—“

“Slow down, Carm,” you say quietly. “It’s okay. You don’t need to force it. I’m listening.” He smiles bitterly at you, and you recognize the love in it easily. He takes in a deep breath before continuing. 

“I still have a hard time believing that anyone cares about me. I can’t even believe that you—love me.” You can practically see the shame rolling off of him in waves. “And it makes me scared.”

“Love is scary, isn’t it?” You say softly. He just nods. “It scares me, too. That’s why I kept pestering you when you got home. I…” You blink quickly. You don’t wanna cry again. “It scares me when I don’t know what you’re thinking. Because…I dunno. It just does.”

“Yeah?” You nod. He has this thoughtful expression that he holds for a moment as he stews on your words. “I didn’t think about it like that. I’m sorry. I think…I think when you kept asking me if I was okay, it…” he sighs, scratches at his temples. “I felt like I was…getting back into a corner. I think.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” You take his hand in yours. “I can see how that must’ve felt really bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault that I’m like this. I think—I think it just reminded me of my mom. We would always ask her if she was okay, because she’s fucking crazy, yknow? We didn’t wanna step on her toes. But it turns out we did anyway. And the way I acted just now, I was just like…” He can’t even get the words out. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, voice choked with emotion. “I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

“You tell me everyday. How could I not?” You pull him into a hug, tight and warm, and he instantly wraps his arms around you. “You’re not your mom, Carm. You're nothing like her. Okay?” 

“I don’t wanna be like her,” he whispers. “I don’t wanna be like her.”

“You’re not,” you remind him softly. “And you won’t be.”

Carmy leans back to look at you, but he remains close. His expression is knotted with pain. You run your thumb over his furrowed brow, and it makes his mouth curve upwards in a smile. It’s fleeting, but it was there. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’ll try to open up more. Let you know what I’m thinking.”

Suddenly, you think about when you first started dating Carmy. He was so scared to open up to you emotionally, but with gentle prodding, he fell apart instantly. There was a hunger in him to be known by others, to be seen by you, and it scared him to death. You see that same fear in him now, but you also see how much he’s grown since then. You doubt you would’ve been able to have this conversation at all in the first couple months. 

That makes you happy in a way you’re not quite able to word properly.

“Thank you. But I hope you also know I don’t want to force you. I just wanna help. And…” You measure your words carefully. “I’ll try not to let it freak me out so much. Because if you’re not in the mood to talk, I want you to know that’s okay. Okay?”

“Okay. I’d like that. If I don’t want to talk, I’ll just tell you. Instead of…blowing a fuse.” He laughs dryly. 

“I’d like that too.” You let out an exhale of relief you didn’t realize you were holding. “Wow, Carm. Look at us. Communicating!”

“I know.” That makes him laugh for real this time, and you’re laughing too. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“I think you could. But I certainly like doing it with you.” His smiles grows wider at that, brimming with affection. 

“Let me make this up to you, baby.” He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep. You let out a little noise when his lips meet yours. 

“Make it up to me?” Carmy’s tongue is on your neck now. Oh. “Aren’t you tired? You—you have work tomorrow—?”

“Don’t care.” You fall back onto the bed, and the blankets deflate under you. You stare up at Carmy, his curls hanging by his face. “You’re more important.”

“Well, if you insist…” You giggle, and your giggles get louder when Carmy pulls up your shirt to blow raspberries against your stomach. “Carmy, quit it—oh—!”

He makes it up to you in full and more by keeping his head between your legs for the rest of the night. By the end of it you can't remember what you were mad about in the first place.

[overtake]

Trying to do something resembling coping after Singapore. Have some Max/Daniel hurt/comfort (1.3k). Also on ao3 if you prefer.

The press of a button freezes Max’s watery blue eyes, the space between them bifurcated by the crease in his forehead.

“Is now really a moment to remember?” Max asks in a raspy voice. His throat isn’t clogged by tears, but there’s almost a decades worth of race starts together sitting uncomfortably in there and congesting each word.

His hand hasn’t strayed from Daniel since he found him after the race. It’s somewhere on some part of him every time he’s close enough to touch.

Normally he’s halfway home by this point, Air Max somewhere over the circuit skies and headed back toward home.

He’s stayed, this time, in case this is it. In case this is his last chance to neatly fold Daniel’s clothes into his bag, even though his own are always wrinkled under pairs of stained shoes and dirty briefs. In case this is the last time they both exit the paddock as drivers. In case this is the final chance Max has to trace the shape of Daniel’s jawline and tell him, “Good race.”

Daniel’s mum is giving them a last minute alone. She’s standing guarding outside the door and leaving them be for now. Daniel knows, though, that when they stand, she’ll hug Daniel close, wishing he was little enough to hide in the crook of her neck while she covers all his gaping wounds with plasters and a kiss on each one to ease the ache. 

Despite his complaints about the camera, Max still moves from where he’s crouched in front of Daniel to collapse into his side and observe the photo. He wraps one arm around Daniel’s back to tug him impossibly closer and rests his mouth on the top of Daniel’s shoulder in an exhausted kind of kiss.

“I look like shit,” he says, statement muffled by the fabric of Daniel’s shirt. He sounds like he wants to poke fun at himself until he makes Daniel laugh, but they’re both too hollowed out to muster up the energy. Instead, Max reaches out and turns off the display.

For a second, their fingers linger together on the camera’s body, until Daniel lets the camera drop back against his chest so he can entangle their hands instead.

“It’s not a nice memory,” Daniel agrees. Unlike Max, his voice right now can all be attributed to tears. “But in December, no matter what happens after today, I’ll get a retake on the farm. I’ll be happy, and we’ll be together, and life will go on from now.”

Daniel feels the dampness on his shoulder when a single tear breaks containment, then another, and a shuddering breath, until Max rights himself and pointedly looks away from the tiny patch soaked in cotton.

“It’s not fair,” he says tightly. For a second, he sounds every bit the bullish teenager with a black and white view on the way the world ought to work and bitter frustration that sometimes reality dapples in nuance. It’s the first thing to get Daniel anywhere within city limits of smiling since he set the lap record and gave himself a final moment in the car to reflect on everything this sport had given him, and that he had given this sport.

“Yeah,” he agrees hoarsely. “It’s not fucking fair.”

He’s done with excuses and niceties and dancing on the Red Bull puppet strings in hopes that playing their game might finally net him a seat he’d killed himself to earn. It’s not fair. It’s callous and cruel, the way they’ve strung him and everyone who loves him along for a race they aren’t even brave enough to tell him is his last.

They’re silent for another moment. Daniel closes his eyes and soaks it in: the tendrils of freshly washed hair still trailing water down his spine. The din of dog-tired employees breaking down the paddock, to be quickly vanished away as if it was never here. The ragged in-and-out of Max’s lungs as he tries to coax both of their breaths into something resembling normal.

“Thank you, by the way,” Max says softly. “And congratulations on your lap record.”

“You owe me a really nice Christmas present.”

Max presses a whisper of a kiss over Daniel’s drying curls. “You always deserve the nicest presents.”

Daniel’s mum slips in then, gently shutting the door behind her. Unlike Max, she’s made no secret of her tears. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she musters up enough of a smile when Daniel heaves himself up into her arms.

“Come here, Max,” he hears his mum scold. A second later, Max is in an awkward three-person hug. Grace’s short arms struggle to embrace them both, but smelling her vanilla perfume and knowing she’s there is enough to surround him in all the ways that matter.

She whispers in turn to each of them, but they’re all so tightly wound, they can all hear every word.

“Thank you for being here every time I couldn’t be,” she tells Max. He murmurs something back, but he manages to keep it quiet enough that Daniel can’t make out all his words. It’s something about thanking her for trusting him with Daniel, but the rest is lost. All he knows is that his mum’s tears start flowing again.

When it’s his turn, she can barely choke out the words. “I’m so proud of you. For your career, of course, but for who you’ve grown into. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

“I love you,” is all Daniel manages. He buries the nose shaped like hers into the brown curls that his genes copy-pasted and soaks in gratitude that he has both her face and her endless capacity to love.

Daniel walks into humid night air with his head held high and a career most drivers would kill for, surrounded by people who love him for more than that list of achievements, and knows that he’ll survive whatever comes next.

“That’s a terrible photo,” Max complains three months later. His eyes are scrunched up all cute in it, framed by long lashes and sun-soaked freckles that are almost hidden by the streaks of dirt on his face. He’s smiling, both in the picture and right now, so Daniel knows he doesn’t actually mind.

Two weeks of busy Australian summer have left Max various shades of pink and tan. He'd somewhat learned how to use the grill that Daniel was too scared to touch and now had matching grill aprons with Daniel's dad. He christened the new baby cow the wholly uncreative name ‘Lilly’, because god forbid any animal in his vicinity not be named after Monaco nightlife. He’d also 100% taken to the dirt bikes as easily as everyone would assume and had absolutely, definitely not sworn Daniel to secrecy about where he got that giant bruise on his side after their first go.

When Daniel transfers the photos to his computer later, his finger pauses on the photo captured in a melancholic driver’s room. In it, Max’s eyes are dull and weary, but they’re looking at Daniel with the same unblinking love from today’s picture.

It’s proof, memorialized in expensive pixels, that Daniel’s life did not end on the streets of Singapore; that his worth to the world never depended on his points or podiums.

He closes the lid of his laptop and joins the gathering in the living room. Max is pouring fake tea for Isabella’s dolls. Isaac is politely sipping an empty teacup, one pinky in the air. Isabella is nowhere to be found, probably busy dragging Daniel’s poor parents to see Lilly the cow for the fifth time today.

“Daniel!” Max says, in the sweet, distinct way his mouth always forms the name. His face brightens when Daniel walks in. When Max smiles like that, it’s as if the sun has come through the roof and taken human form in broad shoulders and rumpled t-shirts.

“Max!” Daniel says back, matching his enthusiastic tone. He sits cross-legged in Isabella’s empty spot and slides his fingers between Max’s.

The tea party continues, and life moves forward.

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[kori-senpai]

New Leokumi content in the lords year of 2024?? It's more likely than you think! (x)

[frownyalfred]

not to tell on myself too much, but your slade/bruce fic where tim hired slade rewrote my brain. especially the ending with clark being all jealous

It's okay, this is a safe space for dad-fuckers :)

[read-write-thrive]

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish’s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

~

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

[moonyinpisces]

puttin’ on the ritz by moonyinpisces

rating: E wordcount: 10.1k TAGS: crack, smut, humor, roaring 20s, new york city, demonic temptation, very very silly complete

[firenati0n]

and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life

by firenati0n on ao3

T | 9999

tags: city of angels au, guardian angel henry, lawyer alex, 5+1, dual pov, hurt/comfort, angst with a HAPPY ENDING! NOT THE MOVIE ENDING I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“In all the years, across all the universes, in the midst of all these people…you saw me. You felt��me somehow. A gossamer fine thread connecting us, yet you grasped and tugged and held on tight. If losing my wings means I gain you, then that is a loss I will bear with gratitude.”

Five times Guardian Angel Henry yearns for a truly human sensory experience, and the one time he feels them all at once. Or, Henry discovers the joys of humanity through Alex’s eyes, finds himself, and falls in love. Or, Henry takes a leap of faith, and Alex catches him.

xoxo roop

also i know i talked about this in literally january so tagging some folks who expressed interest in this in the past pls don't mind me <3 ilysm xoxo

@ninzied @suseagull04 @onward--upward @duchessdepolignaca03 @@candyspandemonium @anincompletelist @inexplicablymine @heysweetheart-writes @wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @onthewaytosomewhere @magicandarchery @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @littlestar2911 @leaves-of-laurelin @tinyarmedtrex @galitzine-nick @anchoredarchangel @gltzine @getmehighonmagic @thirdeye1234 @movetoheavens @starkfridays @indestructibleheart @littlemisskittentoes @songliili @theprinceandagcd @gay-flyboys

[fangswbenefits]

just a few random thoughts on The Arrangement Astarion (cw: mentions of past abuse and trauma)

The way abuse can warp someone for life is often overlooked. This isn't just a journey about him dealing with intimacy (in all its forms) but also how to do it in spite of everything he went through. Putting up walls and not letting her in, but feeling the need to resort to sarcasm and to being snarky cause the vulnerability that comes with it is just too much to handle. She has already seen the ugly yet he keeps doing it, because when you've doing it for so long it becomes second nature and it's hard to unlearn this behaviour. How can people stay when they've seen the ugly? Well, some people do stay because they have seen the ugly and their love for you surpasses that. They'd ve damned if they allowed that to change their opinion of you.

However, this doesn't have be a life sentence for him. He can learn and better himself alongside her if he so chooses. There will be good days. There will be bad days. But the constant will be her by his side. And this isn't about anyone getting fixed. There are other ways to heal. Are those healthy, though? But still, no matter how uncertain things are, he can count on her love as a constant that can help him love the parts of him that he has grown to hate.

Is it easy? Does it happen overnight? Probably not. But there's always hope. There is always a way out. Even when he dissociates. Even when he's fearful of getting more intimate with her. Even when he remembers that she chose friendship over something else - it's never easy to be shown what you need to see instead of what you want to see. Astarion falls into this constant dichotomy and I think it's worth exploring 🫂

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday

tagged by @theotherbuckley 💖

I wasn't gonna post any today bc progress slowed down with working mornings again and having to actually sleep at night 🙄😂, but i'm so excited about this fic and I'm loving it and I just wanna share it all lol

prev snippet

___

“I’m fine.” Buck responds through gritted teeth. He’s okay, he’s fine, he can do this. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” he laughs, wiping his cheeks with one hand. He needs to get a grip. At least while he’s driving. “This is all so stupid, I’m fine, everything is fine.” he takes a deep breath.

“You don’t have to be fine. Not with me.” Eddie says, and he sounds almost desperate. Desperate for Buck to listen, to hear him. He sounds so earnest and gentle, and Buck can imagine those piercing eyes that always feel like Eddie’s looking into his soul, and he can’t handle this. He can’t handle being so cared for, he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve someone as wonderful as Eddie. All he does is make him worry. All he does is make everyone worry. (...) Eddie once said Buck's the guy who wants to fix everything, and it’s true. He wants to fix everything for everyone he loves. He’s the only thing that’s unfixable, though. And he hates that people even try, only to get burned in the process.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @fortheloveofbuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @disasterbuckdiaz

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Nightmares No More

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / Requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: It's no surprise that your nightmares pick up again since beginning travelling with the Doctor, but the Doctor has just the fix.

CW: angst, soft fic, comfort, reader has nightmares

DW tag list: @nyxiethesimp (please inbox me to be added to a tag list)

Nightmares were kind of a given no matter where, who or what you were. At some point in their lives, most people, or people-adjacent (read: aliens) would experience a nightmare. You, who were, in fact, a person and not person-adjacent, were particularly susceptible to nightmares. You always had been. 

It had been a particular source of contention for you when you were younger. Especially when you reached the age where you wanted to watch horror movies but couldn’t unless you wanted to spend the next one to fifteen days without sleep curled up in the blankets in terror. 

And yet, despite this, when the Doctor had asked you if you wanted to go and travel through time and space with him, you had said yes. You had said yes despite the horrors you were sure to and did face. Repeatedly. The Doctor had started to notice that you were slowly growing less chipper, the bags under your eyes growing darker by the day. He was growing concerned. 

Currently, you were asleep in your room and the Doctor was looking through the TARDIS records to see if he could find anything that might be causing your lack of interest in things. He was not having much luck. 

He was almost ready to give up for the day and head to bed himself when he heard a loud shriek. He rushed towards your room immediately assuming the worst. He was good at that, particularly when it came to his mortal companions. He’d lost enough of them. No more. 

His hand slams down on the bio-scanner button. The TARDIS overrides the scanner for him and the door opens with a whoosh. He steps inside, calling your name in a panic. 

He finds you sitting in your bed, tears tracking down your cheeks with your arms wrapped around your knees. He leans on the end of the bed, hands brushing over your face, your arms and over your legs- checking for damage, or bites. Anything. 

“What’s wrong?” He rushes out, cupping your chin to raise your line of sight back up to him. 

“It’s nothing,” you chew on your lip, averting eye contact. You brush each cheek against your arm to wipe the tears away and give him the best approximation of a genuine smile you can muster. “Sorry, stubbed my toe.” 

The Doctor raises a brow at you in disbelief. Your smile slips into something a tad more genuine. He could always see right through you. 

“Ohh, come on, now,” he tuts amusedly, but even he can’t hide the look of concern colouring his eyes. “You shouldn’t lie to your Doctor, you know.” 

You roll your eyes and let out a little puff of air, preparing to tell him the truth. 

“I had a nightmare,” you said simply, wiggling your socked toes for something to focus on. Another tear streaks down your cheek before you can release your knees to wipe it away. 

The Doctor releases your chin to wipe it away and clambers over the bed to sit up against the wall next to you. He draws you into his chest comfortingly.

“Nightmares, huh? I get those too. Not as much fun as travelling through the Chasm of Jewels, are they?” 

You scoff and relax into him, releasing your knees to stretch out. Your heart was beginning to slow now that the dream was over and slowly slipping away from you. 

“No,” you agree quietly. “They’re not.” 

The Doctor is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, rubbing your shoulder softly. 

“How long have you had them?” 

You shrug and tell him how you’ve always had them. They had just been getting worse of late. He hummed thoughtfully, wondering if there was something that may have triggered them for you. 

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head and leaned his own against yours. Such a soft and caring affection. You suddenly wondered why you hadn’t told him about your nightmares before. Of course, he had them too. How could he not?

The Doctor was busy wondering what he could possibly do to make them better. Perhaps a potion from Raxos Five? Something from Earth, perhaps? Whale sounds? He’d heard whale sounds were good to sleep to. He’d tried them once but found himself too enraptured by what they were saying to actually fall asleep. 

And then the answer presented itself to him in the form of a soft snore. You had fallen back to sleep on him. He sat perfectly still, listening to the soft sounds of your breath. You must have been tired. How long had this been going on for? 

The Doctor closed his eyes and smiled. Oh, yes. This was much better. 

He stayed like that all night, laying in quiet comfort as you slept without disturbance for the next several hours. Of course, companionship was the answer to this question. The cure for your nightmares. You’d just needed someone to be there for you.

And the Doctor was more than happy to fill that role for you. Happy to stand guard and keep those demons at bay. 

And he was happy to do it for as long as you needed him to. You didn’t really notice the change at first. You’d fall asleep somewhere on the TARDIS and when you woke, the Doctor would be speaking softly to himself by the controls, or he’d be sat next to you. You’d go to bed and the Doctor would follow along to tell you about some story or legend from another planet, and when you woke he’d be near then too. Never too far away- just in case you had a nightmare. 

On rare occasions that became less rare the longer time went on, you’d wake to him cuddled up to you. Sometimes asleep, sometimes reading something, sometimes just staring off into space. Either way, he was just… always there. 

He was always there when you had nightmares, too.

And one day, you’d realised that it had been quite some time since you’d actually had a nightmare at all. You also realised that it had been quite some time since the Doctor had slept in his own room. The two of you had just gravitated into this new routine. It was safe to say it wasn’t a routine you wanted to give up. 

The Doctor had noticed this too but wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to give up the closeness he’d fostered with you. He didn’t sleep much, but when he did, he’d found that he didn’t have quite as many nightmares as he did before. 

That, and, well, he simply enjoyed being close to you. 

And that was in his books- a good enough reason as any other.