#you have to remember to keep something that can be saved

[maybankswhore]

BESTFRIENDS GIRLFRIEND.

a ‘mini’ continuation of this fic here!

summary: the night at the beach seemed to be long forgotten. or that’s what you thought until a stupid treasure hunt leads you and jj sharing a place in a locked incubation device and he helps you remember where it all started.

a/n: just recently finished season four & that scene w kiara and jj gave me the perfect idea. i know it doesn’t really ‘match’ the timeline of the last one but we can all pretend that it does <3

warnings: voyeurism , , mean!jj , reader that plays naive , fingering , use of afab anatomy , mentions of cheating , heavy petting.

You should’ve known you were setting yourself up for failure. The minute you saw the slight smirk on JJ’s face the minute you offered to take Kiara’s place— you should’ve known something was going to happen.

Though , almost getting killed and getting your life saved by JJ Maybank was definitely not on your BINGO card.

Things between you and JJ hadn’t settled since that day night. If anything , it only made everything worse.

You were grateful another adventure opened up for the time being because pulling away from John B made you feel sick. You were eaten up by guilt , fear that your dirty little secret would blow up in your face and you’d have to own up to what you’ve done.

You could only imagine the devastation it’d cause John B and the disappointed looks from Kiara and Pope. The idea alone made your stomach sick.

JJ made it impossible to forget. He never brought it up. Not once. But that look in his eyes every time he looked at you made that same familiar feeling from that night on the beach wash up all over again— and you just knew.

You laid there in absolute dread in silence. Your eyes had opened before JJ’s and the immediate feeling of pure terror overcame you. Your memories washed back up and as the bends slowly faded away , the reality of the situation sunk in.

Practically quarantined with JJ , in this closed space , for twelve hours seemed like the test of a lifetime.

As he began to stir away , you swallowed harshly and scooted away. You clutched your necklace , anxiously fiddling with the string as you desperately search for nearby nurses.

“My savior.”

His voice was raspy. A hint of edge around the words as he cleared his throat roughly.

Silence filled the air pretty quickly and JJ’s mouth made a sound. He played it casual , coy like he always did. Cocking his head towards the side , he stared at you. “Ignoring me?”

Again , you decided to stay silent. Your cheek was raw with how hard you were biting it.

JJ sighed. “You know , I’ve been waiting to get you alone since that night on the beach.” He murmured. “A bit offended you actin’ like nothing happened.”

He was baiting you and you knew it. You refused to give and kept staring out the circular window.

���C’mon , Y/N. . .” JJ drug out your name barely above a whisper. You could feel him inching closer making you start to feel hot , your ears burning at the tips. “Have you fucked him yet? After me?”

His question made you flinch.

“Stop playing little miss innocent —” JJ narrowed his eyes , bringing up his index finger to your chin. Everything in you was screaming at you to not make the same mistake twice , to stand your ground , to fight him. . . but you were like putty in his hands. The minute you felt his skin on yours , you felt a fire where he touched and your head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. “I know you think about it. About me.”

JJ looked into your eyes and paused , before a wide smirk developed on his face. “You haven’t , have you?” You didn’t need to say it , it was written all over your face. You were never good at keeping secrets. You were always so easy to read.

Especially by him.

He knew you like the back of his hand. All that pining had finally paid off— in his mind.

“How come?”

“JJ stop it.” You mumbled , moving to push his hand away. But he didn’t care. Instead he turned on his side to look at you , feeling like the first time all over again.

God , he hadn’t stopped thinking about it. About you.

John B was his bestfriend , his brother , but you— he couldn’t help but be addicted to you. He couldn’t change it and he didn’t want to. He’d risk loosing it all , everything , just to have you.

“You liked it—” he taunted. “You liked it so much , that I ruined your sweet little pussy for anyone else. It only remembers me. It only wants me.”

You shivered and shook your head. “No. I—I love John B. You’re acting crazy.”

“Crazy?” JJ let out a dry laugh. “You should know just how crazy I can be , baby.”

“He’s your bestfriend , JJ.” You sighed and shook your head , pushing his hand that was starting to drift downwards away. “You know this is wrong.”

“I don’t care if it is.” JJ scoffed. “I meant what I said that night. You were supposed to be for me.”

His words made you shiver. The memories crashed onto you like waves , so vividly that you could almost feel exactly how you felt sprawled out on the sand with your legs wide open just for him.

JJ noticed your reaction and smirked. It only pushed him further. “You know it , don’t you?”

You pursed your lips. Pushing your chin up defiantly as you scooted closer to the window , putting as much space between the two of you as possible.

JJ rolled his eyes. “C’mon. You might be able to lie to yourself and lie to John B— but you can’t lie to me, baby.” He murmured softly , delicately. There was a teasing tone to his voice that irritated you because you knew he was right and you hated yourself for it.

“You’re acting crazy , JJ.” You whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that this was all a dream— a nightmare. Though the warmth of JJ’s breath and how your heart beat so loudly you thought it’d beat out of your chest , you knew it was real. Too real.

“Maybe I’m just crazy about you.”

Suddenly everything began to feel hot. The all knowing fact that you were trapped in this stupid metal bubble , next to him , it all started feeling too much. Beads of sweat dripped down your forehead , and your hand twitched. Your chest began to rise and fall quickly and you weren’t sure what you were more bothered by.

The claustrophobic , suffocating feeling: or the thump between your thighs that you wouldn’t be able to blame on alcohol.

Light as a feather , his fingertips tapped across the smooth skin of your thigh. He watched you in satisfaction. Loving the way you responded to him despite you trying to fight it. “It’s just you and me in here , baby—” he cooed in your ear. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck , making your breathing hitch. “Nobody’s gonna know.”

“I–I’ll know.” You answered softly , still refusing to look at him. You hated the way it began to hurt. How it started to burn with a certain need that only JJ could subside. Everything in your body was screaming for him. To feel him again. But your head was fighting it.

“That never stopped you before.” He quipped back.

You turned your head to look at him again. Looking into his eyes that had a certain darkness swimming inside of them. You hated it. You hated him. Most of all , you hated yourself for how badly you wanted him.

Without another thought , becoming slightly delirious and deciding to cave and give in , you rushed forward and pressed your mouth against his. On instinct , he was there. Kissing you back feverishly , gripping onto you like a man starved. He tasted of saltwater and weed , the familiar taste bringing out a soft moan from your throat.

The sound made him smirk. He liked knowing you had given in. That he got what he wanted.

And he was going to make the most of it.

His hand slipped between the two of you , immediately cupping your sex. You gasped , breaking the kiss for air. He hummed in response , rubbing soft and achingly slow circles. “Beg for it.”

“W–What?” You breathed , taken off guard.

“You heard me.” JJ said again , halting his movements. JJ gripped your chin , looking down at you. “Beg me for it.”

“JJ—”

“Beg.”

He wanted to know he had the control. The power. You knew it. As much as you wanted to deny him of it , to refuse it , you couldn’t. It ached agonizingly , just looking at him ignited something within you. Your whole body was on fire and now that it started , there was no way you would have enough willpower to put it out.

“Please. . .” you whimpered , arching your back to feel some type of friction again. JJ wanted to groan right then and there, give in to you. But he refused. He ignored the way his cock was hard and angry , rubbing against the fabric of his underwear harshly. Frowning , you grabbed onto him , fisting his shirt to bring him closer. “Please touch me , JJ. Please. I need it. I need you.”

Your words were like a song to him. He let out a groan deep within his chest and kissed you again , harder , letting his tongue slip past your lips as you gasped when his hand pushed the fabric of your tiny shorts to the side.

His index finger ran up your slit , basking in the slickness. JJ smirked down at you , cocking his head to the side. “Your pussy loves me.” He boasted , and you weren’t in a position to disagree.

“Still my dirty girl , huh?” JJ moaned , sliding his finger inside of you. He grunted as he felt your walls stretch out , the tightness of it amusing him. “I knew I ruined you for him— can’t fuck him now , huh? Too busy thinkin’ bout me?”

You only responded with a moan , throwing your head back as you felt yourself fill up.

JJ watched you with a glimmer in his eyes. He swore had had never seen something hotter. The way your eyebrows scrunched up , your lips pursed , he could your feels contracting around his finger and he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. “You want more , baby?”

“Yes , JJ , yes. Please. . .”

“Tell me your mine.” He demanded but his voice was softer now. Almost pleading.

Your mind was hazy. You almost couldn’t understand what you were saying— but you knew in this moment it was true. “I’m yours , JJ. I’m yours.”

“Fuck.” He muttered. Dropping his head to kiss your neck , he added in another finger , rutting against the side of your thigh. He pumped his fingers in and out of you , curling upwards just enough to graze over the spot you needed most.

“Yes—” you breathed. Your head lulled to the side and your toes curled. It felt good. The coolness of his metal rings that slapped against your clit each time he pumped his fingers in and out sent jolts up your spine. It felt frivolous , like you were a school girl getting fingered by her first person. But JJ knew just what to do. He knew what you liked , how to make it feel good.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” JJ said , kissing your mouth. You moaned into it , shaking underneath him as the feeling of his mouth on yours amplified the pleasure you were feeling.

The familiar feelimg began building up in your tummy and you gasped , pulling away as you used him to steady yourself. He sped up , just a little , keeping the same place as before. He cooed in your ear , kissing and sucking on different places. “Cum for me. Cum for me , give it to me.”

With your head thrown back , you felt your legs shaking. A dirty , loud moan left your mouth , one that made JJ’s ears ring. You grinded against him , riding out your high.

“My fucking girl—”

You came down breathlessly , with a new urge. You quickly attached yourself to him , wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. He kissed you back hungrily , grinding into you.

You jumped when you heard a knock on the glass.

“Sorry to um— interrupt.” The nurse cleared her throat awkwardly , looking away. “We need to check your vitals. . .”

And just like that , the weight of the world and your decisions fell back on your shoulders.

[sweemmy]

Darkness had never been a problem for Vi. She had grown up in it, embraced it as both a refuge and an ally in a world that gave her no quarter. But now, the darkness within her is different. It suffocates, ravenous—a beast that feeds on her deepest thoughts, on her obsession with you.

You are a glimmer in her shadowed world. At first, you seemed to bring a fragile light to her broken life. But that light didn’t heal her; it didn’t soothe. It was a spark that ignited everything she had left intact within herself. Vi knows this isn’t love in its purest form—love shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t burn through every fiber of her being. But what else can she call it when her entire existence revolves around you?

Sometimes, when she’s alone, her mind drifts back to the past. She sees herself as the girl she used to be—a girl with hope, with unyielding morals, with a sense of justice that brought meaning to her chaos. Those images feel so distant now, as though they belong to someone else. But they weren’t always this blurred. Vi remembers how she clung to that version of herself, struggling to reconcile her principles with the choices she made for you. Until one day, she stopped trying.

“Look at what I’ve become,” she thinks bitterly, staring at her hands, hardened by fights and scarred by the things she’s done in your name. Her knuckles, always marked, tell stories of the lines she’s crossed, of the faces she’s struck simply for coming too close to you.

The first time she stepped over the line, it was almost accidental—a punch thrown harder than it needed to be, a moment she couldn’t take back. But the effect was instant: a surge of power mixed with a dizzying rush that left her trembling. After that, it became easier, darker. Each decision pulled her further away from the Vi who once vowed to protect Zaun, the Vi who believed in something greater than herself.

But it’s not the actions that haunt her the most. It’s the constant thought, the unrelenting mantra she cannot silence: “I would let the world burn for you.” It plays in her mind like both a prayer and a curse. Because she would. Because she is. Every choice, every sacrifice, every boundary she’s destroyed has been for you, and she knows she’s losing herself in the process.

The darkness isn’t just in her mind—it follows her like a living shadow. The nights are the worst. When silence fills the room, the endless hum of her thoughts becomes unbearable. Every shadow on the wall seems to mock her helplessness, her lack of control. She dreams of a world without you, where she might find freedom again, but those dreams are fleeting and bitter. Because even in her fantasies, your absence feels like an abyss she cannot escape.

She watches you from a distance, trying to understand how someone like you can hold so much power over her. Sometimes, your words confuse her. “You don’t have to do this,” you say, but the smile on your lips betrays the truth. You enjoy being the center of her universe, though you’d never admit it. And Vi, caught in the web of her own obsession, can no longer tell if what she feels for you is love or self-destruction masquerading as something else.

Vi fights it sometimes. In rare moments of clarity, she tries to reason with herself, to remember who she was before you. But even those memories are fading, because everything that came before now feels insignificant. She wonders if her obsession began as love or if it was always this destructive force wearing the mask of something pure. But it doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t know how to let you go, how to tear you from her chest without bleeding out completely.

Every time she looks at you, she feels that toxic mix of devotion and despair. You are her salvation and her damnation, the anchor keeping her afloat and the chain dragging her down. And Vi, so proud, so stubborn, doesn’t know how to ask for help, how to admit that she’s losing this battle within herself. That her love for you isn’t saving her—it’s destroying her.

In her mind, the scenes replay: the faces of those who fell beneath her fists, the chances she missed to do what was right, the Vi she might have been if she’d never met you. But those images fade quickly, consumed by the fire burning in her chest. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells herself, “as long as you’re with me.”

When she closes her eyes, she sees it all burning: Zaun, Piltover, the entire world consumed in flames. And at the heart of that inferno, there you are—untouched, existing solely for her. The smell of smoke, the searing heat, the ash choking her lungs… all of it vanishes when her gaze lands on you. She knows there’s no turning back. Her love for you is her undoing, and though it hurts, though it scorches her to the core, she wouldn’t change it.

Sometimes, she imagines a different ending—one where she lets you go, where she finds redemption, where she becomes more than the chaos she’s created for you. But those fantasies are fleeting. Because at the end of the day, the truth is she doesn’t want to let you go. She can’t.

This love has turned her into someone she barely recognizes. But if that’s the price of having you, she will pay it without hesitation.

[revelboo]

Everything Is Alright Pt 69

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• “So sorry to disappoint.” Knows not to say it, but the words slip out before Starscream can stop himself. Hiding the fear behind attitude and indifference, pulling it to him like armor even though he knows it won’t save him. All it can do is make things worse. And Megatron’s optics narrow as he pushes off his throne and stalks his way. Wings flicking down and close to his frame to protect them, Starscream curls his lip and freezes when Megatron vents deeply with a frown.

• “You smell like the insects,” Megatron says as he circles the Seeker and tries to guess this latest plot. Because the mech must be up to something, he always is. “What are you up to, Starscream?” Can see the tension in the Seeker’s frame, a dead giveaway that he’s been doing things he doesn’t want him to know about. Another coup to put down? He’s so tired of plots and intrigue. Of his hand being forced and needing to mete out punishment. Constantly fighting an army on the verge of collapsing into infighting at any moment. Mostly, he’s just tired.

• “I encountered one of the creatures and had to catch it to end it before it could give us away,” he lies, frame prickling all over as Megatron passes behind him, wings faintly trembling as he pulls them tighter to him. Knows Megatron won’t guess the real truth. How could he? He wouldn’t have believed it if it had been someone else claiming you. “Was that not as you want?”

• Taunting him now? Megatron vents roughly, servos curling under with the urge to seize the Seeker by a wing and start pulling. “I want you to not be seen in the first place.” As weak and pitiful as humans are, they have numbers and weaponry. A hive of insects that Starscream’s ineptitude might stir and bring down on them all. And it’s not just the Seeker, but as his SIC, he should know better.

• Doing an awkward shimmy to pull up a pair of sweatpants on Soundwave’s desk with only his hand to hide you from the curious optics of his cassettes, you get dressed. Neck craning to find Soundwave watching your every move with open interest. “So Rumble found a… friend?” Head bowing until it’s almost touching you, Soundwave makes an unhappy noise at your question. Confirming what fragging means. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, you’re almost thankful for the distraction to keep you from panicking about Starscream. Reaching up you lay a palm on his cheek, warming when he nuzzles against you.

• Little, kind hands distract him from worrying over Rumble and Starscream. The cassette at least is in no danger if Frenzy had willingly left him with the human he’d found. Still, though. From what Frenzy had said, Rumbles had just met the human. “I’m sure they’re both okay,” you whisper, but he can see the worry in your eyes. The fear just under the surface that you’re hiding trying to comfort him when you’re the one with something to lose. Not sure if you’ll still be able to smile if something happens to the Seeker.

Previous

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I don’t remember how to draw these guys….

[beanarie]

i never wanted water once part 3

tommy is also breakup baking, prompted by my dear @sanguinarysanguinity

tw: mention of parent death, mention of child abuse

part 1

part 2

~

Gutierrez eyes him on his way out of the locker room. "Feel like no one ever sees you anymore. You coming back to the pickup game or what?"

"Oh." Tommy gives his damp hair one last rub from the towel. "I wasn't planning on it, to be honest. Too awkward."

Gutierrez frowns. "Why?"

"You know," Tommy says, wishing he didn't have to, "Eddie Diaz. I broke up with his best friend."

"Diaz hasn't shown in weeks. Probably got injured. You know how that crew is."

And that. Well. He and Eddie were friends. They became tight very quickly in a way Tommy hasn't experienced with many people. He shouldn't have thrown a connection like that away without at least trying to salvage it.

He sends a text, a polite, generic one asking about his welfare. Worst thing that can happen is Eddie tells him to fuck off and he's back where he started. He fully expects to be left on read.

He does not expect Eddie to tell him he's moving back to Texas because he's given up on his son deciding to come home. Eddie invites him to a pre-going away dinner at a bar and grill before he goes down South for a few days to scout out homes. And, no, absolutely not. But Tommy proposes getting a drink, just the two of them. Eddie very validly explains that he can't spare the time, since he's already started packing up his life and he's working overtime to save up for a down payment. Tommy gets it. He does.

The day after the dinner, Eddie calls him. "Hey, man. I know we're like two ships passing in the night, but I didn't want to leave without a proper goodbye. I still got some more shifts before I move for good, but the time will go by quick. We'll just stay on the line, okay? Keep me company while I go through my kitchen cabinets."

"It's good to hear from you," Tommy says honestly.

"So yeah." Eddie hums. "Why'd you do it?"

"Text you?" Tommy says. "I heard that-"

"Kinard," Eddie says, unamused.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You just didn't seem the type to flee."

None of you know me as well as you thought you did, Tommy doesn't say. That's not fair to any of them. "I wasn't, in the past. Well, I tried not being that. A couple times. It didn't work out."

"Oh," Eddie says. "There it is."

"There what is?"

"You've got shit."

"Haven't we all?"

"Hey, I am not denying that." Eddie chuckles. "Do you plan on dealing with it, or letting it blow up every good thing you find until you die?"

"Jesus, Eddie."

"What's the point in mincing words? You did something dumb and destructive. What kinda friend would I be if I let that go without saying anything?"

"So what's the weather even like in El Paso? Does it ever get below 100?"

After a groan, Eddie lets Tommy talk about his shit, about Texas, parenthood, and chess clubs, for the rest of the call. Tommy can't say that he'll miss him. He missed him already and now he gets to continue doing so. All of this sucks.

Tommy tries his hand at gnocchi made with ricotta, lemon, and pepper that subsequently almost causes a fistfight during B shift.

Demetra favors him with a warm smile, taking in the large box in his hands. "Tom, right? Welcome! What's all this?"

"Tommy," he says easily, impressed she remembered his name at all. He hasn't been to this slightly dusty community center in five or six years. "Uh, this is garlic knots and mini calzones."

"Well, hey. You're even more welcome than before. Come take a seat."

December is a stupid time to rejoin group, many of the participants close to the edge from a cocktail of seasonal depression, missing dead loved ones, and generalized loneliness. Tommy knew it would be like this going in. He counted on it. Everyone will have so much to say that there likely won't be any time for him to open his mouth. He's not ready to spill. It will help to just soak in the atmosphere of unashamed honesty for a while.

At his third meeting, Cal, a slender guy in his mid twenties with a curly mohawk, keeps bringing up his mother. "She never wanted me to enlist," he says, "and now that I'm back home and struggling, she can't stop being all 'I told you so' morning, noon, and night. She never says it, but she is thinking it."

"Is she?" Tommy finds himself asking. "Or are you putting something on her that isn't there?"

"Maybe so." Cal pops one of Tommy's fried ravioli in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "I don't know, I should probably give her a chance, think first about what she's actually saying before I react. But it's hard in the moment, you know?"

"Tommy?" Demetra says a minute later, making him feel like a kid being called on by the teacher. "How's your relationship with your mom?"

"Nonexistent. She died when I was fifteen." He crosses his ankles. "Fell asleep in the car on our way back from an away game and we couldn't wake her up. Heart attack."

Demetra frowns sympathetically. "That must've been hard for a kid to witness."

"I've seen so much worse since then. People shot in the head by machine guns, people covered in burns over most of their bodies..."

Demetra shakes her head slightly. "They weren't your mom."

He ducks his head, pressing his lips together. "True. It's just- That's not- It's not trauma. I don't fear falling asleep and not waking up."

"What do you fear?" Cal asks.

Being left, being hurt, being validated in his belief that no one will ever see him for all he is and choose to stick around. "Standard stuff, really. Clowns, taxes, drivers on the freeway."

He gets a pity laugh, a groan or two, and one outright glare. "Okay, okay." He exhales loudly. "Ending up alone by someone else's choice rather than mine."

"So you're cool with being on your own, as long as you're the one keeping everyone away," Cal says.

God, that sounds idiotic. "Yes?"

"You prefer it like this?" asks a woman about his own age wearing a green bomber jacket.

He shrugs. "It's not ideal, but as far as worst case scenarios go, it's okay. It's fine."

"It's spineless," says a gray-haired man with a Desert Storm hat.

Tommy doesn't flinch. "Yeah, that's kind of an inherent character trait. I keep thinking I got it licked, then it shows up wearing another face. Scared of my dad, so I joined the army and became someone he couldn't hurt anymore. Scared of people knowing I was gay, so I waited to come out until I was surrounded by brand new people. Scared of my boyfriend leaving, so." He pushes at the skin above his knees, kneading it. "So I left him first."

"You fall back," says Bomber Jacket. Her name is Annie or Angie. She has conflicted feelings about dating a man with kids. "It's easy to stop being scared when the thing that scared you is far away."

He hears Eddie. You just didn't seem the type to flee.

Demetra holds up a hand. Tommy's face must be doing something concerning. "No one here faults you for what you did to survive. Is it still serving you, is the question, or is that just what you're used to?"

He doesn't bake when he gets home. He drinks half the beers in his fridge and does a shockingly efficient job of cleaning his house, while drafting and deleting twenty-seven different texts. He then wakes up the next day, and goes to the pickup game.

Gutierrez scores four rebounds on him and doesn't shut up about it for the rest of their next shift. Tommy grumbles, and talks shit, and promises he won't have much to brag about next time.

[callsign-rogueone]

an unexpected visitor

cadet!Brennan Sorrengail x cadet!reader words: 1.6k 🏷: sfw (taking a break from the overdue kinktober stuff!), canon-typical injury, why do rider cadets always try to kill each other at 3am, you get stabbed, sorry, but Bren mends you up, no pronouns used for reader but you wear feminine pj's and smell like flowers <3, bren just met you but he's already down bad, naolin cameo, marbh is sassy, i just love writing lil cadet bren.

“Find Brennan Sorrengail.”

It takes you a second to place the name -- the boy in your year with the mending signet. The general’s son. He’s not in your squad, or even in your wing, so he has every right to put you out of your misery — but something is screaming at you that you can trust him, that he’ll help you. He wouldn’t have become a mender if he didn’t have a good heart, right? Surely he wouldn’t leave you to die, or finish you off himself to thin the herd.

You’ll die without his help anyway, so it’s worth a shot.

“You are not dying today. I will not allow it.”

“How exactly are you going to—”

The door swings open, and you thank the gods that you remembered which room was his. 

He’s visibly confused, probably because he doesn’t even know your name, and you’re knocking on his door at three in the morning in negligeé. He blinks at you once, twice, about to ask why you’re here — and then he spots the knife currently sticking out of your ribcage.

“Please,” you rasp, clinging to the doorway with a bloodied hand. “Wasn’t gonna make it to the healers…” 

He doesn’t hesitate, tossing his own blade aside, yanking a towel down from the hook by the door and throwing it over the bedspread, guiding you to lay down with a gentle hand on your elbow. 

You cry softly as the movement shifts the knife, and he murmurs an apology as you lay back, helping lower you down. Your eyes lock with his, and for a moment you’re entranced by the flickers of emotion in them, the minute movements of his pupils as he takes you in… you've never seen anyone with irises that color, such a warm, rich amber.

He pulls away first, focusing back on the issue at hand. “Can I tear this? I’ll fix it later.”

It takes a second for you to realize that he’s talking about your shirt. “Sure,” you wheeze. 

He hooks his fingers into the split from the knife and pulls, the fabric ripping easily. He’s quick to drape another towel over your chest, letting you keep some decency. 

You really should have chosen better clothing — you’re a little embarrassed to be laying on his bed in a now-shredded pink satin teddy and a tiny pair of shorts, but in your defense, when you got out of bed to relieve yourself, you didn’t think you’d be getting into a knife fight, and then knocking on a near-stranger’s door to ask him to save your life. 

He doesn’t seem to care at all, more worried about the wound than anything else. He’s not telling you anything, but the crease between his eyebrows and the tone of his voice as he mutters a few colorful words gives it all away. 

“Is it bad?” you rasp.

“The blood is bubbling. That means the knife went through your lung.”

“Oh,” you say hollowly. Talking is agonizing, but you feel the need to fill the silence, to make this interaction any less awkward. “This is my first time being stabbed, so…”

He huffs out a laugh. “You’re doing great. It’s serrated, so it’s going to do more damage coming out than it did going in, but I should be able to fix it. It might scar, though. I’m not that good yet.”

“I’ll take those odds.”

“I need two hands for this, so I can’t block the pain.”

“Just do it,” you beg, tears already flowing down your cheeks. “Please.”

He settles a warm hand on your side, wrapping the other around the hilt. “Ready?” 

“Yes, please just get it over with—” you try to muffle your scream with your hand, but it still slips out into the air as he starts to ease the knife back out, the jagged edges ripping your skin further.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he soothes, his thumb stroking over your rib as he continues to pull slowly, slowly… then there’s a clatter of metal hitting the floor. “It’s out.”

You almost regret asking him to remove it. The cold air of the room hitting the inside of the wound feels like your skin has been lit on fire, and somehow breathing is even more difficult than it was before; the blade was plugging the hole in your lung, and now it feels like you’d just accidentally inhaled half a glass of water. You bring an elbow up to cough into, your eyes widening as you realize that the metallic taste in your mouth is blood — and the warmth pouring down your side, too.

“Fuck, okay… I’m gonna try to fix it now. Just hold on for me. Try to relax.”

You sob in relief as the pain dulls, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on anything other than the burning feeling in your lungs, and not being able to breathe. 

Layer by layer, the wound joins itself back together, leaving only a pink scar behind. Your breaths even out, your eyes fluttering shut and your posture relaxing.  “That’s it,” he soothes. “I’m almost done.”

You don’t respond, and he realizes you’re unconscious. Not an abnormal reaction to having such a serious wound, but a slightly inconvenient one: he can’t ask you what happened, or if you have any other serious injuries. 

The fabric slowly stitches itself back together, the bloodied patches disappearing along with the dried blood coating your skin. The stained towel and the red under his fingernails are the only evidence that anything had happened. That, and the bruise on your arm — though that looks to be a few days old. 

Whoever attacked you must have snuck up on you, thinking one quick stab would finish the job. If they were coward enough to take such a cheap shot at someone in the middle of the night, they’re probably dumb enough to think that would kill you. He wonders if they met their demise, and they’re currently laying dead in the hallway, or if they made an escape. You probably didn’t let them get away with this. You don’t seem like the type to run away from a fight, especially when the other person struck first, and when you’d shown up at his door it didn’t look like you were being chased, either. 

He fades away the bruise and a papercut on your finger, admiring the softness of your skin against his. You’re warm, which is a good sign that you didn't lose too much blood. 

You look quite comfortable laid out on the side of his bed, your head resting on your arm and your legs tucked up toward your chest. You probably aren’t going to wake up any time soon. It’s nearly four in the morning, anyway, and you need as much sleep as you can get after tonight’s events. 

He carefully climbs in on the other side, giving you plenty of room, and pulls the blankets over the pair of you. You stir, burrowing down into the warmth with a soft, content sound. 

He watches you for a moment, comforted by the steadiness of your breathing. Might as well get some sleep, he decides — formation is in less than three hours.

———————————————————-

Thankfully you’re an early riser. The only thing that could make this any more awkward would be if he had to wake you up. 

You yawn and stretch, cracking an eye open to see that his face is only a foot away from yours. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, a light blush covering his cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I don’t have a knife sticking out of me anymore, so pretty good.”

He exhales in relief. “I was worried that you wouldn’t remember, and then this would be super awkward.”

You laugh, sitting up. “Thank you for saving my life and letting me crash — and I’m sorry. It was pretty dumb of me to walk down the hall without a knife or anything. I thought we were safe now that we’re bonded, but I guess not.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, it’s theirs.” He pauses. “Did you…”

“No,” you answer. “I didn’t kill him. Just knocked him out.”

Him? Brennan’s jaw clenches. “Was it that prick from third wing?”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. He seems like the type to go after someone unarmed and unaware. Especially someone half his size.”

You snort. “Seeing the look on his face at formation is going to be so fun.”

He blinks at you, questioning how calm you’re being about this. You take advantage of his stunned silence, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. I owe you one. Two, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he manages. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, making a graceful drop to the floor and bending down to pick up your slippers -- he’d straightened them up for you. How sweet. You spot the knife on his desk, nodding toward it. “Do you want this, or can I keep it as a souvenir?”

“You can keep it. You earned it, after all.”

“Good point. Thanks.”

He keeps his eyes on the wall as you slip out the door, trying to look at anything except the amount of skin that shows in that little pajama set you’re wearing.

As the door closes behind you, he can hear you greeting someone -- not embarrassed at all to be walking down the hall in your pajamas, your slippers in one hand and the dagger in the other.

He flops back down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the interaction in his head, analyzing every word for any hint of deeper meaning. 

“Good morning.”

He jolts upright, snapped out of his thoughts. “Gods above, Marbh,” he pants, recovering from the shock. 

“You’re going to be late.”

Is it possible for a dragon to sound smug?

There’s a knock at the door before it opens -- Naolin. “Why aren’t you dressed?” He sniffs once, twice, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. “And why does it smell like rose petals in here?”

[fairyminnie444]

✨ the ultimate post u need to LET GO ✨

ok so what we KNOW and has already entered our heads:

i want it so I got it

circumstances DOES NOT matter

there’s no time to wait, it’s ALREADY done

“feeling is the secret” Neville Goddard

So why do we keep scrolling through tumblr, reddit, twitter to read more posts thinking that we will always find something more?

Because we are seeking reassurance, we might be subconsciously looking for validation or “proof” that your manifestation techniques are working or that you’re on the right path.

Each new post feels like it might hold the missing piece of the puzzle, even though you already have everything you need within you.

But the more you consume, the more your mind becomes overwhelmed, making it harder to trust your own intuition. Instead of clarity, constant scrolling can increase doubts and make you second-guess what you already know.

LETS BREAK THE CYCLE 🔁 ❎

✨ Set a Limit ✨

Give yourself a specific time frame for scrolling (e.g., 15 minutes). Once the time is up, redirect your focus to practices like visualization or affirmations or anything that make you FEEL your desire.

✨ Create Instead of Consume ✨

Shift your energy from seeking external input to producing something meaningful:

Write about what you already know (like I’m doing rn), If you don't want to post it just save it in your notes, draw it, make your vision board in Canva, etc.

LET IT GO, ITS DONE ✅

✨ Understand What “Letting Go” Means ✨

It doesn’t mean giving up on the desire, but rather stopping fighting the idea that it hasn’t arrived yet.

It’s trusting that the desire is already yours in 4D and that it will manifest in 3D, DEFINITELY. The world is a MIRROR of you inside.

✨ Strengthen Your Certainty ✨

Repeat to yourself:

“My desire is already mine, it is done.”

“I trust completely in the universe and my power.”

This trust helps you let go of control and stop looking for external evidence.

✨ Practice the Feeling of Already Having ✨

Close your eyes and imagine life as if the desire were already a reality.

Feel the joy, relief, and ease of already living it.

When you feel that you already have it, there is no need to “hold on” to the desire.

✨ Redirect Your Focus ✨

Instead of thinking about how or when, focus on living your life lightly.

Engage in hobbies, relax, enjoy the present, and trust that everything is moving in your favor.

✨ Observe Your Thoughts Without Attachment ✨

When thoughts like “what if it doesn’t happen?” arise, acknowledge them without holding on to them:

Say to yourself: “I see that thought, but I know it’s not true.”

✨ Trust the Intelligence of the Universe ✨

Remember: you don’t need to know how things will happen. The universe (or your subconscious mind) is already orchestrating everything to deliver you the best possible way.

Affirm: “Everything is always working out perfectly for me.”

✨ Gratitude in Advance ✨

Be grateful as if you already have the desire. Gratitude is a powerful way to let go:

“I’m so grateful that this is already mine. Thank you, universe.”

Letting go is a conscious choice to trust the process, because you already know it is yours. It is not about “forgetting” about the desire, but about stopping worrying about it. Live your life as if everything is already resolved, and the universe will mirror this certainty in your 3D.

[tinyfantasminha]

I don't want to keep clogging my blog with vent posts but uh... I guess this is a more general concern/observation

But it's getting real hard to stay motivated in fandom spaces when there's little compensation, and annoying occurrences are more frequent than good ones.

Mainly there's been less engagement/people showing interest in creators and their art (such as sending asks, making comments and reblogging with tags) and MORE parasocial interactions. This goes for both artists and writers.

Over this year I've noticed a vast disinterest within my public in general. Asks about ocs, my art, or just nice simple comments of ''I love your art'' has been getting more and more scarce. My follower number is bigger than 2-3 years ago sure and I get more likes on my posts but they are feeling more like just numbers and statistics than actual people who supposedly like my stuff.

And while people being parasocial with creators has always been a thing, I feel like it's gotten way worse... in general? People sending personal pictures out of the blue in hopes of being validated, unwanted psychological advice or assumptions about the creator without any established connection first ( <- these happened to me in the same week.) ventdump, just insensitive/lacking of common sense comments in general, unreasonable demands (mostly with writers)... I wondered at first if it was just me, but a handful of mutuals/acquaintances who are artists and writers seems to be going through it as well.

It's annoying. It's tough. It's getting exhausting. Creators pour so much of themselves into their work—countless hours, effort, and passion, all to share something meaningful or entertaining with others (and for FREE) The LEAST anyone can do is show respect, even if opinions differ. When a writer posts a fanfic, don't just say ''omg post next chapter!'', when an artist posts a drawing of their favorite character, don't just say ''omg draw (character) next!'' as if they're faceless content machines that are expected to churn out more '''content''' for you without acknowledgment, encouragement, or appreciation.

''I want to support creators but I don't know what to say and I feel intimidated by their talent so I just lurk silently :((('' I swear to you, no creator (at least not the majority) is making up an intimidating persona to discourage you from interacting with them. They WANT your comments. A single ''I love your art/writing/videos'' or even something as silly as ''I want to eat your art'' is enough to keep a creator sighing dreamily for WEEKS. It doesn't have to be deep! It's heartfelt and that's what it matters!! (Just remember to keep it relevant and thoughtful... It takes just a bit of common sense NOT to comment things like ''this looks like (another character)'' or ''this but with (another unrelated ship/character/show)''. No one wants to hear comparisons or unrelated ideas when they’ve poured their soul into something.)

In fact, the ''I like your art but I think you're intimidating'' feels more hurtful than flattering. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong, acting wrong. 💀

If you love that fanfic that changed your brain psyche forever and want to gush about it, go tell the writer. If you loved so much a piece of art that you saved it a million times in your phone and can't stop thinking about it, go tell the artist. Push away the ''they probably won't care about my comment/it won't make a difference'' thoughts. DO IT NOW. You won't know when they might go inactive forever or deactivate. You can't know if that is the last piece they will ever post. Make sure you show appreciation to creators NOW, while they are still here. While they're still not being replaced by AI.

[skellymom]

"LAST ISLAND WOLF"

BAD BATCH ALTERNATE ENDING!

Creepy Alternate Ending to the wonderful story written by @kybercrystals94 ! And upon request for some cryptozoology storytelling suggested by reader @fionas-frenzy !!!

To read the original story, click on the icon below. I included an excerpt of it to bridge the alternate ending. Kyber's part is italicized and my collab is in orange lettering. No worries readers, I did get the ok from Kyber ahead of time to do this!

ENJOY!!! (Happy Friendsgiving, y'all!)

Word Count: 778

Warning: Wolf bites human, horror trope.

He wishes that such security extended to himself as well.  

Crosshair listens to their breathing even out, listens to the fire crackle and snap hungrily, listens to the wind in the treetops. He watches shadows stretch in the moonlight and dance in the firelight. It is peaceful. It is safe. He even has his firepuncher nearby, just in case this is all an illusion. But it’s not, this is their new reality. Safe. Content. Home. His eyes feel heavy, and he wants to sleep. But he can’t seem to allow it. 

“Cross?” Hunter’s voice is soft, groggy. “You still awake?”  

He almost doesn’t answer, pretends; however, Hunter is impossible to fool.  

Kriffing enhancement.  

“Yeah,” he says, rolling to his back.  

“Why?”  

“Dunno.”  

Hunter hums. “I think you do.”  

“I’m not tired,” Crosshair lies.  

Hunter sits up, props his forearms on his knees. Crosshair watches the movement out his peripheral, keeps his gaze skyward. Hunter mutters, “It feels strange not having someone on watch, doesn’t it?” 

Crosshair hides his surprise behind a retort, throwing Hunter’s own joke back at him. “Why? Scared the island wolf might get you while you sleep?” 

Hunter’s voice curves around a grin...” No...” 

Crosshair turns to face his brother. 

Hunter’s face is shrouded in dark shadows.  His features undiscernible in the gloom... 

He lifts his nose to the air and inhales deeply.  The movement causes Hunter’s retinas to glimmer and flash in the firelight. 

“I can SMELL your fear” 

Crosshair’s blood runs cold.   

Before he can speak, Hunter is on him. 

Crosshair’s ONLY saving move is blocking Hunter with his rifle.  His brother...this THING...strains over Firepuncher growling gutturally, teeth gnashing and snapping at Cross.   

He’s SO MUCH stronger than I remember! 

Hunter’s hands grip Crosshairs and dig into them with his...it’s claws.  Crosshair instinctively releases his grip on the rifle.  

He CRIES out in pain, and the futility of his struggle. 

It’s ripped from his grasp.  He watches Firepuncher sail away and hit the ground... 

...near Wrecker and Omega... 

Their eyes glow in the firelight as they passively watch Crosshair struggle... 

It is the LAST thing Crosshair sees before Hunter sinks his teeth into his brother’s throat... 

... 

... 

... 

Crosshair awakes SCREAMING! 

Hunter is above him...both hands holding back his own as Crosshair blocks his brother with Firepuncher. 

“CROSSHAIR!  SNAP OUT OF IT!!!”  Hunter shouts in Cross’ face. 

Hunter can sense the abject TERROR in Crosshair.  His brother’s eyes WILD in the firelight. 

Crosshair glances over Hunter’s shoulder to see Wrecker and Omega stare at them in utter shock and concern. 

It slowly dawns on Cross that he had one hell of a nightmare.  He relaxes and lowers the rifle, exhaling, tension releasing from his body. 

Hunter let’s go and stands up. 

Crosshair sit’s up, mopping sweat from his brow... 

A bloodcurdling howl rises from the shadows around them. 

Crosshair IMMEDIATELY snaps to sniper position, scanning the perimeter through his scope.  Ready to blast WHATEVER emerges from the darkness... 

Something in the underbrush slowly crunches toward them... 

Cross’ finger hovers over the trigger... 

Hunter steps forward.  He QUICKLY yanks the rifle up and skyward. 

��WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  Crosshair hisses. 

The crunching become louder and closer... 

... 

... 

... 

Tech emerges from the darkness RIGHT in front of them. 

“Well, that prank could have ended horribly.”  He sasses “Wrecker, I TOLD YOU this wouldn’t work.  Besides, I ONLY have Loth Wolf recordings.  The Island Wolf SHOULD sound MUCH MORE ominous and otherworldly.” 

“Aww, how should I know he’d get TRIGGERED” Wrecker scratched his head.  “There are NO Imperials in that story!” 

“Horrible choice of wording, Wrecker.  Besides, Crosshair is exhibiting a CLASSIC PTSD response.  I warned you...”  Tech plops down next to the fire, tapping away at his datapad. 

“WAIT..!”  Crosshair panics, staring at Tech.  “YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!!!” 

Hunter pats Crosshair’s shoulder.  “You had a nightmare.”  He soothes his brother and carefully takes Firepuncher away from Cross. 

“...but...”  Cross sputters...staring at everyone. 

They stare back at him...as though he had gone insane. 

Hunter steers Crosshair to sit next the campfire, setting the rifle aside.  Wrecker offers Cross a canteen of water while Omega snuggles up next to him, attempting to hug away the night terrors. 

Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega resume their campfire small talk. 

Crosshair takes a long drink, muttering to himself...” You were supposed to have died...” 

He exhales and splashes some water on his face.  Then glances across the crackling fire to Tech. 

Tech, sensing Crosshair’s stare, slowly raises his head from the datapad... 

His goggle lenses flare and flicker... 

...Tech smiles nefariously at Crosshair unbeknownst to his other siblings... 

...a SHARP smile at that.... 

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[ellouchi]

Jimmy dating headcannons (sfw/gn reader)

Disclaimer: this work contains unhealthy interpersonal practices and elements of abuse.

Side note: this was going to be LONGER and include nsfw but I've decided it's better to divide everything into parts. Finally getting this out because there is a critical shortage of Jimmy x reader works (cries and picks up a pen). Let me know if I missed something or made a mistake.

Enjoy!

— ok starting with the fluff: Jimmy feels too embarrassed to properly hold your hand, like some small shy boy. He will make it seem like you've the one who acts childish of course, holds your hand if you plead enough and only for a minute in public, for a bit more when in private. You can be lucky enough to tag after him holding his sleeve if he feels like it. Jimmy secretly loves to hold your wrist, especially in a tight grip, feeling your pulse beating under your skin (he is like a handcuff).

— Jimmy doesn't say "I love you", not in a usual sense. Instead it's always alternatives like common "You make me feel all warm and stupid inside" and the most rare "You mean a lot to me" spoken in a quiet sincere tone. Unfortunately "I love you"s are reserved for manipulation. He knows it gets people very compliant or/and defenseless. It doesn't do any harm anyway because he's merely speaking the truth. It's actually a litmus test if you love him or not, so be very careful with your words during those moments.

— primarily uses your name or alias you go with instead of pet names. Sometimes, Jimmy would use baby, babe, sweet cheeks (bear with me); dear, darling and love when he's pissed off or he tries to be condescending.

— Jimmy has a preconceived notion that your parents/family wouldn't like him, he has enough self awareness for that. Because of this, he'll try to make it seem like he's better than he is, so you better play along. If your family hates his guts, Jim doubles down, resulting in both parties wagging a war. Doesn't give a fuck about them at all after that disastrous first meeting. However, if somehow you family did take a liking to Jimmy, he's glad....but also puzzled. I think Jim has had shitty childhood, so when he is treated like a proper family member, he's lost. He doesn't want to see your family often because of his complicated feelings, but makes exceptions for the special occasions.

— Jimmy knows and remembers things about you to the points it's both scary and impressive: likes and dislikes, fears, dreams, ambitions etc. On the more positive side, this includes songs, books, movies, comics and anything like that — even if he doesn't like it, he has an understanding of what it is. If you call him out, Jimmy either says he doesn't care (he does, so much actually) or says "Of course I do, you can't shut up about [thing]" (lies).

— Jimmy doesn't have a lot of free time on his hands. If both of you are free, that means you are spending this time with him. No, your plans won't matter if they exclude Jim out of the picture. This involves discouraging you or outright sabotaging you. As per usual, he wouldn't find anything wrong with this kind of behaviour. You should just stop being unreasonable and spend some time with your lover. Look, he even went out of his way to find a movie you two would enjoy watching.

— birthdays with Jimmy are weird (if you could tell from the game). If you look forward to them, so does he; if you don't, well he congratulates you when the day comes and that's about it. It's much worse when the gifts are involved, because Jimmy will actually try to get what you want, and the more expensive it is, the more positive reaction he expects from you. He saved up throughout the year, denied himself pleasures and worked his ass off — if you don't shower him with appreciation and gratitude, he will make a scene about how selfish you are. On your own birthday.

— Jimmy keeps your gifts and trinkets in his drawer (if they small enough). He has some photos of you together, small souvenirs from trips, cute notes you left him — you name it. This habit will get creepy: the things having a lot of sentimental value to you, your trash like discarded perfume bottle and cream tubs, even your underwear. He wouldn't care if you made fun of him, but god forbid you misplace or throw away anything from that drawer.

— Jimmy loves when you rely on him. However, to a degree because this man quickly gets tired of running errands. If he offers to do something it's safe to agree, asking too much will get him worked up so don't overdo. With that said, Jimmy always does small things, like making your preferred beverage during the day, calling to remind you something, doing small chores unprompted, basically covering your bases. It's hard to feel unloved when you are remembered and cared for in that way. Also gives him an ammo for fights in case you forget how much Jimmy does for you.

— Jimmy insists on driving you everywhere (so people would know that you belong to him). Also it means Jim has lots of good punishments at his disposal when you two fight: lock the car from the inside? Leave you somewhere you don't know? Or just not pick you up altogether? Better leave all the arguments for later or don't bring them up at all...

— you are one of few people to see Jimmy's playful side: he just loves to joke around you. He wouldn't like it, but your sense of humour would rub off him greatly. If that wasn't enough this man loves to prank you in small ways: it's childish stuff most of times, like hiding or misplacing an item in your house and playing innocent. Other than that, Jimmy will whistle and catcall you when he sees you and will slap your ass in public when you leave. You are encouraged to prank him in return too, but you will be pranked harder next time. Grins, snickers and snorts a lot but laughs very, very rarely. However, it's one of the most healing things you could experience. Literally restores years to your lifespan.

— Jimmy doesn't like seeing you upset actually. He's not super soft or doting, he will pry the reason for your distress out of you whether you like it or not. If he deems it's unimportant, will tell you to suck it up, maybe even make a sarcastic remark. If it's serious business, he involves himself. Of course half the time it makes your situation worse and him angrier at himself which translates to Jim being angry at you.

— when Jimmy is upset, it's best to wait it out. I headcannon Jimmy used to have terrible anger issues but with years managed to control them to a degree. It doesn't mean he wouldn't lash out on you, his partner, it does get ugly. Him hugging you for comfort is actually more frequent than you would expect. As long as you don't address his tears or say much, Jimmy would calm down with little to no issue. Don't bring it up later too, he won't respond and will pretend it never happened.

— finishing with the reminder that you will be carrying Jimmy's emotional baggage as well as your own if you have any. I hope you have strong and healthy arms and back for that. If you're not careful enough or *cough cough* stay ignorant of Jim's bad influence on you, he will bring you to his level and mold you into who he wants you to be. But it doesn't work one way: in theory, you could "fix" some of his unsavoury outlooks but don't expect too much. After years of blood, sweat and tears it's possible to finally convince him to go to therapist. Praying he would continue on his own wouldn't be enough and you would need to actively encourage Jim to not give up on his mental health treatment. Way to go!

[gaysparkler]

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here

Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Garden" Read on AO3 Spoilers for the choice directly following "A Warden's Best Friend" under the cut!

Rook was pacing. Emmrich could hear them go from room to room withing the Lighthouse – and no doubt in the courtyard, though there was no way he could be certain. There had been an air of disquiet around them, and that, Emmrich could say with certainty, was due to the number of difficult decisions they had been forced to make. As a Watcher, Emmrich knew how sheltering the Grand Necropolis could be. The “choice” boiled down to which classes to take, which role to ascend to, which tasks to do for the day, what to eat for each meal.

Not which city should be saved, and which should burn. Not thrusted with the fate of the world in their hands.

Emmrich wondered if he could even handle it half as well as Rook had, though part of him wondered how much was hidden away from them all. From him, despite his and Rook’s not-so surprising closeness.

Perhaps, then, it was not surprising to see Rook push past the doors to the laboratory, their dark circles remarkably worse than usual. The door closing behind them was heavy and loud in the previous quiet of his reading. They stood in the middle of the laboratory and fidgeted with their glove in silence, mouth twisted in a frown. The sound of Emmrich’s book closing seemed to make Rook remember why they were here.

“Could I help you with anything, Emmrich?” They spoke again before Emmrich could answer. “Please, I just—I need…something normal. Something real.”

In the dim light of the room, Emmrich could see tears pearling in Rook’s eyes. He carefully set his book aside before standing and gently approaching them, as if the wrong move would send them running.

“It’s not much,” he said as he extended a tentative hand towards Rook, “but there are some bones that could use some sorting.”

Rook let go of their glove to grasp Emmrich’s hand, and nodded. A tear slipped. Emmrich watched it slide down their cheek, leaving a trail of kohl in its wake. Before he could think, he raised his other hand to Rook’s face and caught the tear with his thumb.

“I—” he stammered, “please forgive me—”

But Rook only closed their eyes and leaned into his touch, wisps of jet-black hair falling across their features, weightlessly. Emmrich heard them take a slow breath in, and out.

“I can handle some sorting,” they finally said, keeping their eyes closed. “I wouldn’t be worth much as a Watcher if I couldn’t.”

“Now, now. None of that.” He tapped Rook’s cheekbone with his thumb before slowly sliding his hand away from their face so he could fetch the adorned box containing the unidentified bones he had brought with him from the Necropolis. He carefully placed it on his examination table, and gently tipped it over so the bones would spill, without rolling too far, on the marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rook worrying at their bottom lip. The weight of the world, on such delicate shoulders…

“Right,” he said, cheerfully. “We’re all set!”

Manfred, on the second floor, gave an excited hiss. And that was what Rook needed to crack the smallest of smiles. They made their way to the table, on Emmrich’s opposite side, and the moment they started their work, the tension in their face and body disappeared. Something normal, usual. Something that did not generate an impossible amount of doubt, guilt, and hypothetical similes.

“Thank you,” Rook whispered without looking at him, their voice rough with tears.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied as he watched their fingers deftly and carefully handling each individual bone, and already beginning to separate them in neat categories. In that moment, Emmrich wished he could have seen Rook fully in their environment, in the Necropolis. To see them fully immersed in their work, how their necromantic talents manifested outside of combat, know them as they are—pressures of apocalypse removed. But would that truly be the person in front of him now?

Emmrich finally reached forward, his fingers brushing against Rook’s, and joined them in their meticulous sorting.

-

Their work finished and laid out in precise reconstructions (partial, in some cases) on Emmrich’s slab before them, Rook finally looked up at him, and to his heartbreak, fear remained in their eyes. Emmrich laid his hand on one of few cleared areas of the table, his palm up and inviting.

“Rook?” he softly called. Their hand found his.

“Pénthos,” they said almost in a whisper. “My name.”

An old Nevarran word, before the trade tongue was favoured.

Mourning.

Their dark eyes, sunken in purple deep as bruises, said everything he needed to know.

Do not let this be forgotten. I beg you.

“Pénthos,” Emmrich repeated, inclining his head towards them. “You look tired. You should sleep.”

They scoffed. “Everyone’s been telling me that.”

“Then that should provide you with enough evidence to lend it credibility.”

“I know that,” Rook—Pénthos sighed, “I know…that I should sleep. I just—I can’t.”

And just like that, the tension that Emmrich worked (not so) hard to dispel returned to their body. Pénthos began fidgeting with their gloves again and picking at their lip—and it broke his heart. He wished so dearly there was something, anything he could do to help once more and then—

Manfred appeared behind them, holding a tray of freshly brewed tea.

“Well,” Emmrich said, “may I invite you to stay for tea?”

Pénthos smiled again, the brightest thing he had seen all day (save maybe for Manfred’s jewelled eyes, but he would tell neither—not yet, anyway) and replied, “I would love to.”

“I have heard that resting with good company can almost be as beneficial as a night’s sleep.”

Pénthos chuckled. “Did you, now?”

“I have, of course, my sources!” Emmrich pointed to a specific section of the many bookshelves lining the walls, somewhere on the second floor. Pénthos’ smile turned into a full laugh, and the lines of tension slipped away, even if just for a moment.

[uniquecellest]

I like movie Moira McTaggert. I dislike how they give her so little sustance but that's also what I love?

"she's charles's love interest" In First Class she isn't given much with Charles (which yay love interest wise bc she can do better and nay in their lame attempt to make them seem romantically compatible) but she and Charles are close in like a best friends way but some other CIA agents assume it's more (they go with it bc 60s) meanwhile she's actually closer to Raven and imo it's Moira not Erik Raven goes to when she wants to know if someone can kiss her without her looking normal, Moira reassures her (Moira tells Hank off later then laughs when he comes in blue and furry before leaving for Cuba in like ironic you wouldn't kiss a naturally blue girl but now you're blue way)

where was she in DoFP which is where I imagine maybe she was there in 63 when Erik got arrested (workoholic bastard *affectionate*) and sure she doesn't remember Erik clearly but she kind of knows him so she may be sticks her neck out and gets him into the underground plastic cell (the other option was death and she just knows that that can't happen. Not only bc of the brotherhood but she vaguely remembers Charles's presence and knows Charles will not handle that shit well) and the reason why her course of action is accepted instead of dismissed or stolen by one of her male colleagues is bc Lady Kennedy spoke up for her, agreed to it, and was adamant in letting it be known that I was Moira's idea.

Then in Apocalypse she and Charles meet again (I'm re-writting the cringe ass meeting). In post DoFP with Charles and Hank re-opening the school he invites her over prior to the school opening that is when he gives her back her memories, she keeps the school quiet. Eventually she out-ranks Stryker and that pisses him off but oh well. Anyways he calls her over to Westchester because he knows something is wrong and she is the main one (aside from Lady Kennedy bc Lady Kennedy was a frequent visitor and writer to Erik) that has kept tabs on him at least where he lives and asks her to try contact him but then Apocalypse happens (Alex survives in my version) they all go and save Charles, Moira goes with Raven and Peter to knock some sense into Erik - in Moira's case literally. idk how but she does. Everything else follows in-verse minus Moira getting her memories back. Turns out Magda and Nina were alive and had been kidnapped but Magda and Erik divorce amicably as he doesn't want to put her in danger again and she has now seen first hand some shit that can happen to and around him. Nina goes to the Xavier school

(I'm making up a different movie in place of Phoenix) in the 90s they find out Banshee and Angel and some others are alive. They find out that the sentinals that killed them didn't kill them but teleported them somewhere else where Amahl Faruk finds them and brainwashes them into working for him. Hank, Raven, and Alex feel as though it is their duty - as the ones closest to them - to bring them back but Amahl is after Ororo and Charles. Hank, Raven, and Alex sneak out when the others are on a field trip overnight in like DC or something. in DC Moira is talking with Charles and Erik about a new mutant disturbance which throws them off as neither have detected any mutants in weeks which startles Moira bc how can the two strongest mutants not know. Amahl then hypnotizes Ororo and Charles - Academic he is still being up - feels that something is off and sees Storm but she doesn't feel right telepathically he calls to her to no avail, going after her Charles and Storm are kidnapped. Moira goes to the DC CIA office to gather Intel on what happened and threatens to cut everyone there a new one (Erik's with her and any beef they have, squashed. She's his bestie now) and with CIA Intel and plane they set off to save Charles and Ororo. (I can make this thing a whole post alone so I'm gonna stop here for now.)

but we still get the Paris proposal (Raven is also alive) Moira and Hank are Charles's Best Woman/Man, Raven is ordaining, with Magda and Angel as Erik's and Sean and Nina as the flower throwers (metal so Erik can reuse them later and make them last longer) and turns out Moira's son is a mutant (which for some explain her advocacy aside from her friendship with Charles) that becomes the ring bearer. And Alex is the first person to give a speech at the reception that makes everyone do a spit take

[theredrenard]

(Long post ahead! Keep reading under the cut!)

‼️Warning for homophobia, toxic masculinity, mild alcohol abuse (mentioned like twice), and a single use of the F slur.

You’re 6 years old. You fall down the front steps and chip a tooth on the sidewalk below. Your mother holds you and dries your tears. Suck it up, your father says. Real men don’t cry.

You’re 8 years old. You fall off your bike and scrape your knee. You don’t cry, but it’s a near thing. Your mother patches you up while you sniffle pitifully. Tears make you weak, Thomas, your father says.

You’re 10 years old, and your mother has cancer. Your father is at work. You curl into your mother’s side in that uncomfortable hospital bed, and you cry and cry and cry.

You’re 12 years old at your mother’s funeral. You don’t cry. You can’t. She’s not here to hold you anymore, and your father would be so, so disappointed. She was always too soft on you, Tom, your father says as they lower her casket into the damp earth.

You’re 15 years old, and your father is a flurry of drunken rage because he found out you kissed another boy under the bleachers. You hide in your room, nursing a freshly-bruised black eye and fighting back tears. No son of mine is gonna be a fucking faggot, your father says.

You’re 17 years old when you forge your father’s signature, running away to join the army and never looking back. You don’t even want to be in the army, you just want to get away from him.

You’re 20 years old when you nearly get caught staring at another recruit. You shake it off and remind yourself that “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is still in effect. They can never know. If they know, it’ll ruin your life.

You’re 22 years old when your chopper goes down in a whirl of flames. You fight tooth and nail to get free of the wreckage, dragging yourself hand over hand through the sand, bleeding profusely from a nasty gash in your side as bullets whiz by overhead. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’re lucky you’re still breathing. You get honorably discharged and sent home. In the back of your mind, you hear your father. Weak, he says. You have no right to cry when half your crew is dead.

You’re 24 when you join the 118. You meet Captain Gerrard, and he reminds you eerily of your father. You can’t show any weakness. If you do, it’ll ruin your life.

You’re 26 years old when you meet Hen Wilson and she begs you to see her, to respect her and her place within the 118. You wish you could be like her. Out and proud, taking up space. You can’t. It’ll ruin your life.

You’re 29 years old when you decide you’re ready for the sky once more. The 118 is better under Captain Nash than it was before, but this place never felt like home. You’re not sure if anywhere really has.

You’re 35 years old working at Harbor Station when you get a call from an old friend. He needs your help, something about an air tanker and a block on fire? You owe him for saving your sorry ass, so you figure, why not? You’re not doing anything else with your life.

You’re 39 years old when you get another call from that same old friend. This time, he talks about a cruise ship and a hurricane. You had no idea this call would change your life.

You’re 39 years old when you meet Evan Buckley. Buck, the others call him, but not you. Never you. He’s Evan to you, and he’s everything. That thought scares you. This man, you worry, could completely upend your life. For better or worse, you don’t know yet.

You’re 39 years old when you kiss Evan Buckley and change his life. You realize you’re his first relationship with a man, and you pray that he realizes he can do better before you fall too far and things come crashing down.

You’re 39 years old when Evan gets that excited sparkle in his eyes, sitting across from you in his loft’s kitchen after six months of dating. Move in, he says. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a seed of panic blooms. You’ve heard this story before, and you remember how it ends. You’re his first, you can’t be his last.

You’re 39 years old when you walk away from the single greatest thing, greatest person, to have ever happened to you. You broke his heart and shattered your own in the process.

You go home. You ignore the texts from Hen, from Howie, from Eddie. You drink yourself sick, and you cry harder than you ever have before.

What’s a few tears matter now? You’ve already ruined your life.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

request, lost light character of your choice reacting to Kup having a very sweet old conjunx. With a personality similar to Muriel from Courage the Cowardly Dog, Kup is basically just Eustace (but a lot less of an asshole).

SO is that one old bot that have the patient of a saint and can mother anything. If they're upset then everyone else is.

Rodimus laughs. He can't help himself. Because the idea of Kup having a conjux was funny enough but a conjux with this kind of personality? Old, grouchy, stern Kup with a sweet little partner that refuses to even swear? That's fragging hilarious. How did that happen? Rodimus thought that if Kup somehow managed to get hitched then it would be to a his gun or something!

Probably approaches the Kup's conjuxx with the intention of teasing them about conjuxing a mech like Kup. But then they start mothering him. Being like "My dear, you look tired, why don't you take a quick nap?" and "You have some dirt on your spoiler, here, let me get it for you." And while at first Rodimus tries to wave it off with a joke or something (he's a Prime, he doesn't NEED to be fussed over) soon he's like "Huh, you know what? This ain't so bad when I think about it" and that's it. Now he won't stop whining for their attention and sympathy. They are always ready to listen to him, to provide comfort and company and they treat him like he's special and wonderful and he likes that.

Rodimus: "Gram-gram, Magnus won't stop pushing me to do paperwork! He knows I hate paperwork!"

Kup's conjux: "Oh dear, poor Rodimus. Would some pie make you feel better?"

Rodimus: *sniffles dramatically* "Yeah."

He get's so close to the bot purely because how they treat him that he momentarily forgets that they are conjuxed to Kup. When Rodimus does however remember that he keeps asking them about embarrassing stories of the old mech. Come on, give him the details! Did he do embarrassing stuff to impress you? Did he write poems? Rodimus bets he did. Old bot loves poems, for some weird reason. Please tell him you saved them, he NEEDS to see them.

Jokingly starts calling Kup "grandpa".

[6feathered6siren6]

V and mc in bed after mc has a breakdown over work

Vigilante's help - V x reader

You have been overworked and stressed out from work, bosses giving you more work than ever since a few people quit. You understood some of them, one got married, another got a new job, or even moving. But you have been given the short end of the stick, getting almost all of their work. Attending their meetings, interviews, writing their papers, and even the verbal abuse from your boss. 

Sure, you have been grinding your ass for this job, working overtime. You barely had any time to spend with any of your friends, server or not. You worked, got home, ate(when you remembered), worked even more, then to bed. It was how it was for weeks. You had no time to spend with your boyfriend, V. You texted him from time to time, when you could, at least. But he knew something was up. 

(:̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:★:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

You got home after doing 12 hours of working. Tired was an understatement. You went to grab some easy food to make, a frozen meal from your freezer into your microwave. You booted your computer and changed your work clothing. Grabbing your food, you sat at your computer, typing away for the interview you had with Angel, you were still somewhat shocked you had to interview her. 

Hearing a knock from your front door, you got up and stretched. Who was knocking at… 11 pm? Shesh, you need to get to bed, you have to wake up early tomorrow. As you walked over to your front door, and opened it to see… V? 

“V? What are you doing here?” You were shocked, what was your boyfriend doing here? And at this hour? Should he be looking for killers or something?

He was looking at you with different emotions, but you could see guilt, shame, sadness, and regret. Like somehow what you look like was his fault. You felt his hand on your cheek. A kind gesture unlike the constant abuse from your job. 

“My love, I should have noticed it sooner. I’m sorry that I didn’t.” Kind words. Just a few words, in your opinion, broke the mask you were wearing all this time. You felt your tears stream down. As you lift your hand to wipe your tear, V, already beat you to the punch. “Have you eaten? Or were you about to sleep? If I did wake you up, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “I was about to eat, I was planning to work–” 

“No.” 

You felt your eyes widen as you looked at him. “But I-” 

“No, I’m sorry but you need rest, Love. Work can wait.”

“But I ne-” Before another word you could get out, you were picked up by the taller male. You were so confused but you realized that this male will make sure he gets what he wants right now. He gets to your bedroom, and puts you on the bed, and lays the bag down onto the bed. It was your favorite fast food. He saves your progress on your computer then shuts it off. 

“I’m calling your work to have tomorrow off. You need rest.” He turns around. His arms are crossed, showing he won’t be swifted by your word. 

“V.. I can’t take a day off. I just…” You felt emotions, and your voice shook as you tried to speak. “They need me there.” 

“And you need to rest, they can take care of it. You look like a breeze of wind away to just pass out or crumble.” V got closer and sat beside you. He laid his hand on your cheek again, that feeling of that mask you oh so built up to perfection, crumbled into pieces as they fell from your cheeks again. Someone that just knew you were drowning, brought you back to the surface. You felt his hand pull your head in his shoulder, allowing you to break down. 

You worked so hard and got so little credit, working till the point you were so close to passing out at times. Wanting something to take that edge off. Just something to keep going, but V.. He was the one who just did. You felt yourself sob into his shoulder, feeling tired, exhausted as the tears poured from your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry that it took Angel to get me to realize you were in trouble. She told me that you looked horrible, my love. I didn’t believe her, but she made me see you for myself. And I’m glad I did. If I allowed you to work a day more, the more regret I would feel.” You felt his hand caressing your hair, playing with it. 

As the moments passed on, you felt that your eyes no longer had enough tears to shed. It was a moment of silence as he shifted both of you onto the bed, he brought the bag of fast food closer, sure it was colder, but it was your favorite, and you would still eat it. Opening the container for you, he looks down. 

“Please, don’t bear everything alone. You have me here. And a few others from the.. server.” He paused as he thought, you knew his opinions on the server, it was a love hate situation to you. But to you, his words meant everything to you. You smiled very softly as you ate. “You need to worry about yourself at times.”

 You looked at him after you took a bite. “Thank you, V. It means a lot to me.” His eyes still spoke so much, almost most of those emotions from before. “I promise to take better care of myself. A step at a time though, I still have a lot to worry about at work. But I promise.”

He still did not look convinced. But you gave off a smile, a smile of mischief and almost childish. You threw up your pinkie at him. 

“I’ll pinkie promise it.” He looks a bit dumbfounded for a moment before giving a huff and a smile. 

“Good, I’ll hold you to it.” He interlocked his pinkie with yours. 

A promise you holded off well. With his help of course. 

꒷꒦︶꒦꒷✧꒷꒦︶꒦꒷

So hopefully I did your request justice, I loved playing V in KC and how he responds, might be a bit ooc as well. But I did enjoy writing this.

Words: 1,035

[seitosokusha]

hear me out, isekai!villainess!dan feng. xingfeng with a side helping of jingheng

Standard set up. Dan Feng gets hit by Truck-kun and wakes up in the novel he just finished reading. He's the villain(ess) older brother to the protag, Dan Heng.

In the novel, Dan Feng is cold and cruel to his younger brother. Imprisoning Dan Heng inside of the house, never letting anyone meet him. Trying to isolate him, control him and keep away from everyone.

The male lead is Yingxing, a genius commoner, who is the one breaks Dan Heng out. Dan Feng goes mad, trying to get his brother back, and ultimately dies at the hands of Yingxing. Dan Heng goes onto his happily ever after with Yingxing.

This, our isekai!DF, thinks is bullshit.

The answer is simple (as per all isekai tropes), avoid that fucking ending.

The problem, isekai!DF doesn't claim to be any warmer than the novel character he's replaced. "How to be a good sibling?" "How to show love and affection to your younger sibling"

Look at this poor sap. He's in such deep water.

DH: You're being nice? Did something happen? DF: ??? -hasn't even done anything to DH- DH: You're paying attention to me. DF: Ah -has been observing and trying to figure out what NOT to do-

isekai!df makes it work!

isekai!DF (somehow!) manages to get a functional(???) relationship with Dan Heng.

Mostly by shutting up, listening to Dan Heng and paying attention to him. (While having a minor crisis because by the Aeons, wtf novel!DF, your younger brother is so starved for attention that this is enough?!)

Then Yingxing wanders into the story. Which isekai!DF has been dreading but surely it's not going to end with his death because Dan Heng is (marginally) happy now, right?

YX -waltzing up to df- "hello, let's get married" DF: ....

DF: did i misread the book?! I'm pretty certain Yingxing was supposed to go to Dan Heng?

Meanwhile in side plot B, Dan Heng is free to leave the house with Dan Feng's blessing and explore. During a trip to the market he runs straight into a stranger. It's crown prince Jing Yuan.

While DF tries to figure out Yingxing is trying to charm him instead of Dan Heng, he is also utterly horrified to learn that DH is seeing JY.

DF: the crown prince? -aghast- DH: -worried things are gonna revert- yes? DF: He's not good enough for you

(Remember DF, locking DH up is not the solution! That's a death flag! )

DH: he's the crown prince? DF: Do you know much *work* that is?! JY: I understand, I must prove myself worthy.

On the other side, JY and YX are besties.

YX was a scholarship student, JY was top of his class and they shouldn't be friends, but they are. YX is such an OP genius that JY is absolutely justified elevating YX up the social ladder. Which is great for YX. Because now he can marry DF because equals. <3

No idea how this ends. Something something 2nd Queen Phantylia has an evil plot to kill her stepson, JY. Something goes wrong, YX becomes Blade under her control. Blade tries to kill DH. JY saves DH, gets injured in the process. DF steps forward.

And Doki doki, true love breaks her hold over him and DF is just like "FUCK FINE! I love you idiot." YX: knew you loved me >:3c DF: The Aeons know why. -head in hands- DH: feng-gege just needed someone stubborn enough to break down his walls.

We end with a wedding, a jingheng wedding.

YX: What! Why aren't we the ones getting married? DF: Because you haven't proposed. YX: ... YX: DF, will you marry me? DF: -smile- yes.

[rainingincale]

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