#walking waste of bandages is so real

[uzi-x33]

WHY ARE THEY SUCH GOOFY GOOBERS

[transmunsons]

Eddie teaches Steve how to fight. The Munson name might be good for nothing but they were a scrappy lot. Eddie learned early how to throw a punch. His dad said real boys knew how to fight, so put your whole body into it, twist your hips.

Eddie had heard King Steve got his face beat in by the Byers kid. Also heard he might’ve deserved it. And that Byers got off with hardly a scratch. But none of that was his business. He was just trying to graduate.

The second time Steve showed up to school with a face full of bandages, he took pity on him. This time he’d apparently gotten into a fight with that mouthy new kid, the one who gave Jeff the heebie jeebies. They ended up in detention together and Eddie leaned into his space and asked some questions, like “how come you get beat up more than my ducklings?”

Apparently the pretty rich boy had never learned how to defend himself, never needed to. What a waste of muscles. Which is how Eddie ended up giving Steve a lesson in the middle of Ms. Pratt’s room. Keep your fists up, turn your body so you’re a smaller target, shift your weight to your toes, and if you need to: scream.

“What?” Steve lowered his hands, bewildered.

“Yeah, man, just scream.” Eddie said. “At the worst, it’ll give you a second while they’re confused and at best they’ll think you’re nuts and disengage entirely. It’s a win-win scenario.” He shrugged.

“Is that how you fight?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed my reputation around here, Harrington, but half the school wouldn’t touch me with a rainbow colored pole and the other half thinks I’m straight up insane. No one’s gonna fight a crazy person, ‘cause crazy people might just kill ya.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Steve remarked. He packed up the singular sheet of homework he’d tried to do.

“No problem, that face is too pretty to be marked up all the time.”

But Steve couldn’t stay out of trouble for long.

Eddie was trying to see if the new mall theater was as easy to sneak into as the Hawk when he passed by some teens in sailor costumes slumped by a water fountain. One of them pointed at him as he walked by.

“Munson! It worked!”

[fatkish]

Dabi x Hawk Hybrid Keigo x Falcon Hybrid Reader NSFW

Dabi or Touya, runs the aviary section of Endeavor Farms

Keigo has been particularly restless since he’s gone through several mating seasons without a real partner

It’s been up to Touya to help him through it and act as his mate every spring

That winter, when Touya was informed of another bird of prey hybrid that was recently found and was in need of a home, he jumped at the chance to get you to his farm

When you arrived, Touya saw the bandages on your wing. When he asked, they said you had been used in hybrid falconry competitions and sustained a small fracture in one of the bones in your right wing

Realizing you couldn’t fly, your previous owner simply abandoned you since you couldn’t make him money in falconry

Touya helped you into the aviary and told you about Keigo, he explained that he wants you to try and help Keigo through his mating season every spring

You had told Touya that you had a low fertility and that was the reason why your previous owner abandoned you, since you could barely lay any eggs due to you almost being infertile

Touya told you not to worry about that since Keigo just needs a warm hole to stick it in

When Keigo caught your scent his feathers immediately started bristling and he started trilling and cooing. He immediately began cleaning his room/area and began to construct the most comfortable and secure nest he could build

He couldn’t wait to see his new potential mate. He was so excited he was practically shaking

When Touya opened the door to Keigo’s room, Keigo immediately began flirting with you and trying to get your attention

When Keigo saw the bandages on your wing he immediately paused and growled, as Touya took Keigo aside to explain things to him, you began to look around and eventually settled into the nest and took a nap after having traveled so long to get to the farm

Keigo saw you sleeping in the nest and started purring. He walked over and laid beside you, covering you with his wings

As the weeks passed and you and Keigo got along, the time to remove the bandage from your wing came

As Touya unwrapped your wing, you gave a few experimental flaps before taking flight. Touya watched you as you flew through the sky. Keigo decided to join you and flew right by your side

Soon winter came to an end as Keigo was getting particularly fussy. Constantly preening both yours and his wings. Making sure the nest was perfect and adding blankets and pillows wherever he saw fit

As the snow melted, Keigo finally had what he always wanted. The perfect mate to give him children.

Spurred by his instincts and hormones, one day, after having made sure you had eaten and were cozy, he jumped on top of you and began kissing and making out with you

He grabbed at your chest and pinched at your nipples, biting your neck and growling. His hands slid down to your hips as he grabbed fistfuls of your ass.

Spreading your legs he dove his face between them and began to devour you. Licking and sucking at your sensitive flesh and purring at the taste. He then shoved two fingers into your hole as he scissored them, stretching you

After throughly enjoying you, he flipped you over onto your hand and knees as he prepared to spear you on his dick

As he shoved his cock into your slicked hole, you nearly screamed in pleasure as his thick cock ploughed through your insides. As he began thrusting while holding your hips, the door opened and Touya walked in

You could see the tent in his pants as he walked up to you. He smiled down at you as he began to unzip his jeans and pull himself out

“Look at you, such a pretty little mess. Is Keigo f~~~ing you good? Look at you drooling, I should put that mouth to use, huh?”

He then shoved his cock into your mouth as you chocked slightly, your eyes rolling back some as Touya began to thrust in time with Keigo

“Hey pretty bird, make sure to fill ‘em up nice and full. Don’t waste a single drop, I brought a plug to keep all your precious cum inside them… oh, yeah,… keep sucking, just like that.”

Touya started to groan as Keigo’s thrusts quickened and deepened. Keigo growled as he bit at your neck and stated pounding away as deep as he could

“That’s it Kei, such a good boy, fill ‘em up nicely now and breed ‘em. I want to see some eggs soon, don’t you. You’re gonna be such a good dad, you’re such a loving and caring partner. You want his cum inside you, don’t ‘cha birdie? Go on, tell Keigs how much you want his cum to fill you up”

“I-I I want it, ple-please, please g-give me your cum! I w-want you t-to fill me up, make me y-yours. Please K-Keigo!”

That was all it took before Keigo slammed your head into the nest and began thrusting like his life depended on it. With this new angle, Keigo hit your spot with every slam of his hips. You came so hard as you screamed in ecstasy.

After a few more harsh thrusts, Keigo slammed into you one last time as he leaned over you, cover you with his wings as he filled you with his hot seed.

Panting, as his cock drained his spend into you, he grabbed the plug from Touya before pulling out afterwards, shoving the plug deep inside your sensitive, dripping channel, pulling a final groan from you

Throughly exhausted, you laid down in the nest before falling asleep. Only to wake up 30 minutes later to Keigo already back at it

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - fixing us

Yawning a little, you stretched as you rolled off your couch and picked up your phone.

You had a few missed messages from your friends, a few missed calls from your producer, and an email from UA which caught your attention.

You didn’t have a quirk, and you weren’t a pro hero, so why would the most prestigious hero school in Japan be emailing you?

Giving the email a Quick Look over, you saw it was an invitation to play a few songs during the lunch break at their sports festival, and a call to your producer confirmed this email as real and not some sort of scam.

You didn’t have to take too long to think about it, you had never attended UA as a teen, so you never saw what it was like, and you had always even curious, so you immediately accepted.

That’s how you found yourself standing in the middle of UA a month later, being shown around by the principal as he took you to where you could wait and watch the sports festival.

“Jeez, I never thought I’d see the day I’d be stood inside UA.”

Nezu laughed slightly, clasping his paws together as he looked up at you.

“It’s a spectacular sight is it not? And I know many of our students are excited to see you preform live, along with a few of the staff.”

You grin a little as you carry on following him.

“That’s one tough crowd to impress, gotta say I’m excited to preform for the future heroes, hopefully give them something to relax and ease up too.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it no issue it all!” Nezu beams.

He leads you to the teachers commentators box and gestures to it.

“You should have the best view in here! And you’ll be accompanied by two of our very own commentating on the sports festival! They should arrive soon, and they are aware of your presence. If you need anything at all don’t hesitate to ask!”

“Thank you very much!”

Nezu offers you a bright smile before he leaves.

You smile as you look around, standing in front of the large glass window.

It definitely was a great view of the field, and the screens so any events that weren’t taking place in the stadium you still had a perfect view to watch them.

As you were looking around the door opened again and you turned around, a grin slowly forming on your face when you saw who it was.

“No way! It can’t seriously be you!”

“Hizashi!” You laugh.

The pro hero wasted no time in rushing over to pull you into a bone crushing hug, and he laughed loudly as he spun you around a few times before setting you back down on the ground.

“It’s been years (Y/N)!”

Hizashi punches your shoulder lightly.

“Why didn’t you ever call?!” He pouts.

You laugh softly, shaking your head at him.

“Because somebody changed his number and never gave him his new one, and NEVER replies to messages on social media.”

He grins sheepishly.

“Okay, okay, that’s my fault. Oh Aizawa is here too!”

Your eyes widen slightly at the mention of that name.

It had been years since you saw Hizashi, even longer since you last saw Aizawa, not since you guys had an explosive argument and the worst part was you couldn’t even remember what it was about.

“You’re kidding? Aizawa? A teacher?”

Hizashi grinned and nodded his head.

“Yup! He’ll be here in a minute!”

Your eyes widen a little as he says that, and as if on cue the door is pushed open, and a very heavily bandaged Aizawa walks through.

He grumbles to himself as he walked in and paused the moment he saw you, his eyes widening just slightly.

“Jeez, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Aizawa huffed, rolling his eyes at you as he walked over to sit down at his chair.

“Shut up.”

Hizashi laughed, patting your shoulder and he looked at you, taking in your ear piercings, and he stepped back, crossing his arms.

Copying his posture, you raised a brow in question.

“Tattoos? Piercings?” He asked with a slight hint of confusion.

You laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head.

At the mention of tattoos and piercings Aizawa looked over, looking at the coloured ink that covered your arms, the piercings that lined your ears.

“I forget it’s not really normal here, I guess I’ve been living in the states for that long im so used to how they do things there now.”

Hizashi hummed a little in understanding.

“Well it suits you!” He beamed.

He grinned at you, giving you a knowing look as he sat down in his chair to start the commentary.

You stand between him and Aizawa, listening to what they’re saying and explaining.

While you were stood there Aizawa would occasionally look at you, studying the tattoos that he could see on your arm.

A tiger, some flowers trailing down a vine along your arm, some lyrics to a few of your songs.

He still hasn’t said much to you, and you hadn’t really engaged in conversation with him either, but as lunch came around you headed to get ready for your show.

While Hizashi went to get lunch Aizawa got ready to take a nap.

He was already half asleep when your show started, and he found himself lifting his head a little bit looking down at the stage cementoss had created for you.

He had never admitted it to you or anybody but he enjoyed listening to your singing back in middle, and he sometimes found himself listening to your music when he was alone grading his papers.

He could see you having the time of your life, a huge smile on your face as the crowd cheered and whistled.

You only played a few songs before you headed back inside so they could get the stadium ready for the next events, and that’s where you found Aizawa standing in the hallway waiting.

“Aizawa?”

He lifts his head slightly, letting your gaze.

“Can we talk?” He mutters, gesturing to a nearby waiting room.

With a heavy sigh you follow him, and he stands in front of the door once you’re both inside to stop you from leaving, or other people entering.

Aizawa sighs a little, looking at you as you sit down on the table.

“I never thought you’d be the type to get tattoos…” he mumbled.

You raise a brow at him.

“We’ve not spoken in nearly 10 years and you want to talk about my tattoos?”

“No… I just… I don’t know…”

He sighed, leaning against the door and closing his eyes for a moment before he opened them again.

He walked over, sitting next to you on the table with a small huff of pain.

“Look (Y/N) I’m sorry okay…? For everything I said back then, I was stupid, and immature, and I wasn’t thinking.”

With a sigh, you look down at your hands and he looks down at them as well.

“I really do like your music by the way…”

“You, Shouta Aizawa, like my music? You don’t listen to music.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m trying to be nice here and you’re making it impossibly hard.”

You grin a little bit at him.

“Call it payback.”

“Why the hell are you so stubborn?”

You simply offer him a small shrug, and he sighs, shuffling a little before resting his head on your shoulder.

He used to do this a lot, he wasn’t much of a physical contact person, but it was no secret to you and Hizashi that Aizawa found comfort in you, and felt relaxed with you.

Reaching up, you carefully place a hand on his bandaged cheek.

“You know, technically we never broke up.” He mumbled.

“Oh my god…” you laugh.

“It’s true, you never actually said the words ‘we are finished’.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna start that now? That we’ve still somehow been dating this whole time?”

“Well have you been seeing anyone else?”

You stay quiet for a moment.

“Shut up…”

This earns you a small rare chuckle from him.

“So there you have it, still dating.”

“You’re so stubborn…”

He hums in agreement, shuffling a little to get more comfortable resting against you.

“You’re mine forever…” he mumbles.

With a soft sigh, you turn and kiss the top of his head.

“You’re so stubborn Shouta…”

He lifts his head a little.

“Before you fully end things between us just give me one more chance, that’s all I’m asking, one more.”

“One more chance.”

He lets out a content sigh, resting his head back on your shoulder.

He’d been trying to figure out how to fix things between you for years but he could never bring himself to reach out to you, now was his chance and he wasn’t about to mess up again

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Love To Watch You Leave: Part 2

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Swearing, Fluff, Angst, Bullying, Eventual Smut, Grieving, Pining, Alcohol, Military Inaccuracies

- Part 1 Here -

——————————

18+ Only

——————————

You were quickly growing frustrated with the lack of jobs available in your field. You had really thought studying Meteorology would make the work come running to you, but you were so wrong.




Every employer asked for experience, always damn experience. How were you meant to gain experience if nobody was willing to take you on?




You were also extremely frustrated by the fact that Bradley was now home, all the time. Being back from deployment meant he didn’t have an awful lot to do, so he spent a lot of time tending to the front yard.




You also preferred to spend time on the front porch, so it became hard to avoid him, but you were stubborn enough not to let him scare you indoors.




You sat scrolling through job ads on your phone one day, feet tucked under you as you swung on the hanging bench, when you noticed your nemesis walking towards your house.




“What do you want?” You mumbled, not looking up from your phone.




“Got any bandaids?” He asked.




Your eyes were still glued to your phone, “Why? You got a splinter?” You looked up fully prepared to roll your eyes at some tiny little scratch he had, but his injury was far more severe. “Oh my god!” You squirmed, “What the fuck Bradshaw, how did you manage that?”




Bradley’s hand was covered in blood, a deep gash in the side of his finger. “It’s not that bad, the lawnmower was being temperamental.” He did look a little woozy despite his nonchalant words.




“So you thought you’d stick your fingers inside? Real smart. Go inside, I’ll get some bandages.” You directed him indoors with the point of a finger.




“Just get your mom, I trust her way more around my open wounds, you’d probably just cut me more.” He joked, moving to hold his hand over the kitchen sink.




“She’s not home, but if you’d prefer I’d be happy to just let you bleed out?”




Bradley breathed deeply through his nose and let out a loud sigh, “No, fine, you can do it.”




You quirked an eyebrow at him, “Uh… no. Ask nicely.”




“What?” He snapped at you, “Please tell me you are kidding right now? I’m bleeding, Y/N!”




You crossed your arms, “And I’m more than fine letting you die in my kitchen. Ask nicely.”




Bradley groaned and rolled his eyes, “Fine. Please, please could you help me not die?”




You grinned and walked up to him, turning on the tap and running the water over his finger. Once the blood washed away, you were relieved to see the cut wasn’t nearly as bad as you’d originally thought, so you grabbed some bandaids from the cupboard.




“Sit here.” You instructed, patting the top of the counter. Bradley did as instructed and you held his hand up to your face as you gently dried it.




“Hold still.” You mumbled as you concentrated on sticking a bandaid in the right place, followed by a second to hold it down for good measure.




“There, I saved your life. Don’t make me regret it.” You sighed, leaning against the opposite counter and crossing your arms.




“Hardly, but thanks anyway. Guess you’re not completely useless.” He was inspecting your handy work, his face still slightly pallid. “Still a waste of space though.”




“Seriously, fuck you. What did I ever do to make you such a dick to me?”




Bradley shrugged, some of his colour returning as he stood up right, his finger sticking out awkwardly and padded with the bandaids.




“You were just annoying.”




“So because I was an annoying kid you made it your mission to ruin my life?”




“I hardly ruined your life!” He retaliated, his voice raising a fraction.




“Not for lack of trying! You’ve always been horrible to me. I didn’t deserve it.” You turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Bradley to stand in the kitchen, dumbfounded. He couldn’t understand why you were so upset.




Eventually he followed you, “It was just some harmless fun, it’s what people do.” He said, coming to rest against the door frame as you picked your phone back up on the front porch and continued to scroll.




“Not normal people.” You mumbled.




Bradley sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ok fine, I guess I’m sorry for being a little mean to you, happy?”




You ignored him, sitting back down on the swinging bench. You kept scrolling through ads, growing quickly frustrated with the lack of work.




You grunted in annoyance, throwing your phone to the other end of the bench.




Bradley eyed you up, and then he looked towards your phone, suddenly curious. He walked over while you frowned out towards the street, your arms crossed.




“What is it?” He asked as he picked up your phone and sat down next to you, much to your dismay.




“Nothing, give that back.” You reached half heartedly for your phone, but Bradley held it out of reach as he read.




“You looking for work?” He knew you were, but you nodded anyway.




“Well…they’re hiring for a Junior Aerographer’s Mate at work. I can’t guarantee they’ll take you on, I mean… look at you.” He gestured towards your face, clearly thinking he was being funny, “but I can put in a good word for you.”




You screwed your face up in confusion, “Are you messing with me?”




“No, why would I?” He leaned back into the bench, making himself at home.




“You’re kidding? You’ve literally never done a nice thing for me once in your life, if anything you were actively trying to make my life hell, so how do I know this isn’t some kind of messed up prank?”




“Consider it a one off, because you helped me today.” He seemed serious, his body relaxed and no hint of a smile, so after a few seconds of inspecting his face, you nodded slowly.




“Okay… thank you.”




———————————




The next Monday, you went for your interview with the navy, Bradley had been true to his word and you were very surprised when your phone rang and a big bubbly booming voice on the other end invited you for an interview. He sounded jolly, too jolly, and at first you thought it was a prank, but much to your delight it was a real place and you had to go through quite a few security gates to get there.




You walked into the office waiting room, nervously smoothing out your skirt before sitting down on a bench and waiting patiently. A few agonising minutes later, another interviewee walked out of the little office and a tall, stocky, middle aged man walked out behind him in uniform.




He noticed you, and suddenly his face lit up and his arms lifted to welcome you. “Ah! Miss Y/L/N I take it? I’m Lieutenant Commander Harris, we spoke on the phone!”




You stood quickly and shook his big bear hand, “Yes! That’s me, thank you so much for inviting me today.”




You walked into his office and sat at a big wooden desk, your lack of a resumé sitting neatly next to your degree.




The interview went well despite this, and the man was happy with all of your answers. You discussed your schooling and why you wanted to get into Meteorology, you discussed the job role and starting salary and you were more than happy to take it on.




“Well, Miss Y/L/N, I think I speak for everyone when I say we’d be thrilled to have you on the team.” He grinned, standing and shaking your hand. “Now usually we’d review the applicants and do call backs, but it’s easy to see you will be the best one for the job. Can you start next week?”




You laughed with elation, you couldn’t believe it. “Yes, absolutely! Thank you so much, you won’t regret this!”




The man beamed down at you, “I’m sure we won’t, plus we were just happy to hear that Rooster found himself a little lady, finally! He was always so focused on work - which don’t get me wrong, is a good thing! But I was starting to think he’d never find someone.”




Your eyes went wide and you suddenly felt sick, “Huh?”




“I mean, your qualifications are impressive, but it’s no secret having a partner in the forces does help a bit.” He winked at you.




You didn’t know what to say, too scared to correct him in case your new job would be sent out the window with his dignity.




“Mhm.” You forced a smile, “it… certainly does help.”




You turned around and he showed you out of his office, still very jolly, and you quickly shook his hand once more, desperate to make your speedy exit.




“Thanks again.” You faked another smile.




“Say, before you go, are you busy this weekend?”




Suddenly, a little more excited and thinking he wanted you to start work a few days early, eager to prove yourself as more than just an extension of Bradley, you smiled and shook your head. “Not at all! No plans, what do you need?”




He chuckled heartily, “Fantastic! It’s my wife and I’s 30 year anniversary, you and your fella Bradshaw are invited, it would be great to get to know you before you start next Monday. We’ll make sure a room is set up for you two in the guest house, I’ll email you the details.”




And with that, he disappeared back into his office, and the fake smile fell from your face. “Oh fuck.”




—————————




As soon as you pulled up outside your house, you stormed up to Bradley’s front door and knocked loudly.




He must have been napping, as he eventually pulled the door open, rubbing his eyes groggily.




“What?” He hissed.




You pushed passed him and stood with your arms crossed in his little living room.




“Interview go well?” He grumbled, sitting down on his couch. You couldn’t help but eye up his tight grey sweatpants, wondering what they hid underneath. You quickly diverted your eyes to his face, trying to mentally shake the disturbing thoughts away.




“Yeah, it did actually.” Your voice did not display the level of happiness Bradley thought it would.




“Okaaaay? Why are you biting my head off then?”




“Because of the reason I got the damn interview in the first place.” You began to pace up and down the small room, biting at your nails.




Bradley looked at you like you had 3 heads, waiting for you to elaborate.




“You told them that we’re… dating.” You spat out.




Bradley looked taken aback, “Uh, no I didn’t.”




“Yes, you did. They only picked me out of everyone else because I’m Bradley Bradshaws ‘little lady’.” You huffed, frustration lacing your words through gritted teeth.




“First… no I didn’t. Second-“ he grinned widely, “Congrats on getting the job, kid.”




You rolled your eyes, “No, Brad, this is a disaster. They think we’re together! What did you say to them?”




“I just said that someone needed a job in Meteorology, and when they asked who, I said your name and that you’d ‘been in my life forever’ so I could vouch for you, they must have gotten the wrong idea that’s all. Did you correct him?” Bradley shrugged.




“Correct him? You’re kidding, and embarrass him? Lose the job to someone with more experience. I don’t think so. I figured they’d forget and I’d never see you anyway so it wouldn’t matter, but…” you cringed, your hands covering your face.




“What? What did you do?” Bradley stood from his seat, suddenly nervous for his career.




“He invited us to his anniversary celebrations this weekend… for a whole weekend, in the same room.” You groaned.




“And you accepted?! What is wrong with you?”




“He asked if I was busy and I said no, so I couldn’t backtrack!”




Bradley groaned as he paced the living room, “This is bad, Y/N. If he finds out you lied-“




“Me?! It was you who gave him the wrong impression!”




“-then my career is over. I can’t be seen as the guy who vouched for a liar!”




“Bradley! Look, I think we’re both at fault here. Maybe we should just go back and apologise and let him know there was some sort of misunderstanding. I’m sure we’ll all laugh about it and-“




“No! Lieutenant Commander Harris is not someone you want to embarrass, we’ll… we’ll just need to go and pretend… and stage a break up or something.”




“What if he fires me because I’m no longer your ‘little lady’ anymore?”




“God, Y/N, he’s not a monster, just get in his good books or something and you’ll be fine.” He huffed, his pacing slowing to a stop.




You thought for a moment, “Okay… we can’t stage a break up on the first day though, that’ll look suspicious, or just be rude if we ruin his anniversary dinner.”




Bradley nodded, “Ok, so we pretend all is fine the first night, then… what? Get into a huge argument? Say you cheated on me?”




“No way, I’m not gonna be the bad guy in this scenario.”




Bradley rolled his eyes, “Fine, I’ll be the bad guy then. You can catch me with another woman or something, I don’t care.”




“Fine.”




“Fine.”




But it would not be fine, it would be far from fine as you’d soon come to find out, the worst was yet to come.




—————————




“You’re joking though, aren’t you?”




“No, mom. My worst nightmare has come to life. An entire weekend sharing a room with Bradshaw. I think I might be sick.” You mock gagged as you washed dishes and your mom packed them away.




“You know-“ she laughed, “I’ve always sort of hoped you two would end up together. He’s a lovely boy.”




You screwed your face up in disgust, “Mom! He’s not a lovely boy, he’s the worst. You’d seriously want him as your son in law?”




She shrugged and gave you a look, “He’s better than that Connor you dated.”




“I don’t know about better, but you’re right that I have a shocking taste in men.” You groaned dramatically. “Eventually I’ll meet a nice guy, but for now I need to focus on work, and how to get through this godforsaken weekend.”




After the dishes you went to your bedroom to pack for the weekend ahead. You had a few nice outfits but they were far too matronly for an anniversary weekend at a posh beach house.




You dug around some more but eventually gave up.




“Mom! We need to go shopping!”




———————————




The next day you and your mom went shopping for a couple of outfits, you got coffees and spent the day walking from shop to shop. You were having more fun window shopping than anything else, but eventually your mom gasped and pulled you towards a shop window.




“Look! That’s the one, you have to get it!” She excitedly pointed at a stunning pale yellow satin dress, ankle length but backless with a cowl neck, and she dragged you into the shop.




“Don’t you think it’s… too much?” You asked awkwardly as you held it up to inspect it.




“Darling, nothing you wear is ever too much, you make everything elegant.” She mused.




You bought the dress for the first night, the main event, but for the second night, which was going to be considerably more relaxed, you settled for a simple but pretty black dress, which you planned to pair with white tennis shoes. After all, day two was break-up day, you needed comfy shoes to make the getaway if need be, even if it was a fake getaway.




Clothes purchased and feet hurting, you made your way home, and you groaned in frustration when you saw Bradley was sat waiting for you on your porch.




Your mom walked up first, “Hi sweetheart, what are you doing here?”




“Hey Elsie, I just need to have a word with Y/N about this weekend if that’s ok?” He looked somewhat serious, so your mom raised her eyebrows at you and then looked back at Bradley.




“Sure, I’ll be inside if either of you need me.” She smiled sweetly and squeezed his shoulder before disappearing with the shopping inside.




“What’s up Bradshaw?” You asked half heartedly.




“Uh… we kinda have a problem.” He stood slowly, his hands sliding into his front pockets sheepishly.




“What is it?” You asked, suddenly anxious.




“My ex is gonna be there this weekend, and… let’s just say she didn’t take it very well when we ended things, so I don’t think she’ll take kindly to you, ya know, being my new ‘girl’.”




You rolled your eyes, “Oh is that it? Jesus you made it seem like something really bad had happened. I’m not scared of some old ex girlfriend, Brad.”




Bradley shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head.




“Yeah… but we kinda slept together a week ago.”




Oh.




Fuck. This weekend was about to become a whole lot more complicated.




—————————




- Part 3 Here -

[carooosa]

Enchanting Distractions

Summary: Tav (reader) has ADHD/is bad at setting boundaries when it comes to their party members. Astarion comforts them.

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Semi-canon compliant, takes place after the tiefling party and literally right before entering Act 2. I barely proofread it so sorry in advance. I was feeling particularly upset at myself today and so this is what I wrote up.

The days had been starting to blur together as you made your way through the mountain pass. Tomorrow your party would step into the shadow-cursed lands, so it was decided to set up camp early for the night to ensure that everyone was well-rested and prepared. Tension ran through the camp, everyone on edge with the possibility of finding the cause of the tadpoles. Whatever happens tomorrow could very well be the end of your journey.

As everyone set up their tents, you began to look through your supplies, separating potions, arrows, and scrolls into piles to give to your companions. While organizing everything, the sound of Lae’zel and Shadowheart bickering caused you to lift your head. They had never gotten along since the beginning of this tadpole mess but after the Githyanki Creche their hatred for each other seemed to amplify.

“I would say that I’m surprised that machine was unable to get rid of the tadpoles, but then again, I wouldn’t expect gith to know what they were doing,” Shadowheart had taunted Lae’zel.

“The zaith'isk was tampered with! Githyanki technology is far beyond your understanding, and if you had something other than a tadpole in your brain, you would realize the mistake in your words,” Lae’zel shot back. She turned to herself before saying, “Useless istik, mindlessly following a false god”

“What did you just say?” Shadowheart said as she readied herself to attack.

“Your ‘goddess’ ordered you to steal a precious artifact from my people, and yet knowing that does not change your unwavering belief. A goblin has more integrity than you,” Lae’zel said as she continued to walk away.

“Shar is a real goddess, unlike the githyanki’s petty attempt at a goddess, Vlaakith,” Shadowheart yells as she begins to sprint toward Lae’zel. The fighter had already pulled out her sword and the clashing of metal rang through the air. You sighed, standing up from the mess that laid out before you, and ran towards the fight. Before you could intervene, Karlach had taken her great axe and held it out in between the two aggressors before berating them.

“For fuck’s sake guys, the whole point of setting up camp early was to rest for tomorrow, not argue and waste our energy on dumb fights.” As Karlach said this, Shadowheart cast gust of wind to push her opponent back, accidentally hitting Karlach in the crossfire. She had succeeded at causing Lae’zel to lose her grip on her sword but had caused that sword to slash into Karlach’s leg. The tiefling groaned as she kneeled to the ground, clutching her thigh.

You ran back to your bag and turned it upside down, dumping all the contents onto the piles you had started to make earlier, and rummaged through your items until you found a healing potion and some fire-resistant bandages. When you ran over to Karlach to heal her, Wyll was already yelling at the two women who had caused an unnecessary injury.

“Your recklessness has caused this bloodshed!” he sounded exasperated as you handed Karlach the potion, unraveling the bandages and starting to dress her wound, careful to not burn yourself in the process. “You both are distracted by your own prejudices and disdain for each other that the thought you may be hurting others in the process never crossed your minds. So caught up in yourselves, you have yet to see the irony of the words you throw at each other.”

Wyll continued his lecture as you focus on Karlach, watching her toss aside the empty potion bottle. “Thanks, soldier,” she says with a weak smile. She pushes herself off of the ground, causing Wyll to pause his lecture and rush to her side. “I’m fine, just gonna head to bed early,” she says while sidestepping past him.

You take a breath and start to think of how to address the situation that just happened when suddenly, Gale is by your side, anxiously fumbling with his hands. Realization overcame you and you tried to recall the last time you had given the wizard an enchanted item to consume the magic from. 

“I know now might not be the best time,” he starts, “but there really never is a good time nowadays, is there?” he finishes with a chuckle to himself.

“I should have an enchanted ring in my bag—“ you stop when you glance back at your backpack, contents strewn across the ground.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Gale says quickly. “Dinner isn’t going to cook itself!” He makes his way to his tent and you drag your feet back to your backpack, dreading the mess you’ll have to clean up. Sifting through the items, you create another pile of the things you already looked through. Focused on organizing, you don’t hear Astarion sneak up on you.

“My my, these are quite the… piles you have here,” he says while crouching down across from you. “What’s with all these arrows and grenades? Have you decided to try your hand in ranged combat? Because if so,” he pauses, crimson red eyes staring into your soul, “I’d be more than happy to give you some private lessons.” He bares his teeth, his fangs glistening. You’re tempted to take him up on the offer before you remember why you got those items in the first place.

“Oh, those aren’t for me. I’ve been picking up stuff here and there, and I figured before heading out tomorrow I’d give some to everyone. I was actually organizing everything,” you say, completely forgetting that you were looking for a ring, “and I was going to try and figure out what would be best for everyone to have, but since you’re here, you can pick whatever you want.”

“I can choose anything here?” Astarion asks with a smirk. You nod your head and he responds by picking up your hand and giving it a kiss on the palm, “Then I pick you, my dear.”

Your cheeks flush red as you stutter out a response. “That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Astarion had been teasing you a lot more lately, and while you didn’t mind, it had proven to be an extra distraction. 

He chuckled at your pout, caressing your face with his other hand, his thumb pressing down on your lower lip. You both stare at each other for a moment, before he sighs and brings his hands back to his side. “Well, if I can’t have you I guess I need to figure something else out.” He scans over the pile and picks up a necklace.

“Wait, not that,” you say while snatching the jewelry away from him. “That can restore one of Shadowheart’s spells, I should go give that to her.” You stand up and run off to find the cleric, not noticing the disgruntled look Astarion has on his face. He sighs and looks down at the clutter, beginning to sift through the items.

While making your way to Shadowheart’s tent, you hear Halsin comfort a whining Scratch. “There, there, I’m sure we will retreive it soon enough,” the druid says while gently petting the dog. “Ah, Tav, could I bother you for a moment? Scratch seems to have lost his ball in a burrow and neither of us can reach it. Would mind seeing if you can grab it?”

Scratch runs up to you and paces around you in circles before you lean down to him, “Of course I’ll help you out, buddy.” Without thinking, you set the necklace on a nearby rock, crouching down to the burrow and searching for the ball. In the shadows you spot it, deep inside the tunnel, and you reach your arm in. 

Your fingers are barely able to reach the toy, and you’re about to maneuver the ball out when Gale speaks. “Tav, I’m terribly sorry to ask again, but were you able to find the enchanted ring perchance?” The ball rolls out of your grasp, and you let out a long sigh before retracting your arm.

“Sorry, Gale, I got distracted. As soon as I get this ball out for Scratch I’ll go and get it for you.” Content with that answer he nods and walks off. Reaching your hand back into the hole, you push yourself against the ground, the extra leverage closing the distance between your hand and the toy. You let out a breath before throwing the ball, Scratch bounding after it.

“Thank you, Tav!” Halsin says as he runs after the dog.

Walking back to where Astarion sits rummaging through your things, Wyll interrupts you. “Tav, do you by chance have a fire resistance potion? I was wanting to give Karlach these flowers to cheer her up,” he says, holding the bouquet in front of him sheepishly. Although Wyll and Karlach had been foes in Avernus, they’re relationship was slowly blossoming into a gentle romance.

“That’s very sweet of you, Wyll. I should have one in my stuff.” You both head over to the piles of items that Astarion had started to organize. It would be nice to have someone think about me like Wyll thinks about Karlach, you ponder as you bend down next to Astarion, grabbing the fire resistance potion that sat buried within the clutter. “Here you go,” you hand Wyll the potion, “I think those will make her very happy.”

Wyll says a quick thanks as he opens the potion with his teeth, hastily pouring the contents over the bouquet and heading off to Karlach’s tent. Clearing his throat, Astarion asks “Did Shadowheart enjoy your gift?” he says with a slight frown and a twinge of annoyance in his voice.

“My what?”

He stares at you for a second, before elaborating, “The necklace? The one that you oh so rudely snatched from my hands.” He watches as your face scrunches up tightly trying to remember what he’s talking about before you gasp.

“The necklace!”

“Yes, the necklace,” he sighs.

“Where did I put it?” you say as you frantically pat down your pockets.

Astarion starts to tease you again, “Really, darling, how could you misplace something like that? I thought that necklace was important after you had yanked it out of my hand and ran off to Shadowheart.” He’s chuckling to himself when he notices the genuine frustration that is starting to seep off of you.

“I just had it. I was holding it in my hand. Where could I have put it?” you mutter to yourself, your breath starting to quicken. Dread creeps through your chest as you begin to mentally retrace your steps. “Think, dammit, think!” Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, a lump taking place in the back of your throat. Astarion stood up and reached his hand tentatively towards yours, squeezing it gently to try and bring you back to the present.

Gale had made his way back over to you, seeing that you were near your things. “I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I really do need that ring if you have it,” He says while clutching his chest. Astarion glares daggers at the wizard who is either oblivious or purposely ignoring your stress, but you don’t notice as your mind has drifted off.

Right, you think to yourself, I came over here to look for the ring. Without saying a word, you push away Astarion’s hand and sink to the ground, aimlessly pushing around everything trying to find the ring. Astarion studies you, the way your hands seem to be searching for the relic while your eyes glaze over and stare at nothing, until your hand brushes over the small golden circle and you grasp it firmly. You sigh and recollect yourself before turning around and jumping up to Gale, handing him the ring with a forced smile and laugh. “Sorry for the delay! I’ve been so forgetful lately.”

He takes the ring from your hand, clutching it tightly while absorbing the magic into his chest. When he opens his hand, the ring is broken into two. “Ah, apologies. Dinner should be finished soon. Thanks again,” he says with a bow before leaving.

You sigh before returning to the pile, starting to organize it once again. From the outside, people would assume that you’re just forgetful and easily distracted, most even finding your frantic and hectic demeanor cute. You can’t help but feel like a burden, requiring constant reminders to stay on task, feeling like you need to rely on others instead of yourself. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, either, but no matter how many times you repeated tasks to yourself, how many times you had written down what needs to be done, how many times you had try to will focus into your mind, nothing changed. It's always been like this, and now with the stress of the unknown ahead, you’ve been getting distracted more.

Astarion watches you, determined to organize the mess on the ground. When he first met you, you had brushed off your forgetfulness and laughed along with anyone who had made a joke at your expense. It had annoyed him to no end when you would walk into the same room, multiple times, that you had just looted. This aloofness only seemed to grow after you both had come to an agreement that Astarion could drink your blood in order to satiate his thirst, the only side affect being your increased mind-wandering.

After another 30 minutes of watching you return to the same room over and over to loot, he had decided that you both would search the rooms together, if nothing else to lessen the time it took at each town. He didn’t expect that during the extra, private time you both were now spending together he would begin to grow fond of you. While he would be working on a lock of a chest, you would grab a book and immediately become immersed in it. At first, he would use this time to pocket the most valuable items found in whatever container he had just opened, but as time went on, he had started to ask you questions about what you were reading.

It had caught him off guard when you looked up at him with excitement in your eyes as you explained the gossip in the diary you found, and he couldn’t help but become intrigued himself. Quickly, a new routine had started: while Astarion would loot and lockpick whatever he could get his hands on, you would find diaries, notes, and books to read outloud. He would respond to the especially vulgar and outlandish things you would recite with theatrical gasps and awes. One time, you had stumbled across a particularly sad letter from a person who begged their lover to wait for them, only for their lover to respond that they had never returned. A choked sob had escaped your lips when you finished the letter, and Astarion had quickly called you over to distract you.

“It’s about time that you learn how to use one of these,” he said while he pushed a lockpick into your hands. “If you’re going to stare at me while I do all the work, you may as well get something out of it.” He had been joking, but you hadn’t taken it that way. A wave a guilt and embarrassment had washed over you as you resolved to force yourself to learn what he was teaching you. It was all in vain, however, as every ten minutes when he would ask you to demonstrate, your hands would clam up and your mind would go blank.

“Darling, is it really that hard to focus? Or am I just that distracting, hm?” he had joked.

You wouldn’t look into his eyes, instead you had begun to fumble with the lockpick in your hands. “I’m sorry,” you had whispered, “I’m really trying.”

You had expected him to berate you or to even make a joke about how useless you were, but instead he had sighed and positioned himself behind you, placing his hands over yours as he talked you through the steps, yet again, of lockpicking. When you had heard the final click of the lock, you quickly turned to look at the man who had helped you. Inches away from each other’s faces, he smiled softly and brought one of his hands up to your cheek as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“See? You can focus,” he had said while giving you a tight squeeze.

The sound of your sigh brought him back to the present, and he stared at you for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to go and look for the necklace while you do this?” You stop moving things around and just sit there, defeated. The necklace had completely slipped your mind, just like the ring. Your body begins to shake as tears run down your cheek. Astarion slowly kneels next to you, grabbing the potions and arrows from your hand and setting them off to the side. “Hey, it’s alright. Shh-shh-shh, there’s no need to ruin that beautiful face of yours.”

You start to sob quietly. Why was this so difficult for you? You were able to talk your way out of situations, fight enemies with ease, and coordinate a fighting strategy that used everyone to the best of their abilities, yet you were unable to do such simple things. You draw your hands to your eyes, pressing harshly into them to try and stop the tears that fall out. Astarion gingerly moves his arms around you in a hug, as gentle as he can muster as to not startle you. He squeezes you tightly and you stay like that for a while, before you’re able to croak out a simple question that leaves a pain in his chest.

“What’s wrong with me?” You move your hands away from your face and turn your head to look at him, expecting to see frustration in his eyes but instead finding something softer. It looks as if he’s genuinely concerned. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Tav,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper.

“Then why,” you say with trembling words, “why can’t I do such simple things? Why is it so difficult for me to remember what I’m doing, to not get distracted?”

Astarion sighs as he looks at you with his big, round eyes. “You are capable of much more than you know, my sweet. You were designated the leader for a reason. You’re brave, witty, and above all else, kind. You are so sickenly kind and patient with everyone, yet you don’t afford yourself the same grace,” he says as he rubs circles into your back. “You’ve been kind to those that don’t deserve it, but you’re never kind to yourself.”

“Thank you,” you reply meekly. You hated crying in front of your companions, but you found that you didn’t mind being comforted by Astarion.

“Besides, darling,” the vampire joked,” It’s hardly your fault that you keep getting distracted when there are six adult children who need constant supervision.”

“Don’t you mean seven?”

He pulled away from you with a gasp. “I think I am more than capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, you don’t need to see me for blood anymore then, right?” you teased.

Astarion squinted at you before his eyes softened and he pulled you into his arms again. You both sat like that for a while before he spoke, barely above a whisper, “I don’t only need you for blood.” Before you can respond, Gale’s call to dinner causes Astarion to push you up. “Go on, enjoy dinner.” You start to protest and gesture to the mess that still needs to be cleaned up before he cuts you off, “I’ll take care of it.” As he begins to sort through the items, he catches your eye before you leave. 

“I hope you know that I’m still expecting to see you tonight,” he says with a sultry voice. If you hadn’t gotten closer recently, you would take what he says at face value, a meaningless flirt to rile you up. But beneath his smirk you can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

It will need to wait for another time as your stomach grumbles, and you remember that you had forgotten to eat lunch that day. You say a quick thank-you before running off to join the rest of the party, feeling more at ease about the adventure that lay before you.

[bookshelf-dust]

the bad shit

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 1,192

warnings: swearing, possible allusions to depression, brief mention of death, a tiny finger injury, comfort

a/n: my brain does not seem to be in a writing mood right now, but i did manage to crank this out. i do enjoy making billy cry, so there’s that. i hope it’s alright! please let me know what you think. i’d really appreciate it. <33

————

Billy’s been fidgety since he woke. 

You hear the soft thud of his boots, muffled against the carpet of your bedroom floor. He makes his way towards you and kisses your forehead, knowing you’re probably too sleepy for a real kiss this early.

He doesn’t tell you how badly he needs one—that his hands are shaking with it. Though he doesn’t need to tell you. 

You’d heard his alarm clock go off, felt him stay in bed longer than usual, glimpsed him rubbing his face on the way to the bathroom. He hadn’t wanted to get up. Not one bit. 

And even though you can feel sleep calling you, feel the way it presses at your eyes, the way the warmth of the bed pulls you in—you sit up. 

Billy’s closer to the door now, but he hears you shuffle, and he’s quick to move back to you. 

“You need to sleep, baby.”

But your hands are already on his cheeks, and then you’re kissing him, shutting him up and telling him you’re right here. And you’ll be right here when he gets home from work. You’ll be a phone call away if he needs you during his shift. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you say, and your tone informs him that there’s no room for arguments.

You hook your fingers in his belt loops as you push off the bed, hoping that this will keep your half-asleep form from slamming into the wall. 

You kiss Billy again on the stoop, even if he is berating you for being barefoot in the cold. You watch him walk to the car, catch the way his fingers fumble with the keys, the way he doesn’t even have it in him to slam the door shut. 

He waves at you from behind the steering wheel.

“I love you,” you mouth, blowing a kiss. He’s quick to catch it in his hand, gesturing so that he’s tucking it away in his pocket for later. He responds just as he always does, but you can tell he’s still sleepy. 

That he’s tired. 

————

You aren’t home when Billy gets back to the house. There’s a note on the counter in your sweet scrawl, telling him that you ran out to pick up dinner. Eating at all had completely slipped his mind. 

Billy’s just having a day. He’d wanted to stay home but couldn’t, and not only has he been fidgety, unable to focus for want of home, of you, but his thoughts are getting the better of him. They’re suffocating. Telling him he’s not good enough for you, that he’s a waste of time—of your time. That he should’ve died like he was supposed to in that fucking mall. 

And he knows it isn’t true. He knows that you loved him before any of that, when he was just being an asshole, when he was just pissed that he’d had to move. And you love him now, even when he has bad days like this. 

But his head. His mind. It tells him otherwise. It fights and it claws and it screams at him. And today he is losing that fight, letting his mind yell and tear at him. 

Billy tries to distract himself and wash the dishes, but he only gets so far before he drops something and almost breaks it, before he cuts his finger on a knife he put in the damn sink. After that he tries to find a band-aid but spills all of them on the floor, and the first one he opens gets stuck on the wrapper and he can’t use it. 

Once he does secure the pink bandage around his pinky, he goes to clean up his mess and hits his head on the counter. He tries to change clothes and trips, gets his belt loop stuck on a drawer handle. 

“God fucking dammit.”

After that one he gives up and throws himself on the kitchen floor, choosing a beer with a pull tab rather than a cap for fear he might actually hurt himself and bleed out.

He hears the sound of you locking your car, the door squeaking when you open it, and he knows he should’ve gotten up to help you, but he just couldn’t. He starts to cry. 

“Billy? Where’s my baby?” 

The sound of your voice causes him to hiccup, and you’re on the floor in front of him in a matter of seconds. 

He’s covering his face with his hands, and you know then that the day must’ve gotten the better of him. 

“Hey, let me see you. It’s okay, honey, I’m right here.”

Billy looks up at you, lashes clumped together with tears, nose red and lips all swollen. He looks so frustrated with himself, so beat, that you ache for him. 

He wishes he was stronger. That he wasn’t breaking down in the middle of the kitchen, but you told him once that it’s okay to have bad days. That you're always going to be there on the worst ones. 

He puts the beer down the moment you hold your arms out, crawling into your lap and burying his face in your chest. You don’t care that he’s heavy or that you’re not entirely sure you’re getting any air in your lungs. You care that he’s letting go and that he’s showing you this vulnerable part of himself. 

Billy cries, he weeps, against you for what seems like forever. But you don’t mind. You only want him to feel better. You rub his back, play with his hair, anything to soothe him just that little bit. 

When he’s finished, when he’s caught his breath, he pulls away. His cheeks are pink and you’re sure he’s berating himself for having just sobbed like that. He’s sitting on his knees, fingers scratching at the freckled skin of his arms. He looks young like this. Lost.

“Was it just a bad day? Or is it the bad shit?” 

That is Billy code for I’m spiraling and I need help. For I’m having a hard time and I can’t do it alone. I don’t know how to say it. 

You established that little code pretty early on in your relationship, knowing it would be helpful in getting Billy to talk about his feelings with you. 

“The bad shit,” he tells you. 

“It’s not true,” you say. “Whatever your head is telling you today, it’s not true. Not today, not ever. You gotta say it for me, okay?”

He gives you the barest shake of his head before he pauses and tries to steel himself so that he can do it. He doesn’t want to let you down. 

“It’s not true.”

You grin at him. “Right. And you’re a badass. And we’re gonna eat dinner, and then we’re gonna talk it out, and then we will lay down. And maybe I’ll scratch your back for you.”

Billy nods. He hates that his breath catches at that, that the offer brings him pure, unadulterated joy. 

“Okay.”

He can do that. He knows he can offer that much. 

Because he is a badass. And he can try for you. For himself. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 90, Part 3

[Image ID: Lightningrunner yowls at Estherfern, "You took her from me! I barely got to know her! Why do you get to be a mother when she didn’t get to be mine?" Shrewflame and Whitepaw run toward the pair.]

ONE MOON PRIOR…

It seemed like a waste of a skilled cleric's time to accompany an apprentice to his training, but Estherfern supposed she would want someone close by if one of her kits were to injure themselves carelessly. She strolled beside Lightningrunner as Shrewflame and Whitepaw pranced ahead of them, making their way to Battle Beach. It seemed like far too gray and bright a day to spar, but the youth of RippleClan didn't care much for her opinion.

"Mr. Billowhaze said to be careful by the water," Whitepaw chirped, gazing up at his older brother like a Clan oogles a new leader. "Do you think Mom's stories about fish-cats are real?"

"Mom's an artisan, not a historian," Shrewflame laughed. "Her stories are all fake. Don't worry, the only creatures you should worry about in the ocean are poisonous fish."

"I don't think that makes me feel better," Whitepaw chuckled awkwardly. The two brothers left dainty pawprints in the sand.

"If you want to know more about the ocean," Lightningrunner said, "ask me anything."

"I will, Ms. Lightningrunner," Whitepaw promised, turning an ear back to her. Estherfern hummed softly at the young apprentice's strange phrasing. There was something humble about the titles, even though Estherfern had no idea what they meant.

"Battle Beach!" Shrewflame chirped as the patrol crossed into that special portion of the shoreline. To Estherfern, there was nothing particularly special about this portion of the beach as opposed to any other stretch of snow-dusted land. She wouldn't have known of their arrival had Shrewflame not pointed it out. Still, her Clanmates raved about fond memories sparring along the sand, so it was yet another thing she learned to keep her mouth shut about.

"Is sparring at all like that big fight Mr. Tallowheart and Ms. Cobaltchaser had?" Whitepaw asked, kneading the sand.

"That was just a fight, Whitepaw," Shrewflame laughed, running his tail over Whitepaw's head as he walked past. "When we spar with our Clanmates, we're practicing our skills and challenging ourselves. We aren't hurting one another, though. That's why you don't unseathe your claws. You aren't supposed to draw blood when you're training."

"I won't," Whitepaw promised. He ran to catch up with Shrewflame. He glanced back at Estherfern and Lightningrunner and called, "Ms. Lightningrunner, are you going to spar too?"

"I'll let you start with your brother!" Lightningrunner called. Estherfern found a partially dry spot closer to the trees. She sat her bandage down and tucked her paws under herself. Lightningrunner sat beside her, tail stirring the dusting of snow behind her. Shrewflame steadied himself, paws dug into the sand. Whitepaw copied him as best he could. His legs stretched out a bit too far to look comfortable.

"I'll start simple," Shrewflame said. "A lot of the basics of fighting involve the sort of moves cats instinctually use when they're in danger. Paw swipes, grabbing onto your enemy, things like that. Let's start with swipes. Swipe at my face, as best you—" Whitepaw's fluffy paw whipped out from his awkward stance. He smacked Shrewflame across the face. Shrewflame stumbled to the side, blinking wildly.

"Ah!" Whitepaw yelped. "Sorry, sorry! Are you okay?" Whitepaw hovered around Shrewflame, now scared to get too close. But Shrewflame just laughed. He shook out his pelt, letting his laughter ripple through his ginger fur.

"Now that was a swipe!" Shrewflame roared, rubbing his face on his leg. "StarClan, Whitepaw! Who knew you were so strong?" Whitepaw chuckled awkwardly, but his ears perked high and his tail unwound itself from his side.

Shrewflame went on about angling your paw and steadying yourself after a strike, but Estherfern's attention drifted. The forest had grown grayer by the day, and the snow meant approaching death and hibernation to the plants her fellow clerics so valued. She never imagined caring so much about medical stocks, but she never imagined any of this when she first set off west under the orders of her God.

"These two will be fine," Estherfern huffed to Lightningrunner, stretching as she stood. "I'm going to forage. Will you help?"

"Alright," Lightningrunner said, getting to her paws. Estherfern left her bandage behind and led Lightningrunner into the trees as Shrewflame and Whitepaw laughed and batted at each other.

RippleClan would soon turn to bark-based medicine as winter rolled in and vibrant herbs vanished, but it wasn't winter yet. It was the sort of weather where everything looked a bit like Estherfern; brown and tan and earthy. She could see how the world fought to ignore the approaching chill, even though the first frost had settled over the land. Green grass mixed with yellow, insisting on life. The earliest of winter blooms still dared not to show themselves. The land was waiting, preparing, hoping for a peaceful winter, just like all the Clans.

Estherfern brushed aside snow to get a better look at every plant. Not too far from Battle Beach, she uncovered chicory, its leaves almost identical to a dandelion. Artisans and caretakers could roast the root for their meals and strengthen everyone's stomaches. Estherfern carefully dug around the leaves and plucked the root from the frosty dirt.

"Is this something we should collect?" Lightningrunner called. Her paw danced around a large fallen branch, sprinkled with golden-brown mushrooms. Estherfern joined Lightningrunner and looped around the branch. She studied the mushrooms and their round caps, with a name quickly coming to mind.

"Deadly skullcaps," Estherfern warned, shaking her head. "I knew these mushrooms in my kithood. They are some of the most toxic mushrooms any cat has ever seen. They're as deadly as deathberries. Don't touch them."

Estherfern trotted back to her chicory root and picked it up. She glanced back at Lightningrunner, ready for the young historian to follow her to better, safer herbs. Yet Lightningrunner just stood there. She stared at the deadly skullcaps. Her dark blue eyes were slit and sharp. Her unnerving, unblinking glare drifted onto Estherfern.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Estherfern huffed, dropping the chicory root. Lightningrunner looked back to the deadly skullcaps.

"You should eat them," Lightningrunner said. Estherfern's claws instinctually slipped out. Her ears perked high, turning sideways, alert and ready.

"Say that again," Estherfern said. Lightningrunner's whiskers pushed back against her face. Her ears slowly turned backward, fighting not to go back. She looked at Estherfern once more. Her jaw quivered, searching for the path forward.

"You…" Lightningrunner gulped. She steadied herself, just as Shrewflame readied for Whitepaw's initial strike. "You should eat them. You, you should eat them, and you should die."

"By God, Lightningrunner, you're talking nonsense," Estherfern snapped. "What's gotten into you?"

"I," Lightningrunner stammered, "You… Ugh! What sort of justice is it when a killer goes free?" Lightningrunner curled her lips.

"Again, Lightningrunner," Estherfern growled, "you're talking nonsense. Justice? What justice?"

"You know what justice!" Lightningrunner cried. Her voice rose so fast and violent that Estherfern jumped. Estherfern never jumped. "You know what you did! You summoned the spirits. You got my mom killed!" Ah. That justice.

"I was wondering if you would ask me about that someday," Estherfern sighed, smoothing her pelt. "I don't have good answers for you, Lightningrunner. I meddled with forces I thought I could control, and RippleClan suffered for it. I've done what I can to atone."

"No you haven't," Lightningrunner whined. "You got away with it because Foampaw died, but what about Silverpaw? What about my mom? Do you think there's anything you can do to make up for that? I never saw her body, Estherfern! She was my mom! You took her from me! I barely got to know her! Why do you get to be a mother when she didn’t get to be mine?" Estherfern had no clever retort to that. She dipped her head, but her eyes caught a flash of red in the trees. Shrewflame and Whitepaw slowly approached the arguing pair, ears cocked in confusion.

"I'm sorry, Lightningrunner," Estherfern sighed, straightening, "but I'm not killing myself for you."

"Yes, yes you are," Lightningrunner growled, tail curling, voice cracking. "Eat the mushrooms, or… or I'll just kill you myself!" Shrewflame and Whitepaw ran. Lightningrunner's eyes bounced, blind to all but her own vengeance. "Eat them! Eat them, you foxheart!"

Lightningrunner ran at Estherfern. Whitepaw, small Whitepaw, too-strong-for-his-age Whitepaw, launched past his brother and landed on Lightningrunner's neck, a tail-length from Estherfern. Whitepaw's fangs dug into her scruff, but no, it wasn't her scruff, his jaw wasn't in the right spot, it was her neck, her spine, Whitepaw let go right now—

Light sparked in Lightningrunner's eyes as a violent spasm took over her body. Blood splashed in Whitepaw's mouth. Lightningrunner's strength ebbed away. Her claws, tense and ready to strike, relaxed. She grew limp as leather underneath Whitepaw. Lightningrunner didn't even have time to whine before her life left her.

Whitepaw let go. Shrewflame stumbled upon the scene, his body begging to retreat. Estherfern stood over Lightningrunner's body. She no longer looked like a killer. She looked like a kit.

Whitepaw whined, a wordless, painful cry. He fell off Lightningrunner's body. He ran to Shrewflame, burying his bloody face in his brother's red fur.

"How…" Shrewflame gulped. "What… I don't…"

"I was trying to pull her off!" Whitepaw wailed, voice muffled in Shrewflame's pelt. "I didn't want her to hurt Ms. Estherfern! I didn't want to hurt her!"

"White, White, I know," Shrewflame cooed. He slowly wrapped himself around his weeping brother, hiding all traces of blood-stained white fur from the world. Whitepaw shook so hard that Shrewflame struggled to stay upright. "I know, I know. It was an accident. I know, White. You didn't mean it."

But would the Clan see it that way? Another dead Clanmate, killed, murdered. It had nothing to do with Potterypool, but would anyone believe them? Estherfern barely believed her own senses. An apprentice, barely a quarter moon into training, somehow landing a killing bite on a well-trained historian? Not just any historian, the little sister to one of RippleClan's most unified and beloved families, the daughter of Weedfoot, the Celestial of RippleClan Deputies. The three cats who stood before Lightningrunner's body were outsiders, welcomed into the safety of the shipwreck. Would any of them be allowed to remain after this? Who would believe Lightningrunner, of all cats, would suddenly try to kill Estherfern? Who would see Whitepaw's actions as justified?

No. Whitepaw and Shrewflame were barely out of kithood. They wouldn't suffer for a mess Estherfern caused. This was justice.

"Both of you, listen to me," Estherfern snapped. Shrewflame and Whitepaw snapped out of their shock for just a moment, looking up. Whitepaw looked pink with the blood on his lips. "I'm going to fix this. Nothing will happen to you, Whitepaw. Shrewflame, here, now." Shrewflame slipped himself out from around Whitepaw and crept closer to Lightningrunner's body. Estherfern studied the deadly wound. Even though Whitepaw was close to full-grown, it was clear that no adult cat bit into Lightningrunner. "Shrewflame, I need you to bite into Lightningrunner. You have to cover up Whitepaw's teethmarks."

"But—" Shrewflame stammered, gagging on the thought.

"Shrewflame, we are doing this to protect your brother," Estherfern growled. "Bite her neck, now."

Shrewflame's lips curled, almost prancing in his indecision. But then he looked back at Whitepaw, with wide eyes and his awful, bloody face. Shrewflame hardened. He squeezed his eyes tight and snapped his fangs around the back of Lightningrunner's neck. Estherfern tuned out the squish of flesh and bone.

"Now, both of you, to the ocean," Estherfern ordered as Shrewflame let go and hurried back to Whitepaw. "You're going to wash the blood out of your fur. Don't get out until it's all gone. Then you're going to run to camp and tell the codekeepers that Lightningrunner is dead." Whitepaw pressed against Shrewflame. "This is what happened. While you were swimming, Lightningrunner went to investigate a sound in the forest. When she didn't come back, we went to find her. We found her body. We don't know who did this. We were on the beach. We heard nothing."

"I killed her," Whitepaw whined.

"No you didn't," Estherfern growled, trying to soften her voice. "Not anymore. No one will know. You're not in trouble. You're my hero, Whitepaw, you did nothing wrong. Now go." Whitepaw moved toward Estherfern, but Shrewflame nudged him back. He shook his head, wide eyes glancing at Lightningrunner. He shoved Whitepaw back toward the beach. The two young toms scrambled out of sight.

Estherfern paced around Lightningrunner's body. She brushed the snow with her tail, removing nearby pawprints. No one would be able to tell which way the attacker came from, even if they questioned the patrol's story. With her tail coated in frost and the scene firmly scuffled, Estherfern sat at Lightningrunner's side, like a cleric mourning her charge.

"You stupid child," Estherfern moaned, lowering her head into Lightningrunner's pelt.

No one would know.

(Estherfern: 123, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Whitepaw: 6, male, historian apprentice, nervous, active imagination)

(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Lightningrunner: 19, female, historian, nervous, explorer, helpful insight)

[Image ID: Estherfern says to Lemmy, "I don't want to ruin her legacy over a moment of weakness. Do you want the Clan to look at Whitepaw like a killer?" Halibutdusk, Scaleripple, and Oilstripe approach from the distance.]

---

At the end of the story, Lemmy could only sit and think it through. Honeybuzz and Estherfern stared at her, silent, squirming. The quarantine den seemed even colder now.

"No one would know," Lemmy muttered, staring at Estherfern. "Yet you told Honeybuzz."

"I have…" Honeybuzz groaned, "let's say experience with issues like these. Do you understand why we can't let the Clan know now?"

"Call me a hypocrite for this," Lemmy huffed, "but if Lightningrunner tried to kill you, Estherfern, wouldn't you want the Clan to know?" Estherfern bristled.

"None of it would have happened if I had not communed with Spirits of Shadow," the old cleric sighed. "Lightningrunner had the right to be mad at me. I don't want to ruin her legacy over a moment of weakness. Do you want the Clan to look at Whitepaw like a killer?"

Pawsteps broke the snow outside. It had gotten brighter in the time Estherfern spent telling her story. Now morning light burned against the trees beyond. Scaleripple, Halibutdusk, and Oilstripe stood outside, stone still. Time for the trial. Lemmy sighed and stood, squaring herself in front of her Clanmates' painful gaze.

"We need a little more time, please," Honeybuzz stammered, getting up and close to Lemmy's escorts. "We want this to be easy on the Clan. We're not done talking with Lemmy."

"I want her out of this camp," Scaleripple growled. Oilstripe cleared her throat, diverting Scaleripple's boiling blue hate away from Lemmy for a moment.

"The spirits in here are agitated," Oilstripe whispered, ears tilting back, ruffling the thick maple leaves stuck to her fur. "We don't want a long trial. If they can make her tell the truth now, the whole Clan won't have to hurt for long."

"Everyone's waiting, Oilstripe," Halibutdusk huffed.

"I know," Oilstripe groaned, "but do you think they'd rather sit there all day or wait a bit longer and be done with all this before sunhigh?" Halibutdusk and Scaleripple both squirmed, but neither confronted their deputy. Oilstripe turned to Honeybuzz and said, "Lead her out into the clearing when you're finished here." Honeybuzz nodded as Oilstripe led Scaleripple and Halibutdusk back around the shipwreck.

"We don't have long, Lemmy," Estherfern sighed. "I know you don't see your actions as strictly right and wrong, so why see this differently? There's no crazed killer living in our Clan. Don't make them suffer more than they already are." Lemmy's neck itched under her collar. Her head ached. Was there any good decision here? Was this any different than Lemmy's own coverup? Did the truth deserve to come to light? Or would the truth hurt worse than the lie?

"If I say I killed both Potterypool and Lightningrunner," Lemmy said softly, "what then?"

"Unless something strange happens at the trial," Honeybuzz explained, "Downstar has promised to exile you. Just play along with Waspdawn's version of events." Exile… not much different from the life Lemmy knew before RippleClan, before the Witch Hunters. And it wasn't as though she would lack purpose. There were still threats to the cats she cared for, threats to her kits and mate. She would do more good alive than dead. Even if it meant never seeing her daughters again. Maybe they would understand, one day.

"Do one thing for me, in return," Lemmy said. "Take care of my family."

"You deserve that, at least," Honeybuzz sighed. "Thank you. Are you ready, then?" Lemmy slowly approached the edge of the quarantine den. She could smell the grief and rage wafting off her Clan, just around the corner. The sun burned the land in brilliant purple and red, yet no warmth pierced the snow that muffled all birdsong. The walls of the shipwreck burned with illusionary fire. A good final view of her home.

"Take me to my exile," Lemmy sighed.

(Lemmy: 66, female, exiled, cold, deep StarClan bond, good mediator)

(Honeybuzz: 38, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Estherfern: 124, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Scaleripple: 43, male, warrior, lonesome, formidable fighter)

(Oilstripe: 94, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Halibutdusk: 82, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hey! I really enjoy your headcanons for LOTR and will always bring a smile to my face when a new one is written. I know you probably have quite a lot of requests, but I was wondering if the fellowship could react to their crush having an injury? It could be any injury, from getting a scrap from falling off a tree to a dangerous gash on their side. I don’t know how comfortable you are with blood, or gore?, so no worries if this is not your cup of tea! Just wanted to put my idea out there and say thanks for writing these lovely headcanons from my favorite books and movies! ☺️

Awe thank you! You are too sweet. I’m a huge sucker for hurt/comfort so I enjoyed writing these :)

I kinda strayed from strictly a “crush” and this can be interpreted as crush/friend/partner, however you wish

How the Fellowship reacts to you getting hurt

Aragorn:

-He received notice and he’s on the job

-Weewoo here he comes with his chewed up herbs!

-Ok that’s an exaggeration but he is quick to help

-However he doesn’t go overboard

-If you trip and scrape a knee he will help you up and check that you’re ok

-He knows you are fine, and makes sure you know that too

-I just imagine him having the mindset of how you deal with a little kid scraping a knee where as long as they can’t see the blood they are fine

-Deal with it quickly and they will forget it even happened

-If you are genuinely in pain he is super reassuring and constantly apologizing for the sting of cleaning the wound

-Very strict with recovery rules; won’t yell at you or anything but his look of disapproval is enough to keep you in bed

Legolas:

-He is no healer, but he knows how to take basic care of an injury

-He will tease you if the injury is from something silly or simple

-But he doesn’t mean anything by it

-However if it is a bad injury; let’s say for sake of setting a scene you are shot with an arrow

-He knows how to deal with this; he’s thousands of years old so this isn’t the first time seeing this

-However for you I think he panics and will call for help

-He knows there are more capable hands for healing and he couldn’t bear doing something wrong or making it worse

-He will take the arrow out if no one else is there but he would rather be comforting and distracting you; he doesn’t want to cause you anymore pain

-It’s kinda like how surgeons generally don’t operate on their own family; it’s just too emotional and stressful

Gimli:

-He talks so incessantly when he’s nervous

-Mostly mumbling to himself as he checks you over

-Might accidentally say to himself “this is bad” before correcting himself to talk to you directly

-“No not bad, you will be fine, you are in very capable hands”

-It’s just a little knife cut, doesn’t even need stitches

-But he bandages it like your arm was nearly taken off

-He will also tell you stories of injuries he’s gotten or has seen; real nasty stuff

-It’s not helpful or calming but he’s trying

Boromir:

-He wastes no time ripping his own clothes to make a bandage

-“Boromir we have bandages” “No time!”

-That is once again an exaggeration but seriously no one knows how he still has anything to wear with how much he rips them

-He is a captain of his guard so he has seen basically every injury there is

-So he actually is quite level headed

-Unlike Aragorn who will talk to you as he patches you up, Boromir is focused and has someone else talk to you if possible; he doesn’t really multitask well

-Will kiss it better (he still does this to Faramir too much to his embarrassment)

-He is kinda relaxed about recovery rules; like he will let you walk around a bit or whatever as long as you aren’t doing further damage

Frodo:

-For a little scrape he will calmly have you sit up on the counter by the sink and he will gently clean the abrasion

-Talks you through it and apologizes that it might sting

-He’s quite calm in general, and even if he wasn’t he wouldn’t show it because he wouldn’t want to stress you out

-A more serious injury, maybe a broken bone he is super pragmatic

-He is the person you want with you because he really does stay calm to help you through it

-Asks someone to go get help while he waits with you so you aren’t alone

-This isn’t necessarily on topic but he would accompany you to any doctors appointments if you ask

-I am a big pussy when it comes to shots, and I am known to faint from blood draws; I really don’t do needles

-He would never judge for something like that though and would happily hold your hand and let you hide your face in his shoulder

Sam:

-He goes a little overboard

-Even if you just tripped and didn’t even get hurt he is fussing

-He can’t help being attentive

-No one he loves will come to harm

-The most doting if you are put on bed rest, or simply have a hard time getting around at the moment

-Seriously, he will escort you everywhere; that is if you don’t let him just do it for you

-I love how he talks to Frodo about the trolls even though he knows his friend is more focused on not dying

-Like Gimli, he will also tell you stories, but his are less gory

Merry:

-“do you want me to hit you to distract from the pain?”

-He’s a little silly about it if it’s a little scrape; and this stems from using humor to distract Pippin when he was younger and would fall

-He is a gentle and thoughtful hobbit; something that you really get to see in the books

-He is super gentle when cleaning any cut; and he gets you to talk to him as a distraction

-If it is something major you know he will get you the best care possible

-He is rich; let’s not forget that

-Like Frodo he will accompany you to appointments; they all probably would, but these two will offer before you can even ask

-Actually, he probably makes your appointments too

Pippin:

-I’m sorry but no matter your relationship to him he will laugh at first (if it’s not obviously bad)

-People falling is funny and he can’t help it

-But he will help you brush off and if you are actually hurt he immediately goes to help

-Will do the half carry where he is supporting your weight as you walk

-Even if you are significantly taller and it would be faster if you walked normally

-He is kinda at a loss for what to do so he gets someone who knows more about healing to help

-While he kinda stands with you with thumbs up “you’re gonna be fine” while sweating profusely

Gandalf:

-To be completely honest, if it’s something small he doesn’t really do anything for it

-If you are upset he will comfort you, but he wants you to be able to handle yourself if need be

-He also has things to do ya know; he’s an important man

-This is not meant to make him sound mean or dismissive; he just won’t make a fuss if you aren’t and it’s nothing to fuss over anyway

-Unless it is serious; then he is using any healing knowledge he has to help you

-My dad always says jokingly “welp, unfortunately we will have to amputate” over paper cuts and such and Gandalf would absolutely do this too

[i-bring-crack]

Ratiorine medieval AU where Aventurine tries to escape being sacrificed to the Demon King and, in turn, finds himself kidnapped by the Dragon Veritas instead.

The Chiuch of Qlippoth has a tradition of sending their most beautiful men and women to the Demon King. The stonehearts, so they called them. They say that the sacrifice of the stonehearts are a way to keep the peace between humans and demons at ease, but it is all just a lie, and the sacrifices are only to strengthen Demon King and his army, while the church is given the army to control the people from challenging them. Aventurine and his sister had connected this knowledge for so long, but now he is the only one left with the truth as his sister was made a stoneheart sacrifice for the Demon King and sent away to his castle. He plans to get her out of that place one day. If not alive, then at least dead to hold a funeral for her. But first, Aventurine needs to escape the clutches of the church.

It was a huge gamble, but in the end, he managed to get out of there. Bloodied, wounded. With his white attire and gold ingots everywhere, he looks like a ghost wife. Thankfully, he is in the deeper parts of the forest, where a supposed dragon lives, said to be taller than palaces and cast wilfires with his breath. Aventurine doesn't believe there to be a monster like that so close to a human civilization, but he is glad that at least this story keeps everyone away from venturing too deep into the forest. The church won't find him here, and he can recover as much as he needs, but gods, the bleeding is too much, it's bound to attract wolves, he can only limp and fall to the ground as his gaze slowly shrinks into darkness.

And the next thing he knows, he is in a tub. In a cave more precisely, but somehow in a tub. There's herbs to his side, needles and weird silver utensils with blood on the other. The water is also not that cold, rather it seems to be heating up. To say Aventurine is scared would be an understatement. Quickly he tries to escape this horrible (lucky yet unlucky as always) situation he has been put through, but before he can get his feet out of the tub a literal dragon wakes up in front of him and stares down at him. The darkness of the night had camouflaged him so well that even as Aventurine tried to calculate how huge he is, he could only clearly see the golden-red eyes of the dragon. (Haha doctor your huge)

"Don't move." The dragon says it so quietly yet it still makes Aventurine tremble before going back into the tub. He covers his body quickly realizing now that he doesn't have anything on except bandages all where he got hurt and a simple cloth to cover him from his shoulders to his knees.

The dragon then surprises Aventurine even more by shifting into a human look alike(he admits its the most beautiful man Aventurine has ever seen, but right now he cant focus on that—) and walking towards him with a disgruntled face to explain the situation to him.

Aventurine has 1, entered through dangerous territory despite the warnings of this forest, so ofc the dragon has to drive them out. But 2, since the human is injured to the brink of death, the dragon decided to take care of him until his body recovered.

"...But wouldn't it be better for you to just eat me instead? Why waste so much effort into helping me recover?"

"First of all, I don't eat humans. Secondly, what gives you the idea taking care of a human will be a struggle for a dragon of wisdom?"

.

Seeing as it is hard to debate the dragon— doctor, aventurine decides to call him now— to nope out of his treatment, and for Aventurine to find help somewhere else, he decides to take the gamble and recuperate until his body is healed.

The doctor is surprisingly kind for a species that doesn't like humans and burn down villages when interrupted from their nap. Or so the tales of them are told. He's never seen a dragon in real life, so the doctor itself is already a fascinating sight to behold (his human side as well is a treat for the eye). Still, what impresses him the most is the fact that he cares about humans. At least those from his rural zone. Upon being able to walk around the cave, Aventurine discovers that all the books the dragon holds are from humans that gifted him such things for his help. He trades knowledge for food and trades his service for more knowledge. The books are maintained and transcribed over and over again that Aventurine can see the care handled into preserving them all, even the tiny letters the dragon is said to have kept from his former students. Unfortunately, they all died many years ago, seeing as how fleeting a human life is, it was bound to happen each time. But it didn't seem to shake the dragon's will to keep on taking more students (those who dared and survived his harsh teachings) and helping any human around him.

As the wound healed it seemed like Aventurine was also healing from his past, learning things the church would have never let him, while still planning a way to get his sister back from the claws of the Demon King.

(Fuck I forgot got to say this— Veritas was given his name by Aventurine since no one had tried to give a dragon a proper name until now. Usually, they would just call him a doctor, the dragon, teacher, or other things since they thought it would be disrespectful to call him by a name or give him one too. And since dragons don't see a meaning to having a name, he was fine with it. But Aventurine wasn't! So he ended up thinking about it for days before deciding to call him Veritas. Due to showing all the truth of the world that he had never gotten to see when he was trapped in the church. Aventurine is the only one who calls him Veritas now, hahahahahah)

[comicarc]

𝐈 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐈𝐗)

previous • next

"A lonely moon craving for the radiant sun." In which a certain girl catches the attention of a prideful billionaire playboy as they both attempt to find their way in the world. (I haven't seen many fics explore Bruce in his formative years, so I thought I'd share my take on them, of course with romance.)

wc: 2201

A/N: "The future influences the present just as much as the past." -Friedrich Nietzsche

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That’s it! That’s where you’re gonna stop?” The little boy groaned, resting his head on y/n’s lap as she bandaged his hand. 

“Why of course, you’ll hear the rest when you’re ready. For now, mull over my words for there is always something to learn from history.” She smiled looking into the eyes of the little boy with a motherly affection. 

“What’s there to learn? Bruce Wayne’s selfish, Harvey Dent is ignorant and you–you’re just plain depressed.” The boy rolled his eyes, annoyed that he’d wasted half his night listening to a story without a climax. 

y/n’s smile widened as she chuckled. “I thought you were smart, little robin. No one ever tells you that bravery feels like fear. And it’s easy to be brave when you’d rather die than give up.” She combed a hand through his hair, humming some lullaby. 

As she tied the end of the bandage, securing it, the little boy sat up and leaned against her shoulder as he clarified, “So you’re saying I should fight till my last breath to get what I want? To be stubborn.”

“As hell. Or else the world will devour you, and you’ll be left dreaming.” She finished. 

The boy turned his head to face her, expecting the same gesture she gave him every night. Placing a kiss atop his forehead, y/n rose from her couch to prod at the flame burning in the fireplace with a poker. The boy watched her, unwilling to move from his seat. 

He loved y/n’s humble abode, for it overlooked Gotham in such a way that the city looked like a dream. From the window, he could see a sea of lights below and skyscrapers decorating the skyline in the distance. It was a picturesque view.

Not to mention her apartment was the perfect size, not too small that it felt claustrophobic but not too large that it felt artificial. There was a coziness to it that he never felt in his “real” home. The kind he craved to bathe in till the end of time. 

“Can I stay tonight?” He asked for the umpteenth time in the past week. He knew what she would say, that she truly wished she could but she couldn’t deprive his father of such a wonderful presence.

“Y’know what, why not? It’s the holidays, and I’m sure Batman wouldn’t mind you having a little time to yourself.”

“Really? Yes!” The boy exclaimed. Immediately he was on his feet, running to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As soon as he had his food in a bowl the boy ran back and turned on the TV above the fireplace, setting it the movie Home Alone. He cozied himself into the couch, cuddling into a blanket he found nearby, and patted at the empty space beside him, indicating for y/n to join him. 

She told him she needed a moment outside before joining him for the night. Setting the poker down in its mantle, y/n walked out to the patio, sliding the door behind her to ensure that the little boy would be none the wiser to what was happening outside. 

She took slow steps to the edge, leaning over the railing with her hands folded atop it. “I let him stay tonight. I hope you don’t mind,” she spoke, her words fading into the crisp air. The moon shone down as if illuminating just her. The rest of her patio was shrouded in a darkness so deep, that even a bat couldn’t see through it. 

That’s where he remained hiding as he answered, “Robin needs the break. Make sure he comes back in the morning.” He hesitated before he took a step into the light. Though he still remained out of her sight, she could feel the warmth exuding from his armored body. Standing on her feet again, she moved a step away from the rail until her back was only inches from his body.

“Batman, what a peculiar name. However, did you come up with it?” She began, hoping she’d elicit a reaction. There was a familiarity to his voice that she couldn’t quite place due to the modifier. 

Met with silence, she attempted conversation again. “It’s a beautiful, silent night. I remember a time when Gotham’s symphony was especially deafening during this hour. Why remain in the dark when you can bask in the light of the city’s new hope?”

“Darkness shields just as much as it threatens.” He confessed, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

“And light guides us home, to happiness.” She responded. She wished she could whip herself around, to face the dark knight in all his glory, but she knew he’d have left by now. He was never one to stay too long, but at least his fleeting presence made his company all the more precious.

Alone on the patio, y/n headed inside, back to the Bat’s protege: Robin. Inside, the eager little boy ignored the movie, and began to question y/n’s story yet again. “Please, please, please tell me more. What happened with the case, what happened after they found out where you lived?”

“Well, Falcone’s still serving time in jail, so to say we succeeded would be an understatement. Talking about the trial would be a bore, especially since most of it is public record. As for the boys, well nothing really changed. Harvey hung out more and more with Gilda until they fell in love when they went to Harvard. Bruce went to Yale and essentially dropped off the face of the Earth until he returned to Gotham last year.”

“Ok, if you don’t want to talk about them then I get it. But what about Dr. Crane, what happened with him?” Robin persisted. 

“That’s for another night, alright? Patience is a virtue you really should practice.” She chuckled, moving one of the couch pillows under his head as he slouched into a sleeping position. She patted his side until the boy forgot all about the movie and fell into a restful sleep beside her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A year prior, Bruce Wayne had come back to Gotham. Really, it was more like he had snuck in. For months he remained a recluse, until one day he threw the biggest gala Gotham had ever seen at his mansion. He called it his homecoming ball, but y/n believed it was merely a distraction. The Bruce she knew always used such extravagance as a facade, but there was always the fact that he’d been gone from Gotham for nine years. He’d most likely have changed in that time as any man would. 

By then, at the ripe age of 27, y/n herself had earned her spot in the Gotham Gazette. Having earned a few awards for her writing debut about her involvement in the unraveling of Falcone’s drug operation all those years ago, y/n was able to go to Gotham University and eventually Columbia to earn her degrees in journalism. From there, she was hand-picked by the Gazette to work for them as a full-time writer.

Batman had come into the picture just a month after Bruce’s return, but his presence was so rare that at first, he seemed a myth. Even now, a year later some people still doubt his existence. The only real proof people have is Robin, who showed up in his colorful spandex three months ago. y/n found the little bird in a back alley near her home on his first day, and ever since she’s been helping stitch him up or give him company on the nights he patrols as a sidekick to Batman.

Sending off Robin in the morning, y/n had the remainder of the day to prepare herself to attend another Wayne gala for Christmas. It was a dreaded assignment, for she had wanted to keep herself at a distance from any Wayne, but things don’t always work out the way we want them to.

Before heading to the mall to buy a nice gown for the black tie event, y/n headed to Gotham Academy. She was to meet an old friend at the now-abandoned stands that faced the racetrack. The place where it all began. 

Seated on the stands, she shielded herself from the winter wind with the large men’s coat she wore. Its color had faded with time, but the warmth it trapped was still able to keep her comfortable. It was large on her, but that made it all the more comforting for it engulfed her in a tender embrace. 

A tall, lean figure approached her, with his hood up and a mask to conceal his face. He was muscular, an attribute evident by the way the jacket comfortably hugged his figure. There was a noticeable bulge at his side in the shape of a sidearm, but it was tucked away snugly enough to reassure y/n that it wouldn’t be needed. 

The man took slow steps toward her as he took in y/n’s still form in all its glory under the morning sun. She looked absolutely angelic, with golden rays illuminating her glorious face. The man was utterly entranced by how beautiful she looked, despite the apparent lack of effort she had put into her appearance. 

“Harvey, dashing as always.” She broke the silence with her honey-laced voice.

He smiled as he took off his mask. Sitting beside her he replied, “y/n, lovely as ever. Merry Christmas.”

“I have the file you want, but I can’t imagine why you couldn’t get it yourself.”

“I may be a man scorned, but Two-Face still has his limits.” That may have been true for many things, but this circumstance was different. He wanted an excuse to see her again.

After the accident, Gilda had left him, his public image was ruined, and his mind was in shambles. Yet, y/n remained at his side, as his sole supporter. Even when he changed, when his pain led him down the dark path of criminality, y/n continued to stay in contact with him. He knew she hoped she could change him for the better, but they both knew it was a misplaced expectancy. 

She deserved the world for the kind of woman she was, and that was the very reason Harvey refused to make his advance. He couldn’t give her the heaven she deserved. He feared no man could. But Gotham had recently been put under new authority with all the Arkham inmates running around like they owned the place. And with vigilantism becoming a new trend, who knew what divinity may enter the equation to whisk her away for good? 

Handing Harvey the file, y/n stood. Quirking an eyebrow at her sudden departure he remarked, “Is that my coat?”

With her back to him, she answered, “Merry Christmas, Apollo.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At last, she returned to her humble abode. At the entrance, there lay a large cardboard box marked with her address. At first glance, there was no sender, no note, nothing that eased y/n’s suspicions. y/n was hesitant to pick it up and bring it inside with nothing to reassure her that it was safe to open.

But a nagging instinct allowed her to let go of her precaution and do just that. Once inside, she set it down on the nearest counter, grabbed an exacto knife, and carefully sliced through the edges of the packaging. The box opened to reveal a note engraved in gold letters, reading, “Make a proper debut in high society with a bang. Sincerely, An Old Friend” 

As she read the sign-off signature, a few people came to mind. Harvey was the first suspect, having been graced by his longing niceties in the hours prior. But he wouldn’t have made such a blatant gesture for no reason; at the very least, he would have made it abundantly clear he was the sender. 

Selina could have simply bought a beautiful piece and sent it to her when they went out together. But there was no such occasion they had planned soon, and as far as y/n knew, Selina didn't know she was attending this gala. 

Another name came to mind, and this one was much more plausible. A girl she once knew, with a habit of making grand entrances had a knack for extravagance that could rival Selina’s. Something was definitely going to happen tonight, and she’d be the first reporter on the scene to break the story. How thoughtful.

Wearing the item inside the box, the flowing, midnight-blue silk dress, shimmered subtly under the soft lighting of her apartment. It hugged her curves with a delicate grace, its plunging neckline framed by delicate trim that cascaded down the bodice, ending in a graceful train that pooled around her ankles, leaving a trail of elegance with each step. The dress made her feel as though she’d finally fit in, no longer a weed in a field of roses. Taking her press pass and invitation in her clutch and wearing her simple silver heels, y/n was out her door again hailing for a cab on the street to make her way to the Manor. 

˖ ࣪🦇𓆰♡𓆪🦇ִ ࣪⋆

taglist: @earth-to-name

[gor3-hound]

meant to be yours

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, unwilling cannibalism - reciever doesn't know! self-mutilation. obsessive, creepy, delusional reader. no real sex but masturbation n fantasies. very little smut and also a lil vomit.

a/n: idk why, but i... could not get this out of my head. been writing this the past few hours n it's now 1am... all i'm gonna say is read at your own discretion

word count: 1.9k words

There wasn't much good in your life. Not really. You'd never been one to talk much. No family, no friends. You spent most of your life working, dropping out of school, and saving money from a young age in order to pursue your one true passion - baking.

Opening up your own shop was hard. You went hungry most nights in order to skim a little cash from your dead-end job to be able to afford the down payment. But it worked. You had your own bakery, and business was booming.

For once in your life, you felt happy.

The day Leon came into the bakery for the first time changed everything. A festering desire found its way into your mind, an itch that wouldn't leave. He was your soul mate, you knew it. He was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. So pure and untouched.

He made your skin crawl. You needed to be closer to him, to corrupt him in a way that no one would ever come close to you. You needed to be his, mind, body and soul. His smile made you nauseous. How many others had received that same smile?

No. You had to have him in a way no one else could.

You started experimenting. Simple things, really. Your love for him was all consuming, and you're sure in time he'd come to understand how much you worshipped him. He'd be appreciative of all you'd done for him once he found out.

It made it all worth it as you carved into your flesh for the first time. Your teeth clamped down on an old leather belt of yours to stiffle your screams, a piece of fabric tied tight around your thigh to slow the bleeding as you cut chunks of your flesh out.

The pain almost made you pass out, but you wouldn't let your weakness get in the way of showing devotion to Leon. You swallowed your bile as it rose up your throat, blinked past the blurriness of your tears.

You did your best to treat the wounds efficiently after. YouTube can only teach you so much, and your hands wouldn't stop shaking, so you couldn't wrap the bandage as tight as you should have. But that was okay. You couldn't go to the hospital, couldn't risk someone stopping your plan.

You swallowed some painkillers and went to bed, content with the knowledge that tomorrow was Saturday. That meant Leon would be coming. You had something really special for him.

You wake up with a hop in your step the next morning despite the excruciating pain you were in. You down more painkillers and pop the pack in your pocket, although it does little to dull your pain.

You grind the carefully harvested flesh down. You had already made the dough which had expanded nicely. This would have to be your best work, after all. You carefully lay out the necessary ingredients, combining them before placing the filling neatly into the dough.

You gather up the edges of the disc you'd made, folding them over the seasoned flesh and tucking them in to form a nice ball. You smile at yourself, feeling like you deserved a pat on the back. Once the egg wash is on, you place them into the oven and glance at the clock.

Perfect timing.

You smile and set up the rest of the bakery for opening. Once the buns are cooked, you take them out and place them in the back. You greet all the customers as friendly as always despite the burning in your thigh and the obsession making itself known in the forefront of your brain.

The closer it gets to Leon's usual entrance time, the more antsy you get. You can't keep still, shifting your weight between your feet as it becomes increasingly more difficult not to snap at every customer that walks in. They were all wasting your time.

Your eyes flick over to the clock on your wall constantly. The quiet ticking makes your eyes twitch and keeps your nerves on edge. You want to rip the clock from the wall and-

“Hey.” Your head snaps to the door. A smile makes its way to your face as you relax. Finally. You lean on the counter, your gaze trailing Leon's face appreciatively.

“Leon. Hi.” You breathe out, all the tension seeping out of your muscles. He makes all the pain you endured worth it, just to see his smile. “The usual?”

He nods softly, and you get to work packing his order. He likes to treat himself to a slice of cake and a pastry at the end of the week. It's the cutest thing ever to you, and you always like to throw in an extra little snack. On the house, of course.

“Hey, I tried something new today. Saved some for my favourite customer. Want to try it?” The festering in your mind returns tenfold. You didn't know what you'd do if he didn't accept. Your mind was screaming at you, wanting nothing more than to see him eat your flesh. To become one with you.

Please. Your mind supplies, your breathing growing shallow as you wait for his reply. The seconds feel like they stretch into hours, your nails digging into your palms and leaving little crescent shaped marks in the flesh.

“Sure! What did you make?” He asks, sweet as ever. The air you suck in after that satisfies your whole body, like the first breath of air after you'd been drowning. Your lungs stop burning, your mind stops screaming.

“I'm trying out some more savoury stuff. Trying to broaden my horizons, you know?” You say with a chuckle, stepping back to retrieve the tray. “I made some pork buns. Saved them just for you. They're all yours, if you like them.”

He lets out a laugh himself, eyes examining the food in front of him. “You're too good to me. These look amazing.”

Take one. Please. Just one.

“Ah, it's nothing.” You say causally, your eyes locked on his hands as they reach out for one of the buns. Your heart beats faster, feeling like it's about to break free past the cage of your ribs. “You're an officer. Just giving back.”

“Oh, is that what it is?” He says with an amused smile, finally picking up one of them.

Yesyesyesyes. Just a little longer.

It takes every ounce of willpower in you not to make a noise as he takes a bite. It's even harder to keep a neutral expression as he chews it, his eyes widening slightly. He swallows the bite, looks at you and grins. You lean forward, watching with morbid curiosity as his Adam's apple bobs, picturing the chunks of your flesh sliding down his throat.

“Wow! These are, like… really good. You should definitely start selling them.” He compliments, taking another bite. You watch him finish up the bun with increasing interest, your eyes practically sparkling with joy and your pussy throbbing with need.

“That's, um…” Your words come out shaky, so you clear your throat and try again. “Thank you. That means a lot. I'm really glad you liked it.”

“Did you need anything else today? Or is that all?” You ask politely, your hands idly brushing the edge of the counter - desperate for something, anything to ground you as you wait for his response. The anticipation was enough to drive you mad with desire, but you had to stay composed.

If only Leon could understand how much you truly wanted him. How much you needed him to see you, to really see you, not just look at you. What you'd do for him to touch you. Consume you. Become one with you.

“No, no. I think that's it.” He says with a head tilt, not looking unlike a puppy in that moment. You want to keep him in a little room, safe from the cruelty in the world. Maybe a cute little display case you dust off every day.

“Alright, no problem, then.” You say as you start to ring up his order, telling him the price and taking the money. “Let me just wrap these up, and you can be on your way.”

With practised ease, you quickly wrapped the ordered items in paper, making sure the wrapping is secure. Once done, you carefully place them into a brown paper bag, double checking everything was intact. Reaching out, you held it out towards Leon, a kind smile on your face as you tried to ignore the aggressive beating of your heart. Your hand shook slightly, yearning for contact. For just a tiny moment of skin on skin. "Here you go.”

“Thank you so much! I'll see you next week.” He tells you as he reaches for the bag, his fingers brushing yours lightly as he takes it, getting ready to leave the bakery.

"Have a wonderful day." You reply, your voice breaking slightly as you watch him walk away. Your eyes follow his form disappearing down the street until he was out of sight before you let out a ragged breath, collapsing against the counter. Today had been... too close. Too much contact. You needed to calm down.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Your mind wanders for the rest of the day, thinking about how satisfying it would be when you were finally his. You'd get him to accept your gifts with open arms. How could he not love you when he'd realised how much you'd sacrificed for him?

You wanted him to dip his tongue in your wounds, to thank you properly for the pain you'd sustained for him. You'd worship every inch of his body, give everything you'd had to him.

Oh, how good it would feel when he sunk his cock into you for the first time. You'd be perfect for him, open up so easily for him. You'd take every inch without complaint, let him fuck you as often as he wanted.

Maybe he'd sink his teeth directly into your neck when he realised how much he craved your flesh. You'd make him crave another taste. The thought made you shiver, arousal pooling into the gusset of your panties, making the fabric stick to you.

You closed up early to return to your apartment. You find your bed instantly, flopping down and stripping within seconds. You shove two fingers deep into your cunt as you pictured Leon fucking you. The sloppy wet noises fill your room as your moans echo off the empty walls.

Your free hand shifts to the wound on your thigh, and you press down harshly. You scream in pain, nausea hitting you instantly at the agonising pain. It's enough to make you cum, your pussy gushing around your fingers. You lean over the edge of the bed, throwing up onto the hardwood floor. You'd deal with it later.

You curl up into a ball, breathing heavily through tears and mucus as the burning sensation worsens. You can barely breathe through the acrid scent assaulting your senses. It was all worth it. You'd tear every muscle fibre of your body apart to show your reverence to Leon. No one can love him like you can.

You wouldn't be content until he devoured you whole. Not until your souls became intertwined and you were sure you'd plague his thoughts like he had plagued yours. His teeth would sink deep into the flesh of your still beating heart, and only then would he understand the extent to which you adored him.

His innocent appearance meant nothing when he could ruin you so completely with one simple look. One touch. One smile.

He already had.

[fallenwhumpee]

Year of Whump Tropes, January 11, 2025

• Day 11: Leaning into conditioning to escape the pain | “Weapons don’t have feelings” • Masterlist •

Warnings: Self dehumanisation, hidden injury.

Despite what the others assumed, Whumpee didn't like to think. They didn't like emotions and feelings. They didn't like the pain it brought along. And often, they thought - it was more like believed, since they didn't really put effort into making an intellectual analysis because they were taught that, and they didn't need to question the teachings - the trainers were right. Weapons didn't have feelings. To be efficient, and for their own good.

Like now. Whumpee repeated themselves again and again. Pain was nothing but an annoying sense. They didn't feel it because they were incapable of feeling. But their lungs were burning, their thoughts focusing on pain consuming them and disturbing their movements. Still, they couldn't bring themselves to cry out for help.

The team was nothing but kind to them. A lot kinder than the lab, than the trainers. They were observant, too, mostly about how whumpee was.

It was strange. To be offered things that Whumpee had only seen the trainers have. Like meals three times a day, delicious and real, not synthetic. Those were expensive. Maybe more expensive than making another weapon from scratch.

And Whumpee found themselves undeserving. Because that was only a fraction of what the team did— Whumpee could never pay back the shelter and the medical supplies that just got wasted on them.

So, they kept their mouth shut. There was no need to waste any more resources on them.

Walking two steps behind Caretaker, Whumpee took their usual 'guard' position. They better had to show some gratitude if they wanted to be kept around. And they only knew one way to do that: taking the burden of violence.

"You're doing good there?" Caretaker asked. It took a moment for Whumpee to realise the subject was Whumpee. Someone was asking Whupee how they were, even though there were no orders for them to be ready for in the near future.

"Yessir," Whumpee answered immediately. Caretaker looked at them for a moment before turning back. They were observant, Whumpee acknowledged, but not as observant as the trainers. It was too easy to lie, and it made Whumpee feel guilty, or rather, Whumpee would feel guilty if they could actually feel.

Silence settled, Whumpee's steps matching Caretaker's without much effort, both masking their presence and giving Whumpee something to focus. But either them or Caretaker was limping, which made Whumpee rush their left step, and it hurt.

They kept up for a while, but Whumpee's balance crumbled as they missed a step. They managed to stay upright, a whimper escaping as their weight fell on their left leg.

"Whumpee?"

"I'm fine!" Whumpee almost yelped. But before they could assure Caretaker, they were on the floor, Caretaker at their side.

"Don't lie." Came the command. And Whumpee could only sit and watch after as Caretaker found out about the big gash on their leg. They were basically ordered to shut up. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

Because weapons didn't feel. They shut their mind off. And it was easier. Yet Whumpee couldn't bring themselves to say that. So they stayed silent as Caretaker mended their leg, but for the first time, Whumpee let themselves feel the warmth of Caretaker's hand and soothing sting of bandages over their hurting skin.

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

I’m thinking about little Johnny. How he’s never had it easy. How he probably walked himself to kindergarten with a black eye and various bruises and cuts.

How he wasn’t the only one to walk in like that, so no one said anything. How when he sad down that day, there was a loud boy with a huge grin who came up to him, took his hand, and declared them friends.

How this boy spent every second next to Johnny, and that was the first time Johnny truly felt wanted. And when the day was ending, this little boy ran up to his mom and dragged Johnny with him. And how this kind woman had knelt down, despite holding a fussing toddler, and she had looked at Johnny with the same kind eyes and gentle smile that her son had, and offered him to come over. She knew that some other parents weren’t very kind, and she assumed Johnny’s weren’t an exception, given his state, so she took him home. And the entire drive home, the little boy had talked Johnny’s ear off about everything he loved. And Johnny just sat there and let excitement and joy overtake him.

When he got to their home, his new friend had run up to his older brother, who was doing homework in the kitchen, and had pulled Johnny up and introduced him. He’d called his older brother Superman, and when Johnny giggled, he said that his real name was Darrel, but everyone called him Darry. And then Soda had begged Johnny to come play outside with him, so they did. That was the first time Johnny laughed in a long time.

By the time they were done, Mrs. Curtis was already setting a place for Johnny at the dinner table. She had sent them to go wash up, and then quietly asked Darry to help clean off some of Johnny’s cuts. And Darry did, he sat Johnny on the side of their tub and cleaned his cuts up, bandaged a couple, and then gave him a pat on the shoulder and rustled his hair. And that made Johnny feel incredible, because he felt like he had a brother, someone who took care of him. And when it was getting late, Mrs. Curtis offered Johnny to stay the night, or she could take him home. When he hesitated, she assured him that she’d called his mother already (she had, and his mother had said some less than kind things about her “no good son who was just a waste of space” that Mrs. Curtis wasn’t quite shocked by, but was certainly upset and disappointed by).

So, after dinner, Soda had dragged Johnny into his room, and then pulled Darry in and had Darry read them a comic book. And soon enough, the two were tucked into Soda’s bed and spent the night with Soda making jokes and Johnny giggling. It was the first time Johnny had felt like he had a proper family, it was the first time he’d felt cared for and loved, and he knew then, that these people would be part of his life for a long time.

[baohanhanesel]

Mom of the TF141

Mentioned: Simon Ghost Riley, John Soap Mactavish, Kyle Gaz Garrick, Captain John Price.

It was the fact you knew how to comfort each one of them. They loved some homemade goods after a bad mission. The freshly bandages wounds, aching pain and the headaches were best cured with homemade lentil soup and homemade meatballs with potatoes. You knew they didn't remember the last time they had a homemade meal. So you took the opportunity and comforted them with it.

Ghost liked to be silent while he ate the goods and after that he'd disappear to his room to rest for the day. You'd make sure to send him a bowl of the biscuits you baked so he has snacks to munch at night if he can't sleep.

Soap was the type of guy to talk everything out and you'd listen. You'd listen to him tell you about everything in his mind mission related or not. Most of the time it wouldn't be mission related, he would just want to move on quite fast. You'd sit across from him, see him down the second plate while he talked. He'd occasionally get tired of stuffing his mouth and talking so you had to do a bit of talking as well. "You say so?" "That sounds interesting." "Oh wow. I haven't seen you talk about that before!" "Johnny..." "What? For real? What happened after that?"

Gaz sometimes had tears in the corner of his eyes while he stuffed his mouth shut with a spoonful of lentil soup. He'd never let them fall, not before you gave him the flag to do so. "Kyle, it is fine. You are fine." You wouldn't mention his tears while he ate, or when he decided to talk to you about the mission and how it could have been successful. You could see he valued your words a lot. And that made you feel special, as special as you were for him.

Price was the grumpy type. He had the furrowed eyebrows until he started to eat. After he got that done, he'd soften a bit but you'd still notice the subtle anger in him. You knew at those times joking wasn't a way out, so you just gave his shoulders a pat. "You did everything you could have, John. You know you did." If he denied so, you'd hush him. "No talking back. Why don't you go lay down?" He wouldn't be against the idea if it came from you. He trusted you and the comfortable warmth your words made him feel was indescribable. He could never put a word on it.

It was the fact they all respected you a shit ton. A recruit badmouthing you or even talking to you as an equal? They were very quick to jump at them.

Ghost would glare at first, cursing them in his head for thinking they are your equal. They were not. They didn't have the right to think you were like the others in the base. You were much more important. You were a warmth he never thought that was left in this hellhole of a world. If they went as far as to insult you, he would threaten the recruit behind your back. Grabbing the back of their throat and whispering in a deadly tone. That they were nothing other than a piece of shit on the sidewalk and they would better remember their place before Ghost would teach them where it was. Every time without an exception you'd never see that recruit look into your eyes ever again.

Soap threw a dirty look, asking the recruit overwhelming tons of questions and humiliating them. If they thought they were your equal that was embarrassing. Soap would make them realize how embarrassing they were by asking questions. "Ohh name three times you calmed down an angry Captain after a 48 hour mission." "Name me one time you walked up to Ghost and got him to talk." If they insulted you, it was nothing but a fist straight into their face. No warnings. Nothing. Just a good punch. After that? That recruit wouldn't be seen anywhere within your eye range.

Gaz would openly say they were stupid for thinking of themselves as your equal. He would give them many reasons why they are not. When he witnessed someone insulting you? He rolled his sleeves and prepared his fists but never got to attack the recruit before they ran away. Gaz didn't waste his time tracking the fucker down. He would have. If you hadn't stopped him and told him the recruit was just a rookie.

Price would lecture the recruits. "This woman right here saw more blood than any of you did. She saw more dead bodies than more people you got to know in your pathetic lives." There was no stopping him if he started his lecture already. He wouldn't stop without seeing the shame on the soldier's faces. You would try stopping him though, even if you knew he wouldn't. When would you not try? When he heard you get insulted by someone. That was off limits for you because you knew he saw red when it happened. He'd get very scary with the strict voice and if necessary a collar grab. He'd only calm down after seeing tears in the recruit's eyes or hear their babbles of apologies. If he could fire soldiers for disrespecting you, he would. But he was a smart man and instead of giving up on a lost cause he'd just bend them into manners with more force.

It was the time you called them your boys. It was a calm evening and they had made you so happy, talking and joking peacefully with each other. Seeing them so good and well mannered with one another had made you so happy back then you called them your boys. "I am so happy my boys are so good with one another. Wouldn't change anything for your team bond."

Ghost paused, looking at you in disbelief. He felt a huge crash in his heart and a huge smile on his face matching it. He didn't remember the last time he got this emotional over being mentioned before. He was a grown man, for fuck's sake. He didn't say anything and only kept joking around with the way you said it. Your phrase made him realize that he was one of your boys indeed and that he has been seeing you as his mother figure.

Soap laughed so damn loudly. "Yeah? Seeing our lady happy makes me damn happy." He would get next to you and hug you. As much as he tried to seem he was cool and he totally wasn't affected with the way you called them your boys he was affected horribly. He was so damn happy that you saw him as your boy. He had made peace with the idea in his head before, the idea that you were a mother figure for him. So hearing you say that so casually made him feel like a little child.

Gaz felt his cheeks flush. He was embarrassed. He didn't think hearing that from you could get him this embarrassed, but it had. He wanted to hear you say it again but he would rather dig himself a hole than to ask that of you. He already had a hard time not calling you mom, you were making it very hard for him to not make that mistake. Granted if he accidentally called you mom, he'd disappear for a few days to process what he just did.

Price smiled lovingly. Looking you in the eyes with admiration in them. He admired you so much. You were a brave motherly woman and for him you meant a lot. Hearing you say "My boys" got him so happy you had no idea. He had always seen this team as a family, and you not speaking otherwise gave him the flag to freely call you "mom" even as a joke. You'd take the joke well, that much he knew it. He thought of you as a comforting mother since the day you got close with him. Your smile, your words and your pats on the shoulder. You made him want to cry because of how comfortable you made him feel.

[umi-adxhira]

ᝰ.ᐟ SERENITY | 018

FANDOM: TWTPTFLOB

WARNINGS: Panic attack lowkey, mentions of blood and physical abuse

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Guess who came back from the dead yall 😛 but seriously guys I've been so sick I lowkey think I have pneumonia cause last time this happened I had it

Anyways to make up for being like a teenage absent father after finding out his side piece is pregnant, this chapter is extra longer than usual. Bon appetite bitches

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You wake up in a bed, lightheaded and dreary from the light above you. The glow is harsh, piercing through your eyelids as if punishing you for waking. Your body feels heavy, your breath uneven. You force your eyes to focus, but the moment clarity hits, a sharp headache follows. You groan softly and raise a trembling hand to your forehead.

Why am I so weak?

Your fingers brush against fabric - bandages. Thick and tightly wrapped, they press against your skin, a dull ache throbbing beneath them. Your other hand, sluggish as it moves, rests against the mattress. The sheets beneath your fingers are unfamiliar.

Panic creeps up your spine. You scan the dim room, recognizing nothing. The furniture is too elegant, the scent in the air unfamiliar. The walls are different from your own.

Where am I?

Just as you begin to let the fear settle, a soft pat on your cheek startles you. Your eyes flutter, and the world becomes clearer, sharpening around the edges. A familiar face hovers over you, concern evident in her deep gaze.

"Wake up," Roxana says softly, but there’s an edge of insistence in her voice.

Your mind struggles to catch up. Roxana? Why is she here? And why does she look so worried? Is it real? Or just another one of her games?

But her eyes betray her. She isn’t faking. You can see it, a rare glimpse of sincerity that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. You swallow hard, throat dry, and force your voice out. "What... happened?"

She doesn’t hesitate. "Two weeks ago, after Fontaine beat you unconscious, Jeremy was passing by. He fought Fontaine, and Father was alerted. Fontaine has been in the punishment room ever since." The words hit you like a hammer. Two weeks? I’ve been unconscious for two whole weeks? Your stomach churns at the thought. So much time lost, your body wasted away in sleep while the world moved on without you. "Your wounds are mostly healed, but some were deep. You'll have scars." She watches you carefully, gauging your reaction.

You lift your hands, inspecting the bandages wrapped around your arms. Your body aches beneath them, but you don’t care about the scars. If anything, they might be cool. What matters is the pain that still lingers, the exhaustion weighing down your limbs.

Roxana hands you a glass of water. "Drink."

You reach for it but pause just before taking a sip. Your eyes meet hers, suspicion flickering in your mind. "Is it poisoned?"

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, as if amused. "It’s what beginners use. Highly diluted. It won’t kill you, just help you build tolerance."

The casual way she says it should horrify you. But it doesn’t. Instead, you find yourself nodding in understanding. So this is her way of protecting me? It’s twisted, but in a way, it makes sense.

You take a sip. The water is cool against your throat, refreshing. If there’s poison, you can’t taste it.

You glance down at your arms. The bandages wrap tightly around your skin, some already darkened with blood. You lift the blanket and find more of the same - evidence of just how broken your body had been. I should care about changing these. But you don’t. Not really.

"When can I leave?" you ask Roxana.

"A week or so," she answers. "The doctor said you need your bandages changed daily, and after that, you’ll be able to walk again." A whole week. You frown. "I’ll do it," Roxana says. "The bandages. I’ll change them for you."

You blink at her. Why? But instead of questioning it, you nod. "Thank you." A silence settles between you. Then, cautiously, you ask, "What did Lante say?"

Something flickers in her eyes, something unreadable. "He wanted to make sure your wounds weren’t severe enough to prevent you from entertaining him again." Your stomach tightens. Of course. That’s all he cares about. She continues, "And there’s no way Fontaine will survive whatever father has planned for him." You don’t know how to feel about that. Fontaine deserves whatever comes to him. But even so, you know the punishment room is far from merciful. Roxana places the empty cup back on the tray and moves toward the door. Just before stepping out, she pauses. "Dion will be back tomorrow."

The thought lingers, twisting your gut. “Okay,” you respond, too tired to give a proper response.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Sleep doesn’t come easily. Your mind replays the beating, the blood, the moments before unconsciousness took you. Each time, the memory is more vivid, the pain more real.

You turn on your side, wincing as your bruised ribs protest the movement. The quiet of the room is suffocating. Your body screams for rest, but your mind won’t stop.

I don’t want to be here.

The thought comes suddenly, unbidden. It grips you, claws into your chest, making it hard to breathe.

I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to suffer. I just... I just want to go home.

But where is home? The word feels foreign, distant. You can’t remember what it means anymore. It’s only been a month… home isn’t here, in this world filled with cruelty and bloodshed.

A sob catches in your throat. You press your hand over your mouth, as if that could stop it from spilling out. But the tears come anyway, silent and unstoppable.

I want to leave. I want to wake up somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Your shoulders shake as the weight of everything crashes down on you. The pain, the exhaustion, the endless cycle of fear and violence. You bury your face in the pillow, muffling your cries. No one can hear you. No one would care even if they did.

You let yourself break.

The minutes pass in a blur of silent sobs and labored breathing. Your body shakes, curled in on itself as though trying to shield what’s left of your broken spirit. You squeeze your eyes shut, but the darkness behind your eyelids is no better. It’s filled with whispers of past horrors, the echoes of cruel laughter, the phantom sensation of blows striking your body over and over again.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?

You wish the universe would answer you, but all you get is silence.

You hate the quiet. It leaves too much space for your mind to wander, to think about what’s to come. The weight of tomorrow, of Dion’s return, of the week of recovery ahead - it’s unbearable. You feel trapped, as though these four walls are closing in on you, suffocating you with their indifference.

Your hands grip the fabric of the blanket, knuckles turning white. Your chest tightens painfully, an unbearable pressure that threatens to consume you whole. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and you suddenly feel like you’re drowning, like the walls of your own mind are collapsing inward, suffocating you in a storm of helplessness.

Make it stop. Please, make it stop!

Your lips move, but no sound comes out. Your throat is raw, burning from the silent screams trapped inside you. Your body is shaking violently now, trembling as if your very bones are rejecting your existence in this place.

A fresh wave of tears spills over, blurring your vision. You clutch at your own arms, nails digging into your skin as if grounding yourself will somehow make the pain more bearable. But it doesn’t. Nothing does. The more you try to suppress it, the more it swells, crushing you beneath its weight.

You need to get out. You need to leave this room, this house, this nightmare.

Driven by sheer desperation, you push yourself up, ignoring the way your muscles scream in protest. Your vision swims, and the pain in your ribs flares so intensely that for a moment, you think you might black out again. But you don’t stop. You force your legs to move, force yourself to escape the suffocating confines of this bed.

The moment your feet touch the ground, your body betrays you. A sharp, searing pain shoots through you, and your knees buckle. The world tilts violently, and before you can catch yourself, you collapse to the floor with a soft, pitiful thud.

The pain is overwhelming. It robs you of breath, forcing a strangled cry from your lips. You curl in on yourself, hands grasping at nothing, at everything, as though you could somehow claw your way out of this misery.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I don’t want to be here anymore.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against the cold floor, hoping - praying - that it will somehow numb the agony coursing through you. But the pain isn’t just physical. It’s deeper than that. It’s in your bones, in your soul. It’s the weight of knowing that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight, you are powerless.

A knock on the door startles you, and you freeze. Panic grips you. Did someone hear me?

The door creaks open, and a familiar voice fills the room. "Are you awake?"

It’s Roxana. Her tone is softer than usual, lacking its usual sharpness. She steps inside, her gaze landing on you, crumpled on the floor, shaking. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she walks over without hesitation.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is calm but firm, a thread of concern woven into it.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re too humiliated, too exhausted.

She sighs and kneels beside you. "If you needed something, you could have called for me."

You don’t meet her eyes. Instead, you stare at the floor, your breath shaky. "I just... I just wanted to get up."

Roxana doesn’t respond right away. Then, after a moment, she reaches out and gently lifts you back onto the bed. You try to protest, but she ignores you, maneuvering you with ease despite your weak struggles.

"Stop pushing yourself so soon," she says. "You’re not ready yet."

You squeeze your eyes shut, frustration bubbling inside you. I hate this. I hate being this weak.

As if sensing your thoughts, Roxana places a hand on your shoulder. "You’re not weak. You survived. That’s more than most can say." You flinch at her words. You don’t feel like a survivor. You feel like a prisoner, barely clinging to existence. But you don’t argue. You’re too tired. Roxana adjusts the blankets around you before standing. "Try to rest. I’ll stay until you fall asleep."

You want to tell her to leave, to insist that you don’t need her here. But the truth is, you don’t want to be alone. Not right now.

So, you say nothing. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. The exhaustion is still there, but so is the ache in your chest, the feeling of being trapped in a life that isn’t yours.

Roxana doesn’t move. She sits quietly in the chair beside your bed, watching over you like a silent guardian.

And for the first time in a long time, the darkness doesn’t seem quite so overwhelming.

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