#tw: death timer

[cinnatwolover]

Do you want to try to look for some food together Bino? You're, looking awfully thin?

@violetjazz25 ))

[Bino has wondered off to go hunting]

Time left to live: 5 months

[withacapitalp]

Countdown Pt 2

Follow up to this thing I wrote yesterday

People always acted funny when they saw his timer. They usually reacted in two ways- either they tried to pretend that they didn’t see it, or they said how sorry they were. 

That’s not enough time. 

Oh I wish you had more time. 

Only a few days? I’m sorry honey. 

But Steve had never been upset about it. Sure, he only had less than a week with his soulmate, but that only meant that their time was more treasured. They understood that they had to make every second count. 

Wasn’t that a good thing? 

“You’ll understand someday, Steven,” His mother had said quietly into her wine glass one night when it was just the two of them at home. She was sitting on the couch, flipping through their photo album idly, holding Steve hostage with stories about how good things used to be. How in love his parents were, once upon a time. How happy they used to be before the job, before the promotion, before the big house in Loch Nora. 

(They really mean before they had him. Not that either of his parents will ever admit that) 

“You’ll understand,” She repeated in a whisper, taking another long sip. 

“What will I understand?” Steve replied. Usually he tried to stay as still and silent as possible on nights like these, did his best to pretend like he didn’t exist, waiting for her to finally wave a hand and release him to his room. But this time he didn’t get it. 

“You’ll understand that this? This is a curse,” She spat out, holding up her right arm and showing him her timer. All zeroes. His mother’s soulmate had died when he was ten, but her timer had counted down. She had met him at some point in her life though. She knew him, but she hadn’t lived a life with him. Whoever he was, he had died alone.  

Steve had always wondered about that, always wanted to ask. If she knew who her soulmate was, why not be with them? If she had found that person, why not make every second count? 

“It’s a curse,” His mother had said, continuing when Steve didn’t say anything in response, finishing what was left in her glass, “Especially yours. I remember the first time I saw your timer. It was right after you were born. I was holding you against me, you were so little then, so sweet, and I looked down, and I saw it. Five days. What kind of God would only give my baby five days? Not a good one,”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure what kind of God was out there. If he was being fully honest, he wasn’t sure he believed in God at all. 

He believed….in the universe. He believed in something linking them all, something that knew them and wanted them to find the person that completed their lives. The Universe knew that Steve and his soulmate were strong enough to handle five days, four hours, and twenty two minutes. That unnamed unexplained universe knew that they would know what to do with that time. 

Steve had plans for his five days, four hours, and twenty two minutes. 

When he found that person, the first thing he was going to do was hold them for at least five of those minutes. Steve loved hugs, and his parents hated them, but his soulmate would love them too. He knew that for sure. 

So a five minute hug, and then he’d ask where they wanted to go. The two of them would travel to wherever his soulmate wanted. Steve had the money, he’d been saving every single birthday and Christmas check he had gotten since he was nine. By now, it was more than enough for two tickets to anywhere in the world. 

They would spend the whole plane ride talking and getting to know each other. They would laugh, probably a little too loudly, and annoy everyone else around them with how infatuated they were with each other. 

Maybe they’d go to Paris. Stroll through the city, eat pastries, stuff like that. Maybe they would end up in some remote part of the world where it felt like they were the only two people on the planet.

Maybe they’d just stay in Hawkins. Hole up in his house, listen to records, swim in the pool, or lie in bed all day. 

A hug, possibly a trip, and after that it was up to his soulmate. Steve wasn’t going to monopolize their five days with just his ideas. He had a bunch of suggestions if they didn’t know what they wanted, but those were the only two things he really cared about. 

He didn’t hug his soulmate when they finally laid eyes on each other. Steve didn’t even realize his timer had started counting down. 

He was too busy thinking about the broken bottle being held against his neck. 

By the time he and Eddie both realized that their timers had started, they were already in the thick of things. Steve had seen it while Nancy was wrapping her sweater around his waist to try and stem some of the blood coming gushing out of him from the bat bites. He had put both hands in his hair just to try and give himself some other pain to ground with, and his timer caught his eye. 

It was already on three days. 

He had only met one new person in the last two days. One new person who always hid his timer under a leather cuff around his wrist. 

Steve did go through with his plans, but it was a funhouse mirror version of them, twisted and wrong. 

They did hug, but it wasn’t something soft or intimate. Eddie had woken Steve up from a nightmare on their second to last day, and Steve had laid in his arms shaking for two of their final forty eight hours. 

They did go on a trip of sorts, if stopping the apocalypse in an alternate dimension counted as a trip. They went, but they didn’t stay together. 

God, if Steve had a chance to do it all over again, he never would have let Eddie out of his sight. 

There was no avoiding fate, no changing what The Universe had planned. Steve has always been aware of that. He’s known that as fact his entire life. But still. Maybe things would have gone the way they were supposed to if they had been together. 

Because it was supposed to be him that died. 

His entire life he had known it was going to be him. 

Steve has imagined it a thousand different ways. A random heart attack, or a freak accident, maybe even saving his soulmate’s life somehow. He had never even thought to consider it might be his soulmate saving him instead. 

It was perfect. Dustin and Eddie would be far away from the danger, and Robin and Nancy were going to be just fine. Steve had no idea when it was coming, but it was going to happen in this final fight. They would win and he would have to do something stupid to make sure they did. Something off plan that would end up killing him. 

Except, he didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the plan. 

It went off without a hitch. Well, there was a pretty scary moment where there had been vines around his neck choking him, but the rest had gone exactly as they wanted it too. He and Robin had torched the monster, and then Nancy shot him in the head. 

Vecna was dead, burning to ash on the floor in front of them. They did it. They actually fucking did it. 

The elation of that was unlike anything Steve had ever experienced. The bone deep relief of knowing everyone he loved was finally safe, that this was finally over. That he had somehow lived to get to see it all. 

He had lived. 

He…..he was still alive. 

Steve hadn’t even thought to look down at his timer. He had been so busy just reacting, being in the moment of the fight. The fight was over. They had won. Everyone was safe now. 

Steve was still alive. 

He looked at his timer. All zeroes. 

How long had it been all zeroes? 

Steve took an experimental breath, and then another. Still breathing. Still alive. He looked down at his wrist. Still all zeroes. It was like he was looking at a puzzle with only one piece left, holding that last piece in his hand, but unable to make it fit for some reason. There was just something that was so wrong. 

There were two options when it came to Timers. You died, and your timer vanished, or your timer hit zero, and your soulmate died. There were two options. 

Steve had just never considered the other one. 

And by the time he ran out of the Creel House, it was already too late. Steve knew that. He was running anyway. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw Eddie for himself. His mother’s voice filled his ears the entire time. 

“You’ll understand that this? This is a curse,” 

Steve had promised himself he would never think about his timer that way. Promised that he would never be like his mother. 

But she might have been right about this. 

[object-vault-9]

Week 1

.

.

[kamryn1963]

So Long, London- Chapter 21\30

“I’m riding with him”. Erin stated as the paramedics got Al lifted onto a gurney and into the awaiting ambulance. 

Antonio turned from where he’d been working with patrol to control the crowd and nodded. He knew Al and Erin were close and there would be no reasoning with Erin right now. And it wasn’t a bad idea to have someone with Al if he was clearly meant to be Beckett's next victim. Just in case something happened. 

Erin climbed in the back of the ambulance after the paramedics, settling on the bench. Al was unconscious and Erin watched as one of the paramedics who’s name Erin didn't know, started intubating him. 

Erin grabbed Al’s limp hand as she looked at her uncle. Really looked at him for the first time in a while. 

There were bruises and burns almost everywhere Erin could see. She could see blood starting to soak through his clothes in some places and Erin had to blink away tears. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Al hurt before, not by a long shot. She had lived with Hank and Camille for years and Al had stayed with them when injured before. 

But it was the first time Erin had rode with Al in the ambulance before. The last time she’d rode in the ambulance with a fellow cop was Jules and Erin had to wipe furiously at the tears suddenly in her eyes as her thoughts wandered to Jules. To her friend. 

As the paramedics' actions suddenly grew more frantic, Erin could only squeeze Al’s hand tighter as she looked at the heart monitor that was starting to beep slower and slower. 

“Come on, Al. Stay with me. You can’t leave us now”. Erin whispered desperation clear in her voice. . 

All she could hope now was they’d be at the hospital soon and Al would get the help he needed. Erin didn’t know what she would do if Al died. What’d she tell Lexi or Michelle. What’d she say to Hank and Trudy. 

Once Al seemed more stable and the paramedics didn’t seem so rushed, Erin grabbed her phone with shaking hands. 

“Hank? It’s Al”. 

Antonio stayed on scene at Al’s apartment a little longer after the ambulance had left. Once everything had died down enough and the scene was secured, Antonio knew he had to head back to the district. He didn’t know if Erin had updated the others yet, and Antonio would need to pick Michelle and Lexi up too and tell them. 

As he drove, Antonio struggled to get the memory of Al out of his mind. Still and unmoving on the ground, his car on fire. Especially when he remembered how all of Beckett’s other victims, besides Hank, had ended up. Antonio had to keep reminding himself that Al was alive and right now that was all they could ask, that was the best they’d get because at least this way Al still had a chance. 

Antonio probably broke more than one traffic law but he didn’t care. He pulled in front of the district and ran inside not even bothering to properly park or turn his car off. He found Trudy at her desk looking worried. She let out a deep sigh when she saw him and shook her head. 

“Everybody else ran out of here and nobody’s answering their phones to tell me what the hell happened”. Trudy complained as Antonio came closer. 

“There was another car bombing”. Antonio started and he saw the horror in Trudy’s eyes as she pieced together what had happened before he even said anything. The team running out of here, everyone but Alvin who now that Trudy thought about it, she hadn’t seen him today. 

“Alvin didn’t come in today”. Trudy muttered and Antonio wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Trudy like this before. The worry so clear in her eyes. 

“He was alive when we got there, Trudy. Erin rode with him in the ambulance”. Antonio reassured her. Trudy let out a sigh of relief as Antonio continued. 

“Erin must’ve called Hank or Jay, that’s why the team is already gone. Will need to go pick up Michelle and Lexi too before we head to the hospital”. Antonio replied, already thinking two steps ahead. 

Al’s daughters deserved to know what was happening. And be at the hospital in case Al didn’t make it. Which is something Antonio didn’t want to think about, but knew it was unfortunately a very real possibility. 

Trudy nodded, swallowing her emotions for the time being and after getting a cop to cover the front desk, followed Antonio out to his car. 

Luck seemed to be partially in their favor because both Michelle and Lexi were at the apartment. Not like that softened the blow in any way when they had to tell them that their dad was injured and nobody knew how bad or if he was even still alive. But at least they were both in the same place and Trudy and Antonio only had to explain once. 

The car ride to the hospital had been silent. Trudy had finally got in contact with Hank who told her they were all at Med and Al had been rushed into emergency surgery. 

So not the news anybody wanted. But Trudy and Antonio would take it if it meant that Al was still alive. Both Lexi and Michelle were quiet too, neither saying much as they finally arrived at Med and headed inside. 

“Hey”. Erin said, wiping the tears still in her eyes with one hand as she stood up to greet them, Adam following her lead. They both got Lexi and Michelle settled as Trudy went over to Hank and Antonio took a seat between Kevin and Jay. 

“He’s going to be okay”. Trudy whispered, his voice hoarse. She wasn’t sure she believed her own words but she had to say something for her and Hank’s sake. 

“Trudy, what if that’s the last conversation me and Al ever have…?” Hank’s voice trailed off as he leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. 

Despite Trudy’s anger over how Hank had treated and blamed Al, she still placed a comforting hand on Hank’s shoulder. 

“He’ll be okay. And when he is, you're apologizing, Hank. A proper apology”. Trudy demanded. She was trying to control her anger the best she could right now. Hank was clearly blaming himself already, but Trudy needed him to know what he was going to do as soon as Al was awake. 

“I will”. Hank promised. And he would. Hank was thinking more rationally now, somehow considering his best friend was in surgery, but he was. Hank knew he’d been in the wrong before but yet again his anger had clouded his judgment. 

“You better”. Trudy responded, managing a small smile. She let her facade crack a bit now that everybody else seemed to be distracted for the time being at least. A tear rolled silently down Trudy’s cheek. As vulnerable as she let herself be in public. 

“He has to be okay”. Trudy whispered as her gaze went to Lexi and Michelle who were listening as Erin tried to explain what had happened without further traumatizing them. 

“Those girls can’t lose him”. 

“We can’t lose him”. 

[wolverineluvr]

Yandere Satosugu x reader

TW: Gore, murder of a child(readers son), Geto and Gojo r unhinged, angst, age gap(reader is 25-35 and SatoSugu r like 18-19), Geto didn't defect, fem!reader.

You scream and cry as Satoru bats your son, Hikaru, around as though he's a ball of yarn and Satoru's a cat. "Please- I'm sorry!" You sob. Your stomach twists until there's nothing but a knot and turns as Hikaru falls to the floor with a thud and a weak call out for you. "It's all gonna be okay, don't worry. We'll give you a new kid real soon." Suguru coos into your ear. His arms are hooked under your armpits, forcing you to just stand and watch as Satoru grins and shuffles around in his pocket.

He fishes out a knife. "Sugu'...How should I finish him off? Knife, or unlimited void?" Satoru asks in a tone that indicates he's clearly proud of something. "Let's let her choose," Suguru responds and you can hear the smile on his face. "and you can't choose neither cus then we're just gonna do both, got it?"

You don't know what to do. What the fuck is an unlimited void anyways? "She's taking too long so I'm gonna give her a timer." Satoru sighs, but there's still that stupid grin on his face you wish you could wipe off his face. Satoru raises one of his hands, the fingers extended and he puts down one as he counts slowly, like he's not counting down for the death of your 6 year old son.

One.

You look down at the bloodied face of your child, his nose is bleeding and there's dirt on his cheek—his crying smudges the red blood and the dirt, making a small patch of mud along the way. Knife or unlimited void?

Two.

You look back up at Satoru—he's looming over Hikaru like a snake and a mouse—his eyes are gleaming with sick and twisted joy. He looks up at you, his expression asking you: the knife or unlimited void?

Three.

What do you choose? What if the plan with the knife is to give him an easy and quick death, stabbing Hikaru's brain or something like that? Would that even be an easy death? You don't know. What if the plan is to just cut him open while he's still alive and rip out his organs, or to just stab him over and over again? Knife or unlimited void?

Four.

What even is unlimited void? Is it the name of his car or gun or something? What does it mean? Is this even happening? It can't be, can it? It was just a normal day before all this, and now you're debating the better option of what your son should die from? And one of them is something you don't even know? Knife or unlimited void?

Five.

You can hear Satoru's voice becoming absolutely giddy as he sits on the back of Hikaru, making sure he stays in place as Hikaru weakly calls out for you again. You don't want to choose. You don't want to watch your son die. Why is this even happening? Knife or unlimited void?

Six.

Satoru puts down up one of the five down fingers, still counting. Suguru sighs behind you as he feels your heartbeat quicken and race like you're running a marathon, "you don't have to look" you hear Suguru murmur. But that doesn't help. Closing your eyes won't help. You'll still hear his cries and sobs for help. You'll still feel the insane guilt of doing nothing while your son is crying out for you. Knife or unlimited void?

Seven.

"I'll cover your ears" Suguru offers. You can't do anything but sob and continue to struggle in his grasp. He knows it's not your fault you had a kid. You didn't know you belonged to them yet. He presses a small kiss to the spot behind your ear, sending unpleasant shivers down your spine. But the same question is going through your mind, knife or unlimited void?

Eight.

You try to plead with Satoru, offering that you'll do anything for him to stop. He just shakes his head, though you notice a slight change in his face. He seems a little more..sorry. But he doesn't let up, still sitting on top of Hikaru's back and gripping the knife in his hands. Knife or unlimited void?

Nine.

You feel nauseous. This isn't real. It can't be. You don't know what to do. Why? Why? Why? You hate Satoru and Suguru with everything inside of you. ..Knife or unlimited void?

Ten.

Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or unlimited void? Knife or-

"Please.." You sob and Satoru just shakes his head. "Choose, now." Suguru demands into your ear. "K-knife.." Your voice is trembling as you speak, hoping, begging, praying, that the knife was the better option.

But as you watch Satoru sink the knife into the back of Hikaru's hand, you know that's not true. "Mom-my-" Hikaru weeps out, his voice weak and clearly in pain. "Oh, you're crying out to your mommy? That's too bad, 'cus your mom belongs to me and Suguru okay? She doesn't love you anymore." Satoru mockingly coos as he leans more down towards Hikaru's head.

Hikaru just cries and screams as Satoru takes the knife from his hand before getting off of him, turning Hikaru over and onto his back. Satoru quickly starts to stab Hikaru's stomach over and over and over and over and over again. His shrieks and wails are drowned out by your own. They don't say anything, but Suguru moves and wraps his arms around you in a hug like this is hurting him more than it hurts you.

"It's okay." Suguru murmurs into your ear, as you see Satoru take the knife out of Hikaru's limp body once more, before pulling up his shirt, revealing the many stab wounds in his small torso. He takes the top of the knife into Hikaru's chest and begins to cut a line down, making a rectangle from the middle of Hikaru's chest down to his abdomen.

Your wailing has stopped and now only weak weeps are escaping your wet lips as you watch Satoru rip off the skin of the rectangle he made in Hikaru's torso. His organs have been revealed and Satoru starts to dig through them, making his fingers and palms messy and bloody.

The wet and horrible noises of Satoru ripping out Hikaru's small intestines and setting them aside don't register in your ears, all you can hear is ringing. He continues to dig, taking out all of the organs that he doesn't want before maneuvering his hands up and swiftly ripping out Hikaru's heart. Satoru stands, picking up Hikaru's intestines and he begins to walk towards you. Your eyes and cheeks are wet with your tears, snot bubbling at your nose, all of the mucus makes it hard to breath through your nose, so your mouth is open.

You're shaking as Satoru stands in front of you, your vision blurry as you stare at the organs that belong to your son in Satoru's hands. And the tears start flowing again. Your voice cracks as you loudly wail, your throat sore from crying so much already.

"It's gonna be okay, don't worry. You'll forget allll about him. Right Sugu'?" He smiles as he looks away from your face and at Suguru's. The long haired man nods, smiling back as Satoru moves and puts Hikaru's intestines on Suguru's shoulders like a morbid necklace. He then moves and grabs your hands, pressing the heart of your little boy in-between them and wrapping his hands around yours.

"We'll give you all the kids you want."

Notes: Sorryyy I haven't been posting as much!!!! I haven't had much motivation to write but I am trying to expand the types of things I write <33

[hp-hcs]

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 1 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

Gay Awakening (Chapter One) — smitten! mattheo riddle x male! reader

TWs: tobacco & alcohol use, internalized homophobia, homophobic slurs (once)

hella ooc mattheo. congrats, ur his gay awakening, and he’s an absolutely smitten lil gay mess for you but yk he’s trying

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Hey, dude. Who’s that?” Theodore asked, bumping Mattheo’s arm to get his attention, then pointing his fork in your direction. You were sitting at the very end of the table’s bench, wearing an oversized black muggle hoodie with your green tie loose and haphazardly slung around your neck. You were animatedly talking with, out of all people, a Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff girl sitting at the Slytherin table either seemed to be completely unaware of the looks she was receiving, or she was steadfastly ignoring them. Your laugh cut through the room, the Hufflepuff cracking up with you.

“American transfer students,” Malfoy sneered. “They clearly don’t know the rules yet.”

“Oh, shut up, Draco,” Pansy rolled her eyes, resting her chin on her hand and looking at the Hufflepuff for a moment too long.

Draco scoffed, clearly offended. “Whatever. They’re probably faggots anyway.”

Pansy whirled around with a furious expression. Mattheo himself flinched slightly at the slur, which caused Blaise to look at him questioningly. Once Mattheo had waved Blaise’s unspoken question off, Zabini shrugged, leaning over and muttering in his ear, “Ten galleons says she brings up Potter.”

“-and everyone knows that you have a crush on Harry Motherfucking Potter, so maybe you should take your bigotry and shove it right up your-”

“Pansy?” you questioned, awkwardly standing across from her. “Here, ‘m supposed t’ give this to you.”

You leaned across the table to drop a folded up note in front of her, allowing Mattheo to catch a faint whiff of your cologne. You looked back down at the floor shyly, hurrying back to your spot at the end of the table.

“He’s hot,” Theo shrugged, taking a bite of his toast. “I call dibs.”

“You can’t call dibs on the guy who just asked Pansy out, dipshit.”

“Actually, it’s a note from the ‘puff,” Pansy interjected, twisting her wrist around to show off the neat cursive written in a purple glitter gel pen. “She wants to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend, dipshit.”

“Yeah, dipshit,” Mattheo teased Theodore. “Plus, I think Malfoy already called dibs on him, so tough luck.”

Theo blew a raspberry at him, only a slight distraction from where Mattheo’s comment had fueled another Pansy-rant and left Draco sinking low in his seat as if he wanted to disappear.

~~~

“Alright, Zabini, you’re up. What classic novel is a satirical adaptation of R. M. Ballantyne’s The Coral Island?”

“Why the fuck would I know that, Berkshire?”

“Blaise forfeits! Sudden death round is down to just us, Riddle,” Theo crowed excitedly, watching as the score quill of the charmed muggle trivia game scratched Blaise’s name off of the paper score sheet, drawing a condescending frowny face next to it.

Enzo laughed, flipping over the little hourglass timer. “If anyone can answer in the next thirty seconds, they automatically win the game.”

“No idea,” Mattheo shrugged. Theodore spun his rings around on his fingers before shrugging too.

“The Lord of the Flies,” your quiet voice pipes up. The game players all look over in your direction from where you’ve just entered the common room—coming back from the library, it looked like, if the stack of books in your hands explained anything.

“What?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow and sneering.

“The Lord of the Flies,” you repeated. “William Golding. Fantastic book.”

Malfoy huffed. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself, nodding politely in their direction before wordlessly disappearing up the dorm room stairs.

Mattheo stared after you alongside his friends, none of them immediately noticing the charmed quill writing your name down on the score card as the winner.

~~~

“C’n I bum a smoke?” your sleepy voice called softly from behind Mattheo. He turned around from his spot on the otherwise unoccupied balcony to see you rubbing your eyes, a fuzzy green blanket draped around your shoulders. He cleared his throat and nodded, fishing a fresh cigarette out of the pack and holding it out to you. His heart rate stuttered for a moment when your fingers brushed against his.

“Thanks,” you muttered, using a wandless incantation to light it. Mattheo leaned back against the railing, taking a drag from his half-finished cigarette and blowing the smoke out thoughtfully.

“Why’re you up? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Maybe it was his well-meaning-but-patronizing phrasing or the confidence-imbued late night cigarette, but you clicked your tongue once and said in a short, clipped tone, “Oh, shut the fuck up, you hypocrite.”

Mattheo barked out a surprised laugh, choking on his lungful of smoke and falling into a coughing fit.

“Language, L/n,” he teased.

“English, Riddle,” you snickered back.

He grinned at you, blushing a nice pink color as you both smoked in a comfortable silence for a moment.

“My roommate brought some girl back from the party he went to,” you say after a while. “Didn’t want to deal with all that.”

“Ah,” Mattheo nodded slowly. “Boys seem to lose all of their brain cells as soon as they come within a ten-foot radius of a hot girl.”

You snort. “Not all of us.”

“Yeah?” he questioned, in a way he hoped came off as nonchalant, even though he was internally freaking out. “No lucky lady piquing your interest?”

“This may shock you, but believe it or not, I’m not actually into girls at all,” you snort again, dropping the cigarette butt and grinding it into the ground with the toe of your sneaker.

“Really?” he asked in a high voice before loudly clearing his throat. “I mean- really? That’s cool. Uh, m-me too.”

“Yeah?” you glanced up at him curiously. “Huh. I wouldn’t’a guessed.”

“Can I kiss you, Y/n?” Mattheo blurted out, immediately snapping his mouth shut and mentally facepalming.

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Huh?”

“I said sure.”

The poor boy was frozen in place, gaping at you. Taking pity on him, you made the first move—tugging on his tie to pull him down to your level.

His hand found the back of your neck, gripping it while kissing you softly—much more gently than you would’ve expected.

When you broke apart, he looked like he’d just been enlightened. Like he might've actually shouted eureka! and run off.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’ve never kissed a guy before- holy shit.” He laughs freely, cupping your face to kiss you again.

“So what now, Archimedes?” At his confused expression you elaborated, “Muggle reference, sorry.”

He nodded slowly, his fingers automatically winding their way into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Well… you could sleep with me tonight,” he offered after a moment. “Y’know, so you don’t have to deal with your roommate.”

“Oh, um, I’m not really that type of guy, Mattheo…” you trailed off.

“Oh!” His eyes widened in panic. “I didn’t mean to imply- I mean, not that I wouldn’t love- I meant we could just literally sleep in the same bed!”

You giggled, a bit relieved. “I’d like that.”

He took a deep breath, smiling hesitantly at you. “No funny business, promise. All at your discretion.”

He held out his hand to you, and you took it immediately, leaning into his side.

“So about that fight between Malfoy and Pansy…”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Two

[koisuko]

Imagine:

You save Soap's life after a near death experience, but at what cost?

tw: death, blood, guns, mw3 spoilers, sad shit, violence, angst, gn reader, reader insert

Never has a mission gone this haywire, never have you felt your heart pounding against your chest in rhythm with the beeping of the bomb behind you. The burning hatred for Makarov growing brighter with every tick of the timer, this wild goose chase becoming increasingly more exhausting. What if he gets away again, what if this bomb is just another diversion for a much bigger scheme? Bullets whizzed passed your head, nearly missing you mid peak from over a crate you took cover behind, your hands sweating profusely from beneath your gloves as you took out another Konni solider. "Copy- Bear. Cutting the wire..." the sound of snipping sparked a sudden sense of impending doom, squeezing your eyes shut quickly to await the blast that never came. You glanced over at Soap, the wire cutters firm in his grasp. "Got it! That bought us some time!" he added, his face so calm and focus unbroken. It amazed you how he handled this situation with such grace and stoicism, as if this was just another mission, a daily occurrence for him.

Your comms clicked before Ghost's frantic voice reached your ear piece, "Price, be advised: Makarov is in the chunnel- He's heading your way!" you groaned with frustration, turning to glance at Price as you spoke, "remind me again why we didn't let Soap kill this fucker last time?" Before he could answer, you ducked, hearing the clang of a bullet ricocheting off a metallic surface, "SOAP—! Get your gun up…!" Price ordered over the gunfire, raising his gun to purge the Konni police rapidly approaching. "It'll blow if I let go, Captain! Y/n, cover me!" Your brain went on autopilot, rushing to his side with your gun held high. You took out as many Konni as you could, several bullets imbedding themselves in various objects just inches from you. The bodies of both allied and enemy soldiers began littering the concrete floors of the subway, bullet holes scattered across the walls in all different directions.

With the last Konni police down, Price made haste back to the snake camera while you remained a cover to the two men. "0-7 to Six - We're punching through now!" Ghost conveyed over comms. The beeping became more frantic, causing a peak in anxiety while you kept watch in front. Soap and Price exchanged various key numbers to aid in defusing the bomb, "Copy— good work— This bomb has two fuses! We need to cut both at the same time. Red wire, y/n come help me with this." You nod in response, kneeling beside Soap only to be cut short with a rapid set of footsteps from behind. Before you could turn, your body collided with the cold concrete floor. A sharp burning pain rippled through the flesh of your shoulder.

Even in your pained state, you darted your eyes around to meet Soap. He was on the floor a few feet from you, bleeding from a gunshot to the shoulder, similar to yours. Your attention averted to Price, the rat Makarov stood over him with a gun pointed to his head. “Never bury your enemies alive,” he uttered, a twisted smirk playing on his features that you despise so much. You needed to act fast, pushing yourself off the ground to attempt to potentially save Price’s life. Soap beat you to it, slamming a knife into Makarov’s shoulder with a grunt.

If you were honest, you weren’t even thinking. Everything seemed to have slowed down, as if a bubble formed around the scene for prolonged decision making. Yet, you didn’t even need to decide, your body acting for you in a blind protective instinct. It happened so fast, but so slow, with bits and pieces coming together in a faded memory. Sound seemed to become muffled around you, tunnel vision taking a hold of your sight. You had one goal in mind, one clear whisper in your head egging you on, save him.

Price lay nearly unconscious on the floor, watching the scene unfold helplessly as actions moved faster than his battered mind could comprehend. The gun was poised, aimed at Soap’s head, dangerous pressure on the trigger. This was it, Makarov was going to win, he thought. How could the man he wanted to kill so badly be this close to him, yet still leagues ahead. It all took a turn, when from the sideline came you, slamming yourself into Makarov and successfully knocking Soap to the side, where he collided with a nearby crate. Unfortunately, fate can be cruel, if one does not go, another will take its place. In a sick turn of events, Makarov turns the barrel and pulls the trigger, this time directly through the flesh of your throat. Your body was discarded to the side like a mere doll. “Y/n no!” They both seemed to yell simultaneously, but to you, they were simple whispers.

Ghost and Gaz arrive on the scene a second too late, opening fire at the Konni while a half conscious Soap and Price return to their senses. They both turned to look at your limp form, watching you briefly convulse from the blood spurting out of your neck with each fading pump of your heart. Faint choking sounds could be heard under the gunfire in your desperate attempt to cling to life, to take just one breath, before finally falling silent. Price wasted no time in grabbing his pistol, taking aim at the retreating form of Makarov, only for a train to put a barrier between them. “Bloody hell, y/n!” For the first time, you could hear a subtle crack in Ghost’s voice. Soap was speechless. He lost someone he loved so dearly in a matter of seconds. Kneeling down beside you, he stared at your face. Your once vibrant eyes now a dull lifeless hue, glossed over with a grey tint of vacancy. Those lips he longed for, now held a shade of blue, and your skin becoming a deathly pale. Your face painted in heavy red liquid, your final moments spent drowning in your own blood. The room now emanated a heavy stench of death, so thick it nearly made him gag. “This is all my fault,” he whispered in a voice laced with pure grief. He placed a tender hand on your ice cold cheek, the voices of his comrades blocked out by the overwhelming sorrow inside him. He prayed to take your place, wanting so badly for the claws gripping his heart to relent. Oh god, the agony you must have felt, the burning sensation in your lungs being the last thing you experienced before death took you from him. He couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in hopes to ease the nausea building in his system. Beside the body of his friend, lover, and comrade. Silently, he mourned.

The bomb was diffused, they had once again defeated a grand plan of Makarovs. But at what cost? “All stations - this is Bravo in the blind. Threat neutralized. Bomb is safe…” Price looked down at your body like a father who lost his child, “one KIA.”

—

The team gathered on a cliff overlooking a pristine lake. The sun beginning to set over the horizon, casting a golden ray upon the landscape. The view would be breathtaking, if it weren’t for the reason they had come here. Your favorite spot, they knew it was. From all the stories you told them of this place, of how much it meant to you. You had even planned to take Soap there, take them all there, you promised you would. A promise you would have kept if it weren’t for your untimely death to the hands of your enemy. Even in the afterlife, in your place among the stars, you held no regret for how you died. You saved him, saved the man you loved most, you saved Soap. “They were the best of us,” Price said, his voice low. “The toughest,” Gaz held his hat to his chest in respect, his eyes closed as he listened to the gentle tune of the birds song surrounding them. “They would have fought the world bare handed,” Ghost never once breaking eye contact where the sky meets the mountains. “They had a heart made of gold,” Soap’s voice broke as he spoke, looking up at the sky as if speaking directly to you.

He reached down to his bag, the reason they were here becoming reality. For a second, he held the urn to his chest, taking in a deep breath before holding it in the center of the group. They all collectively placed their hands on the cold metal, before one by one they spoke one last time. First, was Price, “who dares wins..sleep easy soldier,” then Gaz, “see you down range, friend, we’ll take it from here,” and Ghost, “Rest in peace, y/n.” Then, it was Soap’s turn to speak, yet the words caught in his throat. He nearly felt the tears track down his cheeks, pleading so desperately to hold it together and stay strong. Why couldn’t this have just been a fucking nightmare? When will I wake up, he thought. He took a shaky breath, before letting his deepest feelings flow, “I’ll miss ye, my love.”

They watched as the wind carried your ashes, spreading each particle into the water below. Perhaps, the wind will carry your soul with it, to the next life.

[calqlate]

RE: LOVE & LIFE

❝ I LOVE HIM, BUT SOMEONE ELSE LOVES ME INSTEAD. ❞

— In which a contract wife is loved by someone else.

SUMMARY: As the wife of the famous big shot in the wine industry, you have everything you could ever ask for — a beautiful mansion, endless wealth, servants at your beck and call... However, you lack the one thing you yearn for: love. With your beloved husband neglecting you and being stuck in a loveless marriage, you decide to end it all, only to be stopped by a man whom you have never met before, and who also coincidentally happens to be your soulmate. In addition, there just might seem to be more than what meets the eye in regards to your peculiar soulmate, and you just might have to find that out for yourself.

PAIRING(S): zhongli x f! reader + diluc x f! wife! reader

FEATURING: childe + hu tao + jean gunnhildr + kaeya alberich + lumine

GENRE(S): arranged/contract marriage au + modern au + soulmate au (you have a timer on your wrist which counts down to the moment you meet your soulmate) + angst (with a happy ending)

CW(S)/TW(S): (possible) canon divergence (creative liberties are taken) + character death + contains depictions/mentions of blood, gore, suicide attempts, and violence + (possible) spoilers from the canon/official lore + use of childe's real name

WC: 5.3k and counting

STATUS: ongoing (slow updates)

NOTE(S): reader is not the traveller + visions do not apply/exist + inspired by the korean webtoon onsaemiro: never changing

ALSO AVAILABLE ON: ao3

A/N: reblogs are greatly appreciated! also, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, notify me by completing this form!

INDEX

zero + one + two + three + more to be released

© 2023 CALQLATE. all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, repost, or translate my works on any platform.

[envies-writing-corner]

Hello, Stranger

Genre: (F, A)

Includes: Mysta, Kyo, Shu

Word Count: 650

TW: mentioned Death, Meet-Cute cringe?

Concept/Title explained: Soulmate AUs

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

Mysta Rias: Red String

Mysta would not believe you if you told him he would wake up to find a red string attached to his pinky and it would lead here. He wouldn’t believe it for a second. Maybe that’s why it was so difficult to grasp the fact that it was true.

As the detective stepped out of the car, he looked towards his hand, the string growing tighter, leading into the graveyard in front of him. Every fiber of his being was begging that it wasn’t what he thought, that his soulmate was just visiting someone. Everyone knew soulmates were something important, that only one person was meant to be with the other end of the red string. He’d heard of how it’s supposed to be a magical moment when you meet your forever partner for the first time, his own friends Fulgur and Uki having tried to explain how it felt when they met in person. This moment was anything but a joyful fairytale scene as his string went taught, pausing in front of a grave.

Shock pierced through Mysta as he fell to his knees, unable to comprehend the words on the tombstone in front of him, desperately trying to pull the string from the packed dirt, giving up as it wouldn’t give. This was reality, his soulmate was dead… and he had found them too late.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry you died without me...”

Kyo Kaneko: Colorblind

For as long as Kyo could remember, the world had been dull and void of life. He had believed it to be because of his illnesses, that because of his constant hospitalizations the world just didn’t seem as it once did to him. When he was accepted as a member of Iluna, he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. His friends bustled with life, joy and excitement, just to make their fans and each other feel happy. They had always spoke of the colorful world they’d lived in, how Ren’s world was all black and blue, how Aster seemed to shine in his purple outfits, how soft Maria looked with her pink accents. Kyo wondered if he’d ever experience the beautiful world his friends kept gushing about.

Nothing prepared him for that day though, when a new student had joined the Iluna institute, his world bursting into color like an explosion, his eyes immediately landing on you and your beauty.

"That stranger...”

Shu Yamino: Timer

Shu’s timer always confused him. It never seemed to tick down, not by a second, minute, hour, or day. The clock on his wrist never changed. It didn’t help when he was thrown years forward into the future. In fact, when he did get transported, he forgot about the timer, not once checking it since he joined Luxiem.

When the topic of timers came up on stream a year later during a Zomboid collab, everyone had revealed what their timer said. Some, like Nina’s and Ren’s had already gone off, while others like Alban’s and Wilson’s had years to go. Shu could feel his heart in his throat when he noticed his only had a few more minutes. He wracked his brain, trying to think of who was part of the collab he hadn’t met, who was running late. His answer came a minute later, his timer down to under a minute when his doorbell rang. Muting his stream and running to the door, he saw you. You hadn’t noticed your timers going off as you looked at your phone, seemingly confusing the house with your friends as you look up, slightly annoyed.

Everything was in slow motion when you looked up, eyes locking with purple as your phone fell, quickly looking at your wrist then Shu’s as everything became clearer. He smiled, picking up your phone and handing it back to you, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Hello, stranger...”

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

A/N: thank you for your patience regarding new fics, I would like to state that due to recent news regarding Mysta Rias’ graduation, I will no longer write for Mysta unless requested, similar to how I write for Yugo. Until his graduation date, please support him and the rest of Luxiem through this difficult time, and stream Detect My Love. ~Iris

[k-howlett]

Prey | Jason Todd X gn!reader [PLATONIC]

TW: Character Death (Jason Todd), Mentions of hospital Equipment, Smoking & Drinking, light catholic mockery

Rating: Teen+, Implied Violence, Mild Descriptions of Gore, Smoking & Alcohol Use, Gender Nonspecific, Angst (With A Happy Ending)

A/N:

A songfic to hopefully get you guys excited for my(@/k-howlett) September Playlist Challenge (Which will be a 30 day writing activity (Songfics) that you’re all welcome to participate in! I will drop the list of songs and characters (specific to my account) sometime this month!)

Thank you for the continued love on my series (Breaking and Entering), I am very much in a DC mood as a convention is coming up soon, though I have a residual rush of Deadpool and Wolverine overload so expect lots of superhero fanfics in the coming weeks!!

as always,

with love and healing

-Lark(ly)

♬⋆.˚

prey - the neighbourhood

⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

As long as,

you notice,

I’m hoping,

That you’ll keep your heart open

(keep your heart open)

I’ll keep mine open too

(I’ll keep mine open too)

♬⋆.˚

“They say some secret society runs the upper echelons of Gotham, y’know?” Y/N chimes in from where they lay on the roof of a beat-up Cadillac shell. The windows are busted out, and the paint is worn thin by Gotham’s relentless weather.

Jason tilts his head back, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Like the Illuminati? You gettin’ into conspiracies again, Y/NN?” His lanky frame is propped up against the car’s torn-off panel, his eyes flicking from the dark sky to Y/N’s silhouette, illuminated by the cold moonlight.

They were waiting for the fireworks to start, a rare spectacle that both of them, despite their tough exteriors, had always looked forward to.

“No, not the Illuminati. It’s much worse,” they insist, leaning over the roof to peer down at him, their face earnest, almost grave. The two of them, alley kids by definition, had always found solace in each other at the Gotham City scrap-yard. It was near the docks and dodgy as hell, but neither seemed to mind. They knew how to be careful—the needles that littered the ground were easy to avoid if you paid attention, and the dilapidated buildings surrounding the chain-link fences were just part of the landscape, nothing more.

Jason’s grin widens, that trademark smirk of his playing at the corners of his mouth. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you think the moon landing was fake too?”

“Oh, c’mon! Is it really that hard to believe? Think about it. The rich get rich, and the poor get poorer. Ain’t that what the saying is? Someone’s gotta be corrupt at the top, pullin’ the strings. How do you think Joker breaks out all the time? Or how GCPD’s incompetence hasn’t been talked about outside this city? Hm? And they say it’s hard to leave, too! Once you’re here, you’re stuck, ’cause they don’t want people like us to be free. To be like them,” they argue, their city accent thick with conviction, as if they’ve spent hours turning this theory over in their mind.

Jason chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through the night air. “You’ve been spending too much time listening to the old timers down at the docks. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me the Bat’s in on it too.”

Y/N rolls their eyes, exasperated but not defeated. “Ah, whateva. One day you’ll see. Just how fucked this place truly is.” They cross their arms behind their head and lie back down as the first burst of fireworks lights up the sky.

For a moment, the world is silent, save for the crackle of fireworks high above. New Year’s Eve in Gotham was a strange paradox—celebratory and bleak all at once. The fireworks painted the night in bright colors, but the streets below remained as grim as ever. Jason glances over at Y/N, their face softening in the glow of the display. He couldn’t help but admire their fire, their passion for things he often brushed off with a laugh.

There was a time when Jason himself had that kind of fire, the belief that something better was possible, even in a place like Gotham. But as they lay there together, watching the fireworks, a small part of him wondered if Y/N was right. Maybe Gotham was more than just a city—it was a trap, a cage, and no matter how hard you fought, you were bound to lose.

But for now, he lets the thought slip away, pushing it down with all the other doubts and fears that plagued him. Tonight was about the fireworks, about the rare moments of peace they found in this chaotic city. He wouldn’t let anything ruin that.

As the final burst of light faded from the sky, Y/N nudged Jason’s shoulder. “Next year’s gonna be better. You’ll see.”

Jason looked at them, his smirk softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah… we’ll see.”

♬⋆.˚

If you don’t ask,

I won’t tell

Just know that,

Just know that

It all hurts,

it all hurts just the same

♬⋆.˚

Y/N sits at the base of the headstone, laughter spilling out in bitter, uneven bursts. The years had worn them down, every laugh wracking their frame with a painful shake.

“You know, it’s comical, really,” they mutter, voice dripping with venom. “You ditch me, go play house with your new family, and now look where you’ve wound up.” They take a deep drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling from their cracked lips into a wry smile. “Look what they fuckin’ did to you,” they say, exhaling slowly. “What a cruel joke.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, his stance tense as he watches them. He expected something—anger, maybe even tears—but this? It cuts deeper than he’d anticipated. “Hey, cut that shit out,” he snaps, his tone edged with irritation. “Not here.”

“What, smoking outside?” Y/N laughs, the sound quickly turning into a hacking cough.

Jason steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “It’s disrespectful, Y/N. Knock it off.”

They grind the cigarette into the concrete, but not before taking one last drag. “You don’t mind, do ya, pal?” they sneer. “I mean, it’s not like you’re even really six feet under.”

Jason’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He crouches down beside them, his voice cold but tinged with something darker—pain, maybe, or regret. “Yeah, I do mind. This place is for people to rest, not for you to play out your bullshit. You used to hate smoking—your old man would blow that crap in your face, and you’d go ballistic. Where’s that Y/N, huh?”

“Don’t tell me how to process my emotions, Todd,” they spit, their voice raw with anger. “What’s it matter now, huh? Why show up after all this time? You’ve been prowling around the streets of Gotham for what, a year? And now you want to make a grand entrance? What’s your angle? You gonna pretend you’re not the same lowlife Mafia bosses we used to mock?”Their eyes bore into him, full of accusation and pain.

Jason’s jaw tightens, his eyes cold and hard. He takes a step forward, his voice a gravelly snarl. “You think I wanted this? To become the monster we used to laugh about? Gotham doesn’t give a damn about redemption. It chews you up and spits you out. I had to adapt, or die trying.”

He leans in, his gaze intense. “You’re pissed off? Good. You’ve got every right to be. But don’t act like you know a damn thing about what I’ve been through. You think you’re the only one who’s lost?”

Jason steps back, his voice unwavering and edged with steel. “Go ahead, hate me. But don’t act like you don’t understand. Gotham changes everyone. Even you.”

Y/N’s eyes flash with defiance. “I changed because I lost you, so don’t get it twisted. Gotham’s not the reason you’re like this. You’re on some vendetta trip. I’ve seen the headlines—throwing the Bat into a brick wall in front of the little bird? Talk about a temper. I thought I had a short fuse.”

They let out a bitter chuckle, the amusement in their voice sharp. “Guess I underestimated you. Always thought you had more control. But now? You’re just another angry soul tearing through Gotham like it’s personal. Maybe it is.”

Jason’s gaze hardens, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “You think you know what this is? You think you’ve got me all figured out? You don’t have a clue what I’ve been through or why I do what I do.”

Y/N’s smile fades, replaced by a look of steely resolve. “Maybe not. But don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re the only one who’s suffered. We all deal with our pain in different ways. You’re just louder about it.”

Jason turns away slightly, the tension palpable. “Maybe so. But at least I’m fighting to make a difference. Even if it means getting my hands dirty.”

♬⋆.˚

something is wrong,

I can’t explain

Everything changed when the birds came,

You’ll never know,

What they might do,

If they catch you too early

♬⋆.˚

“So, what was it like then?” Y/N asks softly, holding a beer bottle, their legs dangling off the edge of the rooftop.

Jason exhales sharply, his gaze fixed on the city below. “Shitty,” he responds with blunt honesty.

Y/N nods, their voice carrying a dry tone. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Jason’s expression turns somber, his voice carrying the weight of his regret. “For the record, I would’ve come sooner. If I’d known… if I hadn’t been so damn ashamed, I would’ve found you first.”

Y/N looks away, a hard edge to their voice. “But you didn’t.”

Jason’s shoulders slump slightly, a resigned acceptance in his tone. “No, I didn’t.”

A moment of silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken words. The city lights below seem to fade into the background, irrelevant compared to their shared pain.

♬⋆.˚

we need to fly ourselves,

before someone else,

tells us how

something is off,

I feel like prey,

I feel like praying

♬⋆.˚

“You keep a rosary in your car? Since when?” Jason’s disbelief is evident as he looks at the symbol.

Y/N’s voice drops to a softer, almost defensive tone. “Since your funeral service,” they reply, the memory clearly still raw.

Jason’s eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously? You’re not messing with me?”

Y/N shrugs, their expression a mix of resignation and irritation. “Yeah, seriously. The church preys on people when they’re down… and I was down.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “So you turned to Catholicism?”

Y/N’s gaze is steady but weary. “God doesn’t come looking for you. You go looking for Him.”

Jason’s face shows a mixture of skepticism and cynicism. “Wow, they really did a number on you. You’re all in, huh?”

Y/N’s patience wears thin. “Can we just drop it? I don’t want to get into this with you.”

Jason’s tone turns more challenging. “Oh, come on. You really think if there was a God, He’d let this city of sinners last?”

Y/N’s eyes meet his, a flicker of wry humor in their gaze. “Maybe He’s trying to flood it. That’s why it rains all the time.” They lock eyes, the serious moment breaking into shared laughter. The tension easing ever so slightly.

♬⋆.˚

so, so I’ll probably,

take you aside

And tell you whats on my mind,

But you, you’ll just keep it inside,

probably tell me that you’re alright

♬⋆.˚

“What the hell happened to you!?” Y/N’s voice is filled with shock and concern as they watch Jason stumble through the door, bloodied and barely conscious.

Jason collapses against the wall, gasping for breath. “You remember when we were kids?” he rasps, wincing in pain.

“Yeah, I remember,” Y/N replies tersely, their hands already working to remove his torn and blood-soaked clothes. “I lived through it.”

Jason coughs, cringing as Y/N begins to clean the gash on his side. “Remember how you used to say Gotham was run by some secret cabal?”

“I didn’t say that” Y/N corrects sharply, applying pressure to the wound. “I said the upper echelons were corrupt.”

Jason grimaces, his face contorted with pain. “Well, you were right.”

Y/N’s hands still for a moment, their eyes meeting his with a mix of disbelief and concern. “Yeah?”

Jason nods weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah…”

Y/N’s expression shifts from anger to a deep sadness, their gaze lingering on Jason’s battered form. They finish tending to his wounds with a gentler touch, their emotions raw and conflicted. The weight of his admission hangs heavy in the air, the reality of Gotham’s corruption and its toll on Jason becoming painfully clear.

“And?” Y/N prompts, their tone a mix of frustration and curiosity as they continue tending to Jason’s injuries.

Jason winces, his voice strained. “And that’s all.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “You givin’ me my ‘I told you so’ moment?”

Jason nods weakly, a small, pained smile playing at his lips. “Mmhm.”

Y/N’s expression shifts to a wry grin, a hint of triumph in their voice despite the grim circumstances. “Ha! Well, I guess that makes me right then. I told you so!”

Jason lets out a strained chuckle, his eyes showing a flicker of reluctant admiration. “Yeah, yeah. You were right. Just… don’t let it go to your head.”

♬⋆.˚

if I run,

If I run away, I’ll never know

What you want

And if you go then I’ll never grow,

I’m undone,

let me slip,

let me slide

♬⋆.˚

“You’re teaming up with the Bat to track down John Wycliffe—who’s at the heart of Gotham’s corruption and causing problems in neighbouring cities—and subsequently the entire court of owls—and you don’t even know if you’re coming back?” Y/N exclaims, their hands gesturing in frustration. “Why? I just got you back—”

“I have to, Y/N,” Jason replies, his tone firm but strained.

“You don’t have to,” Y/N argues, their voice filled with desperation. “You don’t owe Gotham anything. This place is falling apart—it can burn for all I care. We could leave, get out of here. Just come with me. Please.”

Jason’s expression is resolute. “I can’t. This is bigger than me. I have to see it through.”

Y/N’s voice cracks as they struggle to keep their composure. “Don’t do this. Not again. I can’t handle losing you a second time.”

Jason looks at Y/N with a mix of sorrow and determination. “I need to do this. It’s not just about Gotham—it’s about making sure things don’t get worse.” Jason gives a final glance over his shoulder, a grim acknowledgment of their concern, before disappearing into the night.

♬⋆.˚

Something is off, I can’t explain

You know what I mean,

don’t you?

Something I saw,

Or something I did,

It made me like this,

could you help me?

♬⋆.˚

“Bruce,” Y/N says with a formal, measured tone.

“Y/N,” Bruce acknowledges with a slight tilt of his head, his demeanor guarded.

“Are you still banning me from seeing him?” Y/N’s question is direct, their voice carrying a note of frustration barely masked by formality.

Bruce’s gaze remains steady. “Are you going to be calm this time? He needs rest, not another argument.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, their expression composed but tense. “I’m completely calm.”

Bruce studies them for a moment, assessing their sincerity. “Good. He’s in there. You can see him now.”

Bruce steps aside, allowing Y/N to enter the room. The tension between them lingers as Y/N walks past, their shoulders tense with a mix of worry and determination.

“I don’t want to fight,” Y/N says softly as they enter, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

Jason, looking exhausted with an IV drip attached, raises his hands in a similar gesture. “Yeah, I don’t want to fight.”

Y/N gestures to where Bruce had previously been “I heard you took a bullet for him. Quite the change from when you were on the news trying to kill him.”

Jason winces, but his expression remains guarded. “Yeah, well… it wasn’t on purpose.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Not from what I’ve heard. Seems like you’ve grown a soft spot for your messed-up hero family.” Y/N glances at him and the card on the table from Dick—His older adoptive brother.

Jason manages a tired smile. “Maybe just a bit.”

Y/N picks up the card and looks it over. “That makes you part of the team too, you know.”

“A hero? Not quite,” Jason says, shaking his head.

“More like an anti-hero,” Y/N replies with a smirk. “But definitely not a lowlife mafia boss or a villain.”

Jason chuckles, a weary but genuine smile on his face. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Get some sleep,” Y/N says, adjusting the blinds to block out the sunlight. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Though, with your track record, who knows if you’ll be here after you do.”

Jason groans. “Can you cut it out? I nearly died, Y/N.”

“You did die,” Y/N says gently. “But you’re here now.”

They share a brief laugh. Jason pulls a pillow over his head to shield himself from the light as Y/N makes the room more comfortable, tugging on the blinds to hide the rare Gotham sunshine.

“I’m glad you made it out this time, Jay.”

♬⋆.˚

I don’t want to fight,

I don’t want to fight,

I don’t want to fight

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

Approx. Word Count: 2,806

J.T. One-Shot (Songfic)

♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚ ♬⋆.˚

Status Page: Here

Prompt/Character Requests: Open

[withacapitalp]

Countdown Pt 3

Part One Part Two

Tw: Slight suicidal ideation and general grieving

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They only carry a couple things with them on the run. 

Surviving the apocalypse isn’t pretty, and it’s easier to make a quick escape if they’re always traveling light. Essentials only, with a few sentimental items so they don’t completely lose their minds. 

Nancy had her journals, Max had her skateboard (even if she couldn’t use it right now), Will brought a pack of colored pencils, and Steve was pretty sure Hopper had somehow saved a half a pack of smokes. 

And Steve….Steve has a shoebox. 

It’s an old thing, held together with duct tape and decorated with sharpie doodles. Wayne had given it to him right before he left town, along with the necklace that Steve kept around his neck every moment of every day. 

He’s never let any of them look in it. They think he’s insane, but they’re not the ones with zeroed out timers.

This shoebox is all he has left of his soulmate. 

What’s inside would seem like junk to most people. A handful of rocks of varying size, shapes, and colors. A leather cuff with spikes that Steve had immediately put around his timer wrist to hide it from view. A matchbook from a gay bar in Indianapolis, a Spalding bouncy ball. Some hand-sewn patches with logos he didn’t recognize, three different mini figures, a dozen faded beautiful photographs, and a single mixtape. 

Only Robin knew about the mixtape. He had only told her in case they needed a song for him. That mixtape was the only thing in the world that had the song that could save his life. 

But the most important thing in that box was the letters. 

He read one every night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t read more than one. It was routine. When it was his turn to be on watch and the rest of their family was sound asleep, Steve would open his shoebox, pull out a letter, and read it. 

The first one is probably his favorite. It was written in dark red marker on yellow construction paper, the edges ripped and torn with age. The marker bled through the back of the paper where the child who wrote the letter had pressed down too hard, and Steve could imagine the way his fingers must have stained from the ink. Blood red. The same way his fingers were stained when he died. 

7/4/1971 

TWO SULMAYT,

HI.

I AM EDDIE MUNSON. I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIKE TRUKS. YU SHUD LIKE THEM TO. WE CAN WATCH THE BIG TRUKS! 

WHAT IS YUR NAMY? 

BIE

LUV EDDIE

P. S. I HAD A NANA FOR BRIKFEST. YUM. 

There was a picture of two giant monster trucks under the words, and a tiny thing Steve assumed was a banana under the postscript. Steve keeps that one tucked in his jacket pocket, just in case he ever loses his bag or his precious shoebox. 

He keeps the first in his side pocket, and keeps the last one in the breast pocket right above his heart

6/13/1986

Hi Love,

The first one says ‘Two Sulmayt’ but every one after that starts with ‘Hi Love’. 

Steve can’t help wondering if Eddie would have eventually called him ‘Love’ if they had gotten more time. 

Well, if you’re reading this, then I guess my plan to be the one that lived really didn’t work out. Damn, that sucks. Probably a little bit more for you than for me. 

I don't know how you dealt with knowing we only had five days, but I thought it was kinda fucked. Like damn, really? Five? The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it, Love? Or maybe it just hates me. That is also a very real possibility. 

Maybe. But if the universe hated Eddie, then it must hate Steve more for making him continue to live. For giving him other people to love, people to care about, people to force him to not give up. 

Anyways this is how I dealt with it. If you only get five days to have me, I’m going to make sure you know me. Or know who I was at least. One letter a month for the last 12 years, and a bunch of random one off ones from when I was little. Before I lived with Wayne it was kind of catch as catch can with paper and stuff, and I was also like seven, so how many letters do you really want from a seven year old who still can’t spell ‘Difficulty’?

I know how to now, by the way. Mrs. D, Mrs. I, yada yada. Do you ever wonder why all those women are married? I think that’s stupid. Forced conformity, even in our nursery rhymes. 

That joke always made Steve laugh. He’s read this letter so many times it’s starting to come apart at the creases, but it still made him pause and chuckle. 

Anyways. This is yours. Eleven letters a year for twelve years is one hundred and thirty two. Adding in the ones from before, it’s probably around a hundred and fifty. It’s not the same as having me around, but if you spread them out, you might get thirteen years or so before you have to start rereading them. 

Or read them all in one sitting. Do whatever you want. 

Steve had counted. It was one hundred and forty one. He read one new one a night, because every single day they survived seemed like a miracle right now. 

He only had seventy three more left. 

Not like I can stop you, haha. 

That’s probably not as funny to you as I want it to be. Sorry, Love. 

It wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. Steve wanted Eddie here, wanted him to tell him to wait. He wanted Eddie to write him more letters. 

Oh, I also included a bunch of stuff I thought was too cool to lose, and a mixtape with songs that I wrote for my band. I thought you might want to get to hear my voice. It’s probably stupid, but you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to. 

Steve listened to it. They had been forced to scrounge up new batteries for his walkman three times because it kept dying. 

Everything in this box is yours, Wayne has strict instructions to give it to you. And, anything of mine Wayne doesn’t want is for you too.

Wow. A whole trust fund of trailer park trash. Some people leave their soulmates huge inheritances. I left you rocks and pictures and a shit ton of letters. Aren’t you lucky, Love? 

He was lucky. He had seventy three more letters. Seventy three more reasons to survive another day. 

After that…Steve wasn’t sure if he would be lucky anymore. 

Now if you’re good at math- which I hope you are, because I’m terrible at it- then you might be saying to yourself ‘Is my soulmate an idiot? Does he not know there’s twelve months in a year?’ 

No. I’m actually incredibly smart, even though my grades don’t really show it. I rewrite this top of the box letter every year on my birthday, and then I burn the last one. It’s a fun, extremely morbid, tradition. 

I’m 20 today, Love. I wonder how old you are a lot. I hope you’re close to my age at least. Maybe you’re like fifty years older than me, and I meet you when you’re on your deathbed, and that’s why we only have five days. 

They had only gotten five days because Steve hadn’t just taken Eddie and run. He should have just told Eddie to go as far from Hawkins as possible the second he realized. Fuck the rest of the world, fuck stopping the apocalypse. The best part of Steve was already dead. 

Two whole decades, but somehow I’m still in high school. I failed. Again. I wrote a lot about it in my letter last month, so I’m not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say I’m pretty bummed. I mean, c’mon, even Steve Harrington managed to graduate last year, and that guy barely even went to class during senior year. 

That part of the letter always made his stomach turn. He hated the reminder of all the wasted time, the little nudge that always told him it was his fault they barely had any time. 

If he had only looked up. 

Oh, well. This one is it. ‘86 baby! I’d say I want this to be the year I meet you, but I really want to graduate, so maybe hold off for just one more year? Stay wherever you are for just twelve more months, Love, just to be safe. Then I can put a picture of me flipping off my principal in this box for you. I’ll add my diploma in too, just to prove to you I did it. 

Eddie wasn’t going to get a diploma. 

If you wait a year, I’ll give you twelve more letters. So just wait one more year. By then, I think I’ll know what to say to make this better. I’ll know what to do to fill the gap I know you’re going to have. I’ll have something to say that will fix all this. I say that every year, and I never do, but hey, ‘86. 

Nothing anyone said would fix this. Nothing Eddie could write would fill the hole left in Steve’s soul. Nothing. 

I’m sorry. 

I say that every year too. 

Steve didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want letters. He didn’t want a hard to hear voice on a single mixtape. 

He wanted Eddie. 

Well. Happy birthday to me. One more year without meeting you. Eleven more letters. You better be doing something just as nice for me in case it's you that bites it, or I’m bringing your ass back just to kill you again. 

Steve didn’t care if Eddie killed him. Eddie could reappear right now and immediately shoot Steve and he would die happy. He just wanted one more minute. Just a little more time. 

…Wait just a little bit longer. I’ll have better words next year. 

Can you do that for me, Love?

P.S. You should read the first letter I wrote to you, just to appreciate how eloquent and charming I am in this one. 

Eddie called him ‘Love’. Eddie asked him to wait. Eddie wanted to have the right words. He wanted to live long enough to save Steve from his own broken heart.

Steve wishes he had waited.  

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 3)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: While he waits for the timer to count down, Bradley reflects on the game, how it all started, and his plans for you once he finds you. That is if Jake doesn't get to you first. Word Count: 2705 TW: Kidnapping, Language, Mentions of Murder and Mutilation, Hunted for Sport, Getting Off on Thoughts of Violence/Death, Bradley's POV Notes:I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thank you to @loverhymeswith and @green-socks for all of your help!💕

Series Masterlist

Bradley watches his little fox scamper off into the darkness, silently counting down the seconds until he can begin the hunt. Usually, they have a strict rule against selecting their prey from the employees of the restaurant or bar they were scouting out, however, the second Bradley saw you, he knew you were the one, yet he could never have guessed you were even more than you seemed or that such a fiery, determined vixen lay hiding behind that stunning face. 

He licks his lips, tasting the blood still slowly dripping from his nose, and he smiles. You had made him bleed—something only a handful of prey had managed before—and he can’t wait to repay the favor.

Three minutes to go.

Jake has wandered over to the back of the truck and laid out his vast collection of knives on the tailgate as he tries to decide which ones to carry with him on the hunt. To Bradley, they all look the same, but he had made the mistake on more than one occasion of asking Jake the difference between them. Even after several forty-five-minute lectures on tip points, serrations, length, grips, guards, and fuck knows what else, Bradley still didn’t really understand the difference, nor did he care. The only weapon he liked to use was his hands. He needed to physically feel bones breaking beneath him, blood bubbling through his fingers and staining his nails, that last fragile flutter of a pulse before it stilled forever, and he couldn’t get any of that using a gun or a knife–or in Jake’s case–a rope.

That is yet another of Jake’s quirks that Bradley just can’t understand. Why anyone would want to step back and watch their prey take their last breath from afar just baffles him. There is nothing in the world that compares to the high he gets hovering just over his prey and inhaling their last breath into his own lungs—

Oh god, he is so turned on right now. 

Bradley takes a few long, slow, deep breaths of the frigid night air as he tries to calm the fire racing through his veins. This lust-filled adrenaline rush can be helpful during the hunt in small doses, but currently, the speed at which all the blood is rushing from his head is leaving him woozy and he needs to be clear-headed for what comes next. Otherwise, he’ll get sloppy and Jake’ll find you before he does and he can’t let that happen. Not this time. Not with you. 

It has been a long time, possibly even years since he has wanted a prey this badly and he plans on doing whatever it takes to ensure that his is the last face you will ever see. Even if that means bending the rules of the game and stealing you away from Jake. But the way Bradley sees it, Jake already got a taste of you back in the bar, so now it's his turn.

It had taken everything in him not to leap out of his seat and tear Jake off you as he was forced to watch his best friend shove his tongue down your throat. And what made it worse was how much you had seemed to enjoy it. Bradley had to grip the edge of the bar until his knuckles turned bone white as you slid Jake’s hand up from your hip to rest on your breast. He nearly missed his chance to spike your drink because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. But he remembered at the last minute and everything else had gone according to plan. 

Two minutes thirty-six seconds to go.

It’s amazing to think how far he and Jake had come since the first time they did this, back when it was an accident. 

It had been their senior year in college and they decided to go camping for the long Veteran's Day weekend to try and relieve some of the stress they were under. Jake was being scouted for several professional football teams and since the playoff game was coming up soon, his coach had been riding him extra hard lately. Bradley had just had yet another fight with his godfather about his plans for his future and he was so tired of feeling like he had no control over his life anymore. So a weekend away from it all with nothing but each other and the forest around them seemed like the perfect escape for both of them. 

All in all, it would have been a pretty forgettable weekend had a pretty young hiker not stumbled onto their campsite on their second night. Bradley and Jake managed to coax her into staying for a drink or two and one thing led to another—but then Jake took things too far and the girl fled into the woods. 

They knew if she made it back to town and reported what happened, Jake would be expelled–if not arrested–due to some past…questionable conduct that had only been overlooked at school because he was a national champion quarterback on his way to a professional career. But an official police arrest wouldn’t be swept under the rug as easily as a campus complaint, so they went after her to try to convince her not to say anything. 

The next thing Bradley remembered was kneeling over her body, his hands still around her throat as she stared up at him with wide, unseeing eyes. Jake was huddled beneath a nearby tree, vomit puddled beside him as he rocked back and forth, his eyes locked on the motionless girl. He might have been horrified at first, but Bradley….Bradley had never felt more alive. What's more, once they found a way to hide the body and it became clear no one would ever discover what they had done, that feeling only grew. And Bradley needed more.

It took a lot of convincing to get Jake on board, but once he had a taste of it himself, he too began to crave the thrill of the hunt, the rush of the kill, and it soon became somewhat of an obsession for the pair. A few weeks before graduation, Jake announced he was retiring from football and Bradley told his godfather he was done letting him make decisions about his life and blocked his number. 

As soon as school was over, they both found work that allotted them flexibility in their schedules and frequent time off so they could make their hunts a monthly event. Whatever they did didn’t matter; it was all just to serve the next hunt, the next kill. That was all that mattered to them anymore. And soon, the pair figured out the one thing that could make it even better: turning it into a competition. 

Over the next decade, they perfected their game. Trial and error taught them the best places to start their hunts, how to select their prey, how to transport them, how to dispose of the bodies once they were done. After a few years on their own, they had found others who shared in their bloodlust and the game had expanded. Now they had a network of seven or so people who would come in and out of the games based on availability, though a single game would never consist of more than four hunters. They couldn’t risk the attention bigger groups might attract. Each hunter brought different skills, different tactics, and different assets to the dynamic, and it was a great way to keep the games fresh and interesting over the years.

But tonight, it is just Bradley and Jake and their little fox hiding in the woods waiting for them to take chase.

One-minute fifty-two seconds.

Bored of just staring into the darkness of the trees waiting for the time to expire, Bradley slowly saunters over to the truck. Jake glances over as he approaches but never stops shifting through the knives. 

As he picks up one about the length of his forearm to examine it, he says, “Looks like your nose finally quit bleeding.”

“Yeah, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. I can’t wait to get my hands on that bitch and show her what real pain feels like.” Bradley grins, but then shakes his head as he starts getting lightheaded once more.

Jake chuckles as he puts down his knife to pick up another one twice its size. “Yeah, good luck with that. You’ll have to find her before I do, and I have a good feeling about tonight.” He chuckles, “I mean, my odds of winning have already increased from 25% to 50% with just one phone call.”

“And so have mine,” Bradley reminds him, then sighs. “I wish they would have called sooner and we could have postponed until the road cleared up. It’s weird they waited until we were supposed to start to let us know. Some of the others, maybe, but it’s not like them.”

Jake shrugs, "Apparently they had been trying to call for a while. Honestly, I'm surprised it made it through it all. The signal out here is shit." He pulls out his phone and quickly flashes it so Bradley can see the large warning signal with the words “No Service” below it on the screen before he returns it to his jacket pocket. “And, don’t get me wrong, I love getting to go head-to-head with you again, but it’s kind of a shame it’s just gonna be us tonight. I really wanted to see how they dealt with the snow.”

Bradley scoffs as he checks his watch. “Probably a lot better than you, Texas boy.”

Jake throws down the knife he is holding, the metal clattering loudly as it crashes against the rest of his blades, and he turns to face a startled Bradley. “Make up your mind, man. Earlier you were yelling at me for not thinking it snowed in Texas—which obviously I know, I just meant it’s still warm there this time of year. And now you are ragging on me for not being able to handle the snow because I’m from Texas. You can’t have it both ways!”

“Woah, chill out, Jake,” Bradley says, holding up his hands. “I was only messing with you.”

Jake sighs and scrubs his hand over his face before grumbling, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m just so keyed up to go, I’m a little on edge.”

“Yeah, I get it. So am I.” Bradley chuckles and glances at his watch once again. “But only fifty-seven seconds to go.”

“Can’t we just…you know.” Jake jerks his head in the direction you had fled. “It’s not like we left her her watch so she knows how much time has passed.”

“You know we don’t do that. We have our rules for a reason. And besides,” Bradley laces his fingers together and stretches, cracking his knuckles, “that would take away some of the fun. We want her to get far enough away there is some skill in tracking her down. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“The point is, I want to have some fun with her. God, I can still taste her lip gloss and feel her sucking on my tongue. Once I find her, I’ll give her something else to suck on.” The knife in Jake’s hand begins to twirl as his eyes glaze over. “I can’t wait to stick one of these in her and listen to all the pretty noises she makes. I wonder how many times it’ll take to make her cry.”

Bradley physically bit his tongue to stop from growling at Jake that you were his. Just listening to him daydreaming about winning is making a different kind of fire course through his veins, this one possessive and dark. But he silently reminds himself that Jake has a tendency of getting carried away and overly cocky as he drags out his teasing with his knives which, more often than not, allows his prey to slip from his fingers. Bradley had stolen quite a few wins from him this way by just waiting and watching, and he has a feeling that might be the case this time too if Jake somehow reaches you first. 

And maybe that will be the best outcome. While finding you first guarantees you will be his, Bradley can’t help but think how much more delicious it would be to find you cut up and bleeding, thinking you have escaped one horrible fate just to fall into his deadly embrace. That look of fear and anguish when you realize something far worse than Jake has found you. The knowledge that he won’t let you slip away. The way the fire will dim in your eyes as you realize there is no escape and he is about to—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Twin grins of excitement spread across Bradley’s and Jake’s faces as the alarm on Bradley’s watch goes off. It’s showtime.

Scooping up his rejected knives, Jake quickly tosses them into the backseat of the truck while Bradley slams the tailgate shut. After one final glance to the front to make sure they aren’t forgetting anything, Jake shuts the door to the truck and locks it before sliding the keys into his jacket pocket next to his phone. Another thing they had learned from experience was to never leave the keys with the vehicle—that had almost been a disaster. 

With everything ready, Jake walks over to Bradley and warmly clasps his hand. Giving it a tight squeeze, he smiles. “Ready?”

Bradley squeezes his hand back. “Ready. May the best hunter win.”

“I plan to,” Jake winks at his friend and releases his hand. Walking over to the spot where you had disappeared minutes ago, he bounces lightly on his feet a few times, shaking out his limbs as he does so. With one final grin in Bradley’s direction, he calls into the darkness, “You better run. Hangman’s coming.” And in a flash, he disappears into the trees.

Bradley rolls his eyes and calmly walks over to the edge of the clearing. Jake had charged out following the trail of footprints you had left behind, but Bradley decides to wait. That idea of finding you only after Jake has already had a little fun with you is too tantalizing to pass up, so he’s going to hang back and let Jake think he has won, only to swoop in and steal the prize at the last minute. 

After about another ten minutes, Bradley calmly steps into the darkness and begins following Jake’s trail. He can’t wait anymore, and if Jake hasn’t found you by now, then screw it. He’ll just have to settle for being the first one to reach you. He’s not worried about you getting too far away or somehow finding help, not while you are still barefoot and affected by the remains of the drugs in your system. However, Jake’s concerns about you succumbing to the elements is more of a possibility than Bradley wanted to admit earlier. The only thing worse than Jake killing you is the cold killing you, and Bradley can’t let that be the way your story ends.

Suddenly, Bradley hears a loud whoop of joy in the distance to his left. Jake found you. For someone who dubbed him “Rooster” because of his crooning over his prizes, Jake sure liked to announce his finds just as loudly.

Tearing off in the direction of the shout, Bradley ducks and weaves around trees and branches as he tries to locate the two of you. This forest is huge and only having one brief cry to navigate by isn’t easy.

After a while, Bradley thinks he sees something up ahead. At first, it is nearly impossible to identify, just a swaying shape up in one of the trees. However, as he gets a little closer, his heart freezes in his chest and all that fire rushing through his veins is instantly extinguished. Jake hadn’t screwed up this time, and Bradley took too long to find you.

The darkness still shrouds the majority of the hanging shape, but the orange jacket wrapped around it is unmistakable against the trees and snow. 

Part 4 coming soon....and the real fun begins 😈

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[object-vault-9]

Week 23

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[kamryn1963]

So Long London- Chapter 20\30

Notes: Based on Season 3 Episode 4: Debts of the Past.

10 more chapters! The beginning of the end some might say...

The peace, the familiar feeling of family, didn’t last long. 

Only three days later Hank's car was bombed and Hank, Justin, Olive and Daniel were nearly killed. They were all okay in the end and that was the most important thing, but as soon as Hank came into the bullpen the next morning, Al saw and recognized the look on his face well. 

This was going to be a long day. 

And it was. It hadn’t taken them too long to find out who was behind this and as soon as they found out it was James Beckett, Al already knew how this was going to go. 

Well he thought he did. That was until he found himself in Hank’s office as Hank told him that he wouldn’t lose respect for him, but needed to know if Al stole the money. If he stole a million dollars. 

It took a minute for it to hit Al fully, and he laughed when it did. Hank, his best friend, was accusing him of stealing a million dollars just because Al was having some money problems back then. 

“No Hank, I didn’t take the damn money”. Al replied, his voice sharp and angry as he stared at Hank. 

“Then who did Al?” Hank asked and he sounded exhausted. Al almost sympathized with him. 

And Al did understand where he was coming from. Hank’s family had been threatened and Hank wanted revenge. God knows Al had been in the same position before and Hank knew that. 

Al just thought he was Hank’s family too. 

“Go screw yourself, man”. Al replied as he shoved past Hank, slamming the office door behind him. The team didn’t say anything, though Al knew they’d heard everything. 

Al left after that, heading to the parking lot and grabbed the lighter from his pocket he always had with him, even though Al had stopped smoking years ago. 

Al went to his car, making sure nobody was around or looking his way, as he rolled his sleeve up and pointed the lighter towards his arm. 

Ten minutes later he was digging through his car for some bandages, and taking a deep breath before heading back inside and up to the bullpen. Hank was still in his office, the door and blinds closed, but the rest of the team was there. They stopped talking when he walked in, exchanging awkward looks between them. 

It hit Al right there that they didn’t know what to believe. That part of them actually thought he’d steal a million dollars like Hank already accused him of. 

Al didn’t know why it hurt so much. 

That night found Al still at his desk, desperately searching through files trying to find a way to get Beckett and end this once and for all. He wanted to clear his name so Hank would trust him again. He wanted his best friend back. Al wanted the team to stop staring at him, exchanging looks every time he walked into the room or spoke. 

He had thought he was the only person still in the bullpen, when Al heard quiet footsteps and looked up to see Mouse entering the room, an apple in his hand. 

“Why are you still here?” Al asked as he went back to flipping through files. 

“Was just combing through security footage. I’m heading out now”. Mouse replied. Al noticed his voice was quiet, shy almost like it had been when he first joined the unit. 

Al didn’t say anything though, just nodded too preoccupied with what he was doing. He heard Mouse walk towards the stairs so he wasn’t expecting him to speak again when he did. 

“Al? I believe you, you know? That you wouldn’t take the money”. Mouse hesitantly avoided eye contact even as the detective finally looked up from his files. 

“Thanks kid”. Al said and he meant it. Mouse offered him a half smile before leaving. Al sighed as he closed the files, stacked them back up in a neat pile and headed down to the locker room to grab his bag. 

That night Al barely slept. Everytime he fell asleep, it’d only last an hour before he was up again, sitting up in a cold sweat with a start. Al couldn’t get Hank’s words today out of his brain no matter what he tried. 

Al knew that deep down this wasn’t personal. It didn’t even make sense. Hank had acknowledged that Al had asked Hank and Camille for a loan, one he paid back to the dime, when he was having money trouble. So why would Al then steal a million dollars if he already got the money? Al gave up on sleep around four that morning and just laid in bed until he had the energy to get up, shower and change. 

Al had barely managed to scrape together four hours of sleep that night and his mind was elsewhere entirely. That’s the only excuse he had for why he didn’t sense something wrong when he left his apartment building that morning and headed around the back to his car. 

Al put the key in and the next thing he knew his world erupted in pain and his head made contact with the pavement as the world went dark. 

Antonio and Erin had been heading to meet one of Erin’s CI’s when patrol called in about another car exploding and it possibly being connected to the case. 

“We're ten minutes out”. Erin said to Antonio who nodded and turned around as she told the officer they were heading there now. 

Erin was about to call Hank and update him when she realized what address they got. Sure it could be a coincidence but if this car bombing was connected to the case it couldn’t be. 

“Antonio go! That’s Al’s apartment complex”. Erin shouted as it all hit her. 

Antonio looked just as panicked as she did as he sped up as much as he could. 

Erin knew she had to update the others but right now her only concern was getting to Al. 

It only took five minutes before they were pulling up. Erin was out before the car was fully stopped, and heading over to where the paramedics were surrounding a still figure. She pushed through the crowd of onlookers, vaguely hearing Antonio and a few cops shouting orders. 

As she got closer she saw Al and her worst fears were confirmed. Bloody, bruised and still, so still.

[mikey180]

gotta cook up a request so aaay id like to request dates headcanons with khun,baam, hansung , like what kind fi stuff they di on a date aay :D

thank you so much for requesting and I know it's been a long time, but I've had so much to work through.

Date with Khun Aguro Agnus, The 25th Baam, and Yu Hansung.

Type- headcanons

Flavor- fluff

Tw- bugs and death...love that for a fluff fic, don't we?

Khun

I feel like Khun would take you to a fancy restaurant on the first date, but he'd much rather have a movie night and cuddle with you.

If you want to go to a restaurant he'll take you to one of the best in the tower. Ya know, the kind that serves fresh seafood. he'll make sure it has good reviews and might even have someone go to see if it's as good as people say it is.

If you go with the movie night though, it's a different story.

He will make sure to have all of your favorite snacks and drinks. He'll have candy and basically anything else you could possibly want.

He definitely wants to pick the movie, but he'll let you pick if you want to.

I can see him enjoying psychological horror, but getting annoyed at the same time because he's already figured out what's going to happen within the first five minutes.

He doesn't mind almost whatever genre you want. I don't see him as being one for romance or comedy, but if it's what you want to watch, he's fine with it.

he would absolutely love it if you were to get scared during a horror movie and cling to him. I don't think he'd be the kind to jump or show that he's scared. The only way you could tell if he's actually scared is the way his eyes widen a bit at the jump-scares.

You and Khun are curled up with each other, under a fluffy blanket, covered in crumbs from all the sugary treats he brought you. Your legs draped over his lap as he leaned close to you and held the large plate of snacks on top of your covered thighs. the scream from the movie echoes through the living room while the two of you watch intently. You shiver a little as the suspense picks up to which he chuckles and rubs you back a bit, throwing a few smart mouthed comments your way as you watch.

Baam

Baam enjoys small picnic dates.

He'll definitely cook for you and he'll try to make whatever you want. He picks out the best spots he can find and you bet he'll lay down the red plaid blanket that he sees at all the picnics in the movie.

This cinnamon roll just wants you to be happy. He'll defiantly take you on whatever date you want, but his first choice will usually be a picnic.

If you let him, he'll probably cling to you the entire time(not me adding this because I love clingy and needy people).

You'll be sitting side by side with his leg draped over your lap and when he's done eating he'll probably rest his head in your lap, not caring if you're still eating or getting crumbs on him.

He most definitely enjoys peaceful silence, as long as you're okay with it, he'll space out, head on your lap, just staring at the clouds.

Wants to stay long enough to watch the sunset with you, but he probably gets tired of it's summer timer when the sun takes longer to set.

The picnic blanket becomes a regular blanket in the fall though, poor baby gets cold easily and even if it means sitting on leaves, sticks, and risking being a bug hiking trail, you let him do it anyway without complaint.

You and bam rest there, the food mostly gone as you watch the sunset from the hill you've chosen as your spot. The orange fading to a yellow and finally out to blue after a small ring of green. He looks up at you, moving his head on your lap as you run your fingers through his hair. The moment you look down, you're met with his tired little smile, the light shifting through his lashes to reflect in his half closed amber eyes, soft like a fire on a snowy night, a picture you want engraved in your mind till the end of your forever.

Hansung Yu

Tell me this man isn't doing a coffee date? Even better if he goes to one of those tea ceremonies only to mix in instant coffee when no one is looking.

He would probably choose the best seat in a shop, a nice quiet one by a window.

It's mostly likely mid day or a little later though he'd take you at 8 like a dinner date, but caffeine at that hour might just kill you though, he can handle it.

Will order for you if you don't know what you want, assures you you'll like it.

Might just fall in love even more if you take your coffee black, but if you take it light, he'll think it's cute and probably say some things about how you can't handle straight coffee...he's right.

Expect him to pull that "wiping drink or food off your face" move like he's in some sort of romance k-drama, might even lick it off.

Will say something surprising, or spicy depending on how far along you are, just to get a reaction out of you.

*Warning*Has made you choke on coffee like this before*Warning*

You are in danger, with the way he slyly watches as you sip on your coffee, you can tell he's just waiting for the most inconvenient time to tell you humans have a water to dead body ratio they're okay with, hence swimming in the ocean with thousands of them, but not swimming in a pool with one of them

...what the heck man?

Will laugh if you choke or laugh so hard the coffee comes up your nose (fun fact, I've drank orange juice through my nose with a straw as a very stupid child)

Does hold your hand as you walk there and home though

As you play footsies with Hansung under the table, he sips on his coffee like nothing is happening. You sigh a bit as you accept your loss as you feel a bruise forming on your shin. You close your eyes to take and savor this sip of sweet, sweet coff- "cockroaches would eat you alive if you couldn't do anything about it."

"Hansung!"

You appetite for coffee is immediately gone as you slam the cup down and cough a bit on what you had in your mouth as he chuckles a bit.

"don't worry...the vibrations of your breathing are supposed to scare off bugs...or so I've heard"

He had to, don't get mad at him, it's funny, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Low key lost my appetite writing that last bit actually, it's true.

[lildevyl]

Out of Time

Summary: Set during Limit Life.

Jimmy, Grian, and Joel meet up at the Bakery in the Sky to do something that none of them ever thought they needed to do. Jimmy knows that his time is up, so offers his life to one of the Bad Boys instead.

TW: Character Death, Angst

(Bakery in the Sky)

Jimmy looked at the timer on his wrist and his heart plummeted. Half an hour. That's all the time that he has left in this series. Just thirty minutes unless he gets a kill. Jimmy begins to pace back and forth, pulling at his hair, biting his nails, and frantically trying to come up with some kind of game plan. Jimmy looked up and saw Skynet 2.0 and thought that maybe he could get a kill that way. But then a flash of him dying just by ender pearling while falling off the ladder came rushing back. He quickly went against that idea.

Jimmy checked the time again, 25:30.

If Jimmy didn't do anything he be out first again! Jimmy abruptly stopped pacing. He be out first again. The Canary Curse, as everyone loved to meme but in truth, Jimmy's just that bad at the game. A Self Fulfilled Prophecy.

A Self Fulfilled Prophecy.

Jimmy was always out first because of something stupid he did. Got shot in the Bunker with Scar in 3rd Life. Died to a Creeper in Last Life. Died to an Enderman in Double LIfe. Now he's going to be out first because he Ran Out of Time or Fell from a High Place.

Unless . . . Unless . . . Would they even agree to this?

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy whipped out his com and put in Chat.

Bad Boys. Bakery in the sky. Pronto!

It didn't take long for Grian and Joel to get there.

"Jimmy, what's the emergency?" Joel asked concerned.

"What' you time at, Grian?" Jimmy asked.

"Uh, 4 hours and 15 minutes."

"Joel, what are you at?"

"3 hours and 25 minutes," Joel answered "Jimmy what is going on?"

"Alright, Gentlemen, it's been an honor."

"WHAT?!" Grian and Joel shouted.

"What are you on, right now?" Grain demanded.

"I'm on 15 minutes and 30 seconds. I can't get another kill. And I refuse to go out because I ran outta time." Jimmy said.

"Then we can get your time back! TNT Minecart from the Skynet 2.0!" Joel suggested.

"No! I can't get it done, and honestly, since I've got the Carany Curse then if I'm going out, I'm going out my way! Joel, you need the time more so, take this, and this, and some of this, and I have a couple of TNT left. Some bread and take this." Jimmy then hands Joel his diamond axe.

"Jimmy, are you sure?" Joel asked and took the axe.

"Look my time isn't going to someone else! We started this Series as the Bad Boys we're ending it as the Bad Boys. The Bad Boys are going to the Semi Finals and it's going to be one of you two! Grian, it's been fun and Joel it's been great having you as a team member. Do the honors, Joel."

"Jimmy, your standup guy, you've been one hell of a Bad Boy and I'm glad you were my partner in crime. I just wished you were better at this game."

"Yeah, me too," Jimmy said in a low voice with a tear coming down his cheek.

Lightning struck, SolidarityGaming Ran Out of Time flashed across Chat, and 30+ minutes were added to Joel's time.