#°˖✧❀ ❛ out of offerings. ┊ ooc. ❀✧��°

[phoenixiaxia]

Shopping Surprise

I'm like, a few months way too late, but I finally wrote a fic for @jinwoosbabyboo open fic night. I'm sorry it took so long, writer's block and IRL responsibilities had me by the neck.

BUT ANYWAYS! Have this.

Sylus x notMC!Reader, gn!reader written in mind, MC is named Em in this fic, implied Zayne x MC in the fic, possibly OOC, fluff, Zayne and reader are friends

Grocery shopping can be stressful on a normal day. But when you’re shopping for ingredients to surprise your boyfriend to a meal you grew up with, it’s downright mind-breaking. Especially since both Linkon and Bloomshore markets don’t have all the ingredients you need. When you vented your frustration to Zayne, he offered to drive you to a market an hour outside the city that should have everything you needed. Which brings you to now, standing over your shopping cart in the produce section.

“Onions… lemongrass… banana shoots… collection of mints and herbs… am I missing anything?”

Zayne places the bag of limes into the shopping cart, glancing over everything in the basket. “Unless you plan on giving him watery broth, I would recommend getting some beef bullion,” He gently intones.

“What, talking from experience, Mr. Ice man?”

Zayne lifts his head, a deadpan look on his face. The only indication of his amusement is a light quirk of his lips as he shakes his head. It’s no secret that Em is not the greatest cook. You still remember her “attempt” to cook live crab, or at least two separate retellings of the event from both Em and Zayne. It’s something you lord over her whenever you can.

Regardless, he is right. You quickly look over the list in your hand before handing it over to him. “Can you head to the butcher counter and get the meats on the list? I’ll head over to the spice aisle and grab stuff for the broth.”

Zyne nods, taking the list from your hand and walking towards the back of the market. At the same time, you push the cart, navigating the crowds towards the spice aisle. You stop in front of a shelf, looking through the bullion choices. Delightfully, they have choices for specific dishes, which makes your life easier. You find the ones for the soup you need, though the boxes are not close to the front. You reach up to try and grab one of the boxes, but a large hand reaches over you, grasping a few boxes and holding them in front of you.

You turn around, jumping slightly when you come face to face with a familiar set of ruby eyes. “Sy! What are you doing here?”

Sylus smirks, his trademark smirk still on his face. “I just happened to be in the area, sweetie. But I should be asking you that question. This is outside your normal territory, kitten.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips as you take the bouillon cubes from him. It’s practically confirmed that the surprise has been spoiled, but you try to at least keep up the illusion of a secret. “Well I needed groceries that I couldn’t get in the city.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow at your reason. “Right. And that’s why you didn’t call me to drive you out here, but your doctor friend.”

As if on cue, Zayne steps up to the cart, placing a few bags of meat into the basket. He makes a point to stand at the front end of the cart, looking between you and Sylus. Lifting the list in his hand, he looks back and forth between the cart and the paper before coming to a decision.

“I assume my assistance is not needed anymore,” He places the list on top of the bags in the cart, ignoring your glare of betrayal. “I do have a few things I want to buy here, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

Without another word, Zayne heads towards the front of the market, ignoring your silent pleas for assistance. Sylus takes the moment to pick up the list from the cart, reading through the contents. A long pause settles between you two as his eyes scan the paper.

The silence finally breaks when he looks back at you. “Is this the soup that you’ve been telling me about?”

You let out a long sigh, finally accepting that you can’t keep this a surprise anymore. “Yes it is. I wanted to make this as a surprise for our next date. But clearly, I can’t even do that without your jealous ass getting his feathers ruffled.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow at that, leaning down to gently poke your forehead. “I don’t get jealous, sweetie.” He still has a smirk on his face as he straightens up, but his eyes are softer as he looks at you. “But I do appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. Next time, just let me know when you want to do something. It’s already hard enough to convince you to use my card.”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head before pushing your cart towards the checkout. You can hear him follow behind you. “Fine. I can’t do surprises around you. I’ll run all my surprise ideas through you for prior approval.”

He chuckles at your sarcasm, resting a hand on your waist as you both wait in line at the cashiers. “I’ll make sure to prioritize your requests before any other business I have to attend to.”

The payment for the groceries goes uneventful, with Sylus paying before you could even pull out your wallet. You make a point to ignore the cashier’s look of bewilderment as you both leave the supermarket. As he loads his car with your groceries, he pauses for a bit before turning to you.

“Make the chiffon cake as well.”

“Excuse me?”

“Luke and Kieran have been asking for your cake at the base. Make the chiffon cake as well.”

Epilogue

[winterwhisperz-blog]

Since this is ts year I’ve been wanting to get back into writing hcs for the cast! >:] this was the first idea that came to mind I hope you enjoyyy !!

How The Ts Cast would comfort You After A Nightmare

Warnings: uhhh ?? Probably ooc ?? Mentions of smoking since—Ais- a lil suggestive in vere’s but i think that’s it!!

Notes: Gn mc, fluff, somewhat of established relationships??

Leander:

Leander notices your unease before you’re even fully awake. He doesn’t usually sleep, even with your head on his chest. (Or vice versa) He relaxes in your presence, yes, but he can’t force his eyes to shut.

He feels you shift, sees your brows furrow, and knows something isn’t right.

He loves nothing more than being the first person you see after a nightmare. The first person that gets to comfort you.

He will use the fact he can touch your hands to its full advantage.

Takes them and puts his cheeks in your palms. Leaning slightly over you so you can fiddle with his hair.

Will definitely bring your hand to his chest too, “Listen to my heartbeat. I’m here. You’re here. We’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

Hm hm so sweet

Still don’t trust anything he says

Further into your relationship, you can convince him to sing to you.

His deep voice (which I’m still processing btw he did NOT give me deep voice vibes) lulls you into a peaceful rhythm. You can -feel- every note leave his chest, his hands tracing circles on your spine.

If he can get you to talk about what you dreamt about, he’d tell you that he’ll protect you from whatever is bothering you.

You can trust him to be stronger than what or who you’re frightened of. You just have to trust him.

Ais

Ahhh, comfort is not his thing. Or he doesn’t think it is.

But he understands, at least.

He knows what it’s like struggle with nightmares. I’m imagining having dreams in a hive mind is the absolute WORST

He’ll most likely tell you to get up and walk around. Probably come out and have a smoke with him. Get the night air on your face, get your mind grounded.

He’s the opposite of Leander in the sense he won’t ask what you had a nightmare about. He knows to give you space.

He will listen if you do want to talk about it though.

He’s there for you, a steady presence that is just comforting to be around. And he’ll listen for as long as you need. Or just stand by you until you’re ready for sleep again.

Will make you tea once you’re back inside, to warm you up.

“Calms the brain down.” He says as he hands you a cup.

You know he’s talking from experience.

Princess doesn’t leave your side when she notices you’re upset. She’ll put her head on your lap as you drink your tea, offering—not exactly *fur* therapy (idk what…soulless have?) but comfort nonetheless.

If you stay up the rest of the night, Ais is up with you. By the end of the night you have a blanket over your shoulders, an empty cup of tea and a small sense of ease.

Kuras

Still unsure if he sleeps? But if you’re together he won’t argue against sleeping in bed with you.

Similar in a way to Ais, in how he’ll give you a cup of tea and advise things that helps you ground yourself.

Helps you mediate, or just simply clear your mind.

He’ll hold your bandaged hands, and you can feel the warmth despite the barrier.

Soft voice telling you to find five things you can see if the nightmare sent you into a panic attack.

If you’re restless after you wake up, he’ll propose you take a night-time stroll with him.

Will ask you once what you dreamt about, with the intent of knowing how to help you, but if you don’t want to talk about it he won’t pry.

His presence is an anchor, and after just a short amount of time you’re feeling peaceful.

He will try to help you get back to sleep, as a full rest is important. And it’s surprisingly easy to slip back into unconsciousness when you lay next to him. A protective arm around you, the smell of his hair .

You know the comforting feeling of warm water on your hands when you wake up super early? Thst kinda makes you wanna dose off again? That’s the same vibe his aura gives.

Your dreams are full of light when you manage to shut your eyes again.

Mhin

Don’t have anything for this one because if I was sleeping next to Mhin nightmares aren’t what I’m having okay okay

Just kidding I have quite a few ideas 😇

Like Ais, Mhin doesn’t really know how to comfort. At least not anymore.

In fact, taking in Mhin’s character I’ll say you weren’t at the stage yet where you were sleeping together (😖💔)

My vision is this

You awake from your nightmare, panting, sweat rolling down your skin, and you just need to get out.

You go wherever your feet take you, desperately needing fresh air. The walls are too tight, the presence of strangers in the same building as you is suddenly nauseating. (Real.)

You don’t even really know where you’re going, and don’t get snapped out of your haze till you hear a familiar scolding voice. (Baby ur my angggggellll)

“I thought I told you to stay off the streets at night.”

Now whether you tell them you had a nightmare or not, Mhin still notices something’s up.

And though you aren’t at the ‘sleeping together’ stage, you are still steadily trusting each other.

Mhin takes you to the one place they know is a comfort. The alley with most of Eridia’s stray cats.

Fur therapy babyyyy !

After you spend some time with the cats, possibly opening up to Mhin, they then follow you back just to make sure ur stupid butt gets home safely.

But but hhhh

Okay okay listen, you know how Mhin knows anatomy ??

Well they also know the exact pressure points on your body that can calm down your mind.

Their… THEIR hands showing you where to PrESs hhhhr (sorry the beast is winning, I can’t control it)

A pleasant coldness against your skin, the barest touch on your neck when they show you the point under your collarbone.

Before they leave, they slip your covers over your shoulders. And when they think you’re asleep, they leave you with a gentle kiss on the forehead. ☹️

Vere

Ahhh vere vere vere…my arch nemesis…

Now okay- YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE

Soft vere 🥺

Maybe you’re at the point in your relationship when he only sleeps well when he can smell your scent, feel you near. Hear your heartbeat merging with his.

Sleeping with vere is very secure, perhaps a bit possessive, his most gentle also his most violent.

His grip is tight around you, claws sometimes digging uncomfortably into your back. Like he expects someone to come pry you out of his hands.

But his tail is also a comforting weight, gentle as he wraps it around you.

Like leander, he knows instantly when you’re having the nightmare. He lets out a growl as you shift, but it’s not at you specifically (well- maybe a LITTLE because ur kinda throwing off his beauty sleep) but more at whatever must be scaring you.

When he wakes up, notices it’s a nightmare, he feels annoyed he can’t actually fight anyone.

I’m noticing a pattern in the fact not many of the cast knows how to comfort lmaohshshsh

He may make a few flirty remarks “We could always do something to distract you, my dear.”

And hey if that works that works but I’m scared of that close of intimacy so I have a different thought in mind

Side note do you think vere is the type to use ‘my dear?’ I really can’t tell if he’s the type to use that or ‘darling’ for some reason it doesn’t fit in my eyes

ANYWAY

I do think either way he uses something to distract you. He tells you stories about his day, about his life—you honestly can’t tell if the tales are real or not.

But some of them get you laughing

…you also get to pet his ears <333

Idk if foxes purr but he does get so cozy he makes whatever the fox equivalent is.

Holds you somehow closer when you’re back asleep. And it may be silly but he can’t go back to sleep because of how angry he is that isn’t at full power.

You should have nothing to fear when you’re with him. Well, other than him himself.

If your nightmare was a product of someone who hurt you, they are now on his ‘will eat once free’ list.

Annnd there we have it !!! I hope you enjoyed !! <3 I’m still pretty rusty but hopefully I’ll get back into a small groove ! (Ignore HOW MHIN’S WAS A LIL LONGER THAN THE OTHERS.)

I hope you eat your favorite treat, see a really cool bug, (unless ur scared of them) and spot a heart somewhere in nature!

[sxprot]

Do a Vee x Reader where reader wins on her game show, and the prize is going on a date with her

ALL EYES ON ME!

Divider cred: animatedglittergraphics-n-more n cafekitsune

Note: Bro, yall are making my heart ache, cough cough a single person trynna write something romantic💔 failed miserably . I hope it makes sense for you, haha.

Tw: bad grammar, slight ooc

Vee x gn!reader

VEE:

Set up the prize. Besides, a date with the VEE isn't that bad; she knows how to make you smile and grin. So of course, when you won, her screen flashed a smile when she sees your eyes widen, surprised at the offer to go on a date with her.

Gloat to Astro about it. Of course, in Vee's eyes, you were nothing but nice, helping her whenever you spotted her form, scowling at any inconvenience errors.

Often seek bits of advice to impress you. Just some confidence there isn't that helpful, she needs more! Something that would make you go awe. A bit of a compliment would not do much, it's one of her weaknesses so far.

She doesn't like to see your smile twisting downward into a frown as a recoil to her backhanded compliment, the blunt of her words stab you through the chest.

But really, a simple date that needs so much thinking is a lot. To impress one another is already enough to make her screen buzz in annoyance, one wrong move could lead to another worse case scenario. Worst one is you ignoring her.

So Vee decided to make a small little gift, a lovely surprise box. With the help of the book club's members, she could only hope that you would like it.

"Hello." Vee greets "You look dazzling."

You stare at Vee as she gifts you the present, soon cupping your hands with her palms nervously. Who knows what's going on with her, the way she would lean back, straighten her bow before mimicking a cough.

But oh, the way Vee would sigh in relief when you smiled at her, thanking with such sincerity in your tone, such things overwhelm her to an extent. A bit of steam coming out of her head, but she would dismiss it when you show any concern about it.

Despite the date going well, the television worries about it. She isn't capable of human emotions, a lack of understanding of complex emotions. Behind a smile isn't always something positive, perhaps you took pity on her and went along with it.

Astro had to come to reassure her that she had done well for the first time.

But if you came back tomorrow, saying that the feeling is mutual. Who knows what awaits for you in the future?

Im sorry if its too ooc for your liking, you could request another if you aren't pleased with this;;;SIGHH Im worried

[theplantsthrowawayblog]

Save The Last Dance For Me.

NOW PLAYING: Michael Bublé — Save The Last Dance For Me

SYNOPSIS: It’s your last night as an engaged couple. So, obviously, he takes you out on the town to celebrate.

Established Relationship || AgedUp!Sero X Fem!Reader || SongFic Fluff

A/N: Dudes i spent too long making that header graphic. also this was a shit idea i got this morning so now you get this. listening to a sero playlist, this song showed up, IMMEDIATELY got a fic idea. have fun reading this crap lmao. uuuhhh as for ages, both of you are 24-26. Sorry for it being Fem!Reader. I will absolutely try to make something GN! in the future i promise 😭 he’s probably gonna be ooc ugh

“Now you can dance every dance with the guy Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight And you can smile every smile for the man Who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight”

“You ready?” He asks, grinning at you. All his. You had been for the past few years — seven years together, three spent engaged. But tomorrow was the day the knot was officially tied, and you were properly married. You nod excitedly, stepping out of the car after he opened the door for you.

What better way to celebrate than a night out?

“But don't forget who's takin' you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He laughed from the bar, watching you. You were having fun. That was all that mattered. He knew you were his and his alone; your loyalty had been tested so many times when he went off with his hero work. You hadn’t cheated. Not once, not ever. So, he didn’t care what you did.

Sero watched you with a smile, feeling his chest ache with sheer love. It was hard to think you’d be his wife in the morning- But that was just the truth. And he was thankful for that.

“Oh, I know that the music's fine Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun Laugh and sing, but while we're apart Don’t give your heart to anyone”

You were dancing. It was fun. Sero didn’t care what you did. You loved that about him. He was so confident in just letting you do what you wanted. Which, he was right to be confident in it- You were his. You knew it, and you loved him.

You could feel his eyes on you. You liked that fact. Your freedom was something that made him feel good. Seeing him all smiley the way he always got… It was nice.

“And don't forget who's takin' you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He remembered your first date. It was back in U.A.’s halls; you’d been dumped, and he’d comforted you. He just sat there and rubbed your back in small circles, letting you cry and rant about your ex. Sure, it wasn’t a “date”, but it was what got his number in your phone. Originally, it was so you could call him when you needed comfort.

It was hard to think that the sad girl he’d found in the hallway was becoming his future.

“Baby, don't you know I love you so Can't you feel it when we touch I will never, never let you go I love you oh, so much”

You remembered the official first date. He’d taken a walk around campus with you, then took you to a boba place. You nearly started snickering. It felt like so much back then. Compared to the current lifestyle you two shared, that first date was so simple.

“You can dance, go and carry on 'Til the night is gone And it's time to go If he asks if you're all alone Can he walk you home, you must tell him no”

You flopped into the chair next to your soon-to-be, grinning at him tiredly. “Do you wanna dance, pretty?” Hanta cooed, holding out a hand for you to take. You did. You smiled as he pulled you up and out onto the floor.

“'Cause don't forget who's taking you home And in whose arms you're gonna be Save the last dance for me”

You could smell his cologne as he spun you once, twice around. It was nice. “You’re so pretty, y’know that?” He asked you softly, his raven hair brushing around with the movement of your twirls. You looked away with a tiny smile, barely pulling back to offer a small nod before moving close again. He just laughed.

“Oh, I know that the music's fine Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun Laugh and sing, but while we're apart Don't give your heart to anyone”

Your laughter rang through the night as he pulled you back to the outside, your fingers locked with his as you ran. What for, he hadn’t said. He just tugged you along, grinning and giggling like a kid.

“And don't forget who's taking you home And in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

He pulled you along the sidewalk, over to an old building. It looked abandoned and worn with time, but Sero continued to guide you through it, heading for the staircase. You looked at him quizzically. “Just trust me,” he smiled, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them. He was excited for whatever his surprise was.

“So don't forget who's taking you home Or in whose arms you're gonna be So darling, save the last dance for me”

Each step was taken two at a time; for you it was out of curiosity, for him it was from delight.

When you finally got to the abandoned rooftop, he’d set up something small — not much, but it was still beautiful. There was a radio, which was playing love songs, with a picnic basket set aside for later.

“Oh baby, won't you save the last dance for me Ooh, you make a promise That you'll save the last dance for me Save the last dance The very last dance For me”

Abruptly, he pulled you close, dipping you low to the ground. You gasped, not ready, but managed to keep yourself from falling. He just smiled down at you.

“Tell me, wifey. Did you save the last dance for me?”

[hoiststowline]

trailbreaker x reader

[a/n: this is entirely based off my lovely friend @drabbletron ‘s post !! this post has been in my head since I read it, the evidence is so so good. it’s canon to me! I’ve never written for trailbreaker before, so apologies in advance if this is ooc.]

A purple pen moves between your fingers, spinning in sloppy circles before raising to tap it against pursed lips. It was taking a while to think of a fitting answer to an increasingly difficult crossword puzzle, unsure. A hum of thought escapes you, then in frustration you uncross your legs and then recross them, fighting the pins and needles alerting that you've been sitting here for far too long.

It was rapidly approaching the point where the exasperation overpowered the boredom, too many blanks unable to assist in continuing. Just as you were gearing up to toss the puzzle aside and find something else to do, the door slides open in one fluid motion.

“There you are.” Trailbreaker mumbles, stepping across the threshold so the panel will close back over, secluding the two of you to his room. He attempting to be nonchalant but failing, as if he hadn't been looking for you for the better part of the past twenty minutes.

He supposes he should have considered here first, but assumed you had wandered elsewhere when he didn't return right away. Quickly, he made a mental note that more often than not, you always gravitated toward hanging out here, and he had no issues with it. If anything, he highly appreciated it, fond of your company any hour of the day.

Immediately, your attention moves from the paper to him, a familiar smile adorning your face. “Welcome back.”

Trailbreaker waves in greeting but traverses the room, moving to stand beside you at the desk, now looking over your shoulder. “What have you been up to?”

"I've been staring at this crossword puzzle for an hour," Fingers hold the paper upward slightly so as to allow him a better view, he takes advantage of your offer by placing a hand just beside you on the desk to lean forward. You tilt your head rearward as to catch his expression, as he observes your puzzle whilst hovering just behind you. "It was a little more tough than I anticipated."

"You have most of it filled out, no?" He hopes that his presence isn't too overbearing, though you haven't shied away just yet. If anything, you've moved back towards him since showing what you’ve decided to do with your free time. "It looks almost done."

"Almost. Wanna help?" Tipping your head back even more, you now peer up his way upside down, as he meets your gaze easily.

"I can try." Trailbreaker muses, a lopsided smile glued to his face-plate.

There's a few moments where a shuffle ensues, he tugs the desk chair free and drops down into it, yourself moving from up against the wall to scrabble closer. Now, your legs gently kick off the edge of the desk, as you hold the paper in your hands. After you both get comfortable, you begin reading clues, purple pen tucked behind your ear.

You work out a few together, some that just needed to be talked through aloud to uproot the answer. He would ask how many spaces and begin counting words audibly, trying to find the right one as small victories achieved effortlessly with his assistance. You enjoyed Trailbreaker's company and hoped he returned the sentiment, though you hardly noticed how he brings himself closer to you with each passing minute.

"This one I thought I had," You mumbled, pen bouncing against the edge of the sheet. "'Steinbeck, John' is the clue. I thought it was The Grapes of Wrath, but it doesn't fit."

"Well, that's because it starts with an E," He uses his knuckle to gesture to the previously filled in answer. "It's East of Eden,"

When you don't respond immediately, his gaze languidly moves off of the sheet to find you are staring up at him with vastly dumbfounded yet galvanized expression.

“I don’t get it,” He laughs as you remain stumped, mostly in awe. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“It’s not- I’m not surprised.” You insist, trying to convey such, as it was entirely the truth. You were’t surprised, not at all. If anyone on this ship were to know that answer, it’d more than likely be him, but it still left you in a state of admiration. “I’m impressed. But I guess I should have known better,"

Trailbreaker watches as you scribble in the answer, small fingers moving carefully across the page. Impressed? That impressed you? He’d have to read a lot more American Literature if that’s all it took, even though you had shown other signs of adoration well before this instance. Every time previously, he’d been blind to it, not believing you were extending beyond simple politeness the first few rounds of meeting.

"Known better?" He counters, not quite certain as to what you mean.

"You like to read." You reply simply, not even meeting his gaze as a rosy flush overtakes your cheeks, knowing full-well he's silently analyzing your mannerisms. "I catch you all the time doing it."

In turn, he laughs, palms placidly knocking against the desktop in amusement. ""M not being sneaky about it, you don't have to say you 'catch' me."

"You do it when I'm asleep." Eventually, you move to meet his gaze, somewhat reserved. "Or when you think that I am,"

"Now I'll have to triple check." Trailbreaker teases, but can't help himself as you softly laugh in reply, not wanting the conversation to end. “But yeah, I do. It keeps me focused.”

“It’s a good hobby. I’ll have to find some good recommendations for you,” You smile, fingers occupied once more as you fidget with the pen, a little more timid than before. “If you’d like?”

Immediately, he nods, enthusiastic. “Hell yeah. I’d love that,”

[ras-favourite-balor]

OOC: TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING: Gore, Death; Immolation, Crushing, Explosion

The pair stalk the corridors of a blood washed Demeter's Bounty. They are amidst the crew quarters, doors open as they pass, unprompted. Most shut quickly behind them, worried, fearful faces stare out. Most at least, are fearful. Some others carry looks reverence, respect even. They offer salutes as the Dread Lord and his Shadow pass. Eventually they stop at a door that does not open. The door in question is unassuming, identical to all the others. No less worn, no more clean. The only difference that it did not open.

Perhaps this difference is Brigand's doing, perhaps it is resistance. It is impossible to tell. It does not matter as Brigand raises a plated metal boot as time crawls to a slow. The sliding door almost seem to quiver, in anticipation. The footage becomes shockingly high definition for a this brief moment. One could could the rivets, the scars, every scratch and dent inflicted upon SHALLOW CRIMSON TIDE. An archive of slaughter and survival. One could read the names, spread across the great coat, dogtags, nameplates, ID tags; victims, comrades, obstacles, quarries, hundreds felled by this waking iron nightmare. Z-341-A stands ready, poised. The low droning of thermobaric fuel warming fills the time-slowed corridor.

Three crimson eyes lie trained over the steel should in front. Silvered Sickles armour is new, new-salvage at least. Heavy plates unmarked by anything worse than a vent crab. They are spattered with alien gore, permanently stained a greenish-yellow hue. The not-caliban is squat, clearly designed for 341's short stature. Beneath the tempered plates, the pneumatic exoskeleton is clearly modified. Changed so that a greater mobility may be wielded by a lesser strength.

As the boot makes impact, the seems to catch it's held breath. The angle switches to the other side, a second earlier. Several individuals, stand in loose formation facing the door. They are clad in black, unmarked hardsuits. Angular, sloped plating makes them appear as oversized insects, awaiting a boot. They all clutch weapons, rifles mostly, high calibre, with shortened barrels. One individual, standing back from the rest, struggles under the weight of massive rotary cannon. Brass shells glint like gold in it's revolving drum.

Again, time slows as they ready their weapons. There are seven corpses-to-be, all identical, same short cropped messy brown hair. Same mole an inch left the eye. Same foolish resolve. They take aim, stealing themselves against the coming nightmare. They are not ready.

The door explodes inwards with a deafening crash. The door turned projectile pulps an unfortunately positioned corpse against the back wall with a sickening crunch. The remaining corpses-to-be open fire as Brigand's exaggerated form darts through the newly yawning hell-portal. He closes the gap in a blur, a staccato symphony as uranium rounds lose to battle tested plate. The second corpse is made against the back wall, similar to the first, as the black hand unfurls against their chest. They stood no chance against this flower, belladonna and nightshade, they lay crumpled and broken. Blood leaks through cracked armour.

The third learns the butcher's lesson. Brigand's cleaver splits steel and bone alike, bisecting the corpses skulls, burying itself in it's rib cage. These corpses-to-be do not learn, they continue to unload, as training is forgotten in this terrible moment. The cannoneer though, is are faster, not that it will matter. Perhaps on account of their, short but, relative distance to the nightmare; they recover their senses, raising the gleaming barrel. They shout something at their fellows, their siblings, it is lost in the ceaseless gunfire. An explosion shakes the room, the fourth corpse fell to friendly fire. The corpses-to-be back away from the slow-clearing smoke, reloading. As it clears, a second weapon, smaller in stature, stands next to the first. Brigand, discards the ruined corpse shield, number four. That baleful red eye seems somehow to smile.

In a split second decision, corpses-to-be five and six turn on the new foe as seven keeps the old. They were foolish to think it ever mattered. Two more explosion in quick succession, both living weapons disappear in cloud of smoke and shrapnel. A hail of gunfire pours into the smoky void. Over the distinctive ping of missed vitals, comes a howling. There is a singular click, as a great plume of plasma-blue flame takes corpses five and six. There is nothing left but cooling puddles of slag. Brigand emerges from the smoke, stalking towards the final corpse. They fire again, once, twice, quick succession. Again, the nightmare emerges from the cloud of should-be death.

The corpse fires a final time. Nothing is different. They try again, their cannon only clicks, and clicks, and clicks, and clicks. . . Over the clicking, comes the garbled voice:

[BRIGAND} YOU ARE LAMB NO LONGER Z-341-A.

He comes close, leans down to peer into the stunned corpses eyes.

[BRIGAND} TODAY YOU PROVE YOURSELF A BUTCHER.

The corpse flinches at a flash of movement. Brigand holds out a cleaver, offering it to the corpse.

[BRIGAND} MAY THE CORPSE PROVE ME WRONG.

On the other side of the room, 341 wrenches Brigand's discarded cleaver from the third corpse. Tests it's weight, it's balance, clearly finding both poor. The corpse drops it's cannon, glancing between the cleaver and the coming death. It pauses, only a breath. It takes up the cleaver, in shaking hands and turns to face it's death.

It is not a fair fight. Over in moments. The corpse swung well, but they were tired, fearful. Still, they did better than most. They waste not a moment, charging Silvered Sickle, weapon held low. They swing a wide wild upwards arc. 341 just side-steps the wild swing, a long thin line carved through silver paint. They bury the heavy blade between head and shoulder. Steel plates squeal in protest as the cleaver finds it's mark. With a wet crunch, the corpse falls, spine severed.

Brigand nods approval. Pride somehow manages to seep through the distortion. He lays a heavy hand on the smaller shoulder.

[BRIGAND} TODAY I NAME THEE BUTCHER. TAKE THIS TITLE AND KNOW MY PRIDE Z - 3 4 1 - A.

Brigand pauses, likely savouring the moment. He breathes deep and drops his hand. Heading for the ruined door.

[BRIGAND} HANG THEM WITH THE REST. THE HOUND SHOULD EAT WELL TONIGHT.

The footage cuts away from the pair of blood-soaked nightmares. It shows similar looking corpses-to-be, all across the ship. They scatter like rats, headed for hidden holes and sanctuaries within the bowels of the ship.

Somewhere, Brigand smiles, as a radio crackles to life. . .

The door to Z-341-A's room opens without warning. Light floods in through the yawning portal. A baleful red light. Brigand, garbed in his steel nightmare, stands in the doorway. What time is it? Why is he here? What is that rigid form slung across his shoulder?

His voice is horrific, garbled by his suits speakers. This is not the Loving Captain.

[BRIGAND} AWAKE Z - 341 - A. WE HAVE WORK TO DO.

He steps inside, heavy iron boots shaking the room. He, with exceeding grace and ceremony, places his package in front of 341's bed. In the dim red light of Brigand's single burning eye, a second figure towers over the bed.

[BRIGAND} YE' INSIST YE' ARE A WEAPON?

The light makes it difficult to see, but 341 knows a weapon nearly as well as Brigand. Silvered Sickle stands between them, but it is different somehow. Not the blood that spatters it's armoured plates. Not the camo-cloth veil that drapes over it's shoulders. No. It can't be. . .

[BRIGAND} THEN YE' WILL PROVE IT.

Brigand reaches out with his black hand, powers on the Not-Caliban. Slowly it hums to life. It's helmet has been replaced with one similar to Brigand's slate black dome. Three red eyes stare out, casting new light on the dark frame. Everything else looks standard, as standard as a pirate modded Caliban can. Until the light reaches it's left arm. Or, what should be an arm. Instead the gentle glow of a warming thermobaric flamethrower fills the room.

[BRIGAND} WHAT ARE YE' WAITING FOR?

Brigand cracks the helmet seal with a pop. As he does, Silvered Sickle's chest opens like a flower.

A corpse flower.

>//RECORDING: 5016.DEMETERSBOUNTY[APMS : : : COMBAT LOG] >//CLEARANCE: APMS-341-A >//checking… >//TRC_ACCEPTED. OPEN RECORDING : : : Y >//BEGIN RECORDING [The mechanical sound of pneumatics and servos whirring as a pair of armored boots stalk across metal floors. One set of footsteps, closer to the recording device and likely part of the chassis it is recording from, is much stiffer and more mechanical.]

[APMS-341-A]::Mission acquired, Z-341-A. Reconnaissance and support. Combat stimulants administering now. [The click of a needle pushing into the injection port in Z-341-A's spine, deployed by APMS-341-A's casket] [APMS-341-A]::Vitals within acceptable parameters, ready for combat. Awaiting combat clearance. [The gentle whir of warming fuel. The click of lighting ignition once, twice as it is tested. The SILVERED SICKLE marches in lockstep with the SHALLOW CRIMSON TIDE, a trailing a half-step behind as it awaits its orders.] >//END RECORDING >//T_SIG : : APMS-341-A //<

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[rainmaster-simp]

The history book on the shelf...is always repeating itseeeeelffff

[fadewalking]

You guys are afraid to make ancient elf characters and it shows.

[shinysteph]

Is this a safe space to say I liked the bnha epilogue and didn't see anything wrong with it? 🧍🏻‍♂️it was just a fun little bonus chapter I honestly don't know why people are upset about it

Anyway I love Shouto and I hope he enjoys his bowl and chopstick making classes

[poetfilm]

handwriting meme.

choose a font from here which closest resembles your character's handwriting and write their name.

alice harmon. i have thought very deeply about how she writes. i think it might actually be a bit messier and far less legible, so this is just what it looks like with effort. but it would always be swooshy with elongated capital letters.

tagged by: @sopineun, thank youuuuuu!

tagging: um anyone who hasn't already done this. idk who has done this yet. but let's go with @eueclid (for conor uwu), @strangewonderful (for andiebug), @entriprises (for spock), @holyrots (for marco + a little bonus if you want to assign whatever emojis xeno would use to sign stuff), @b1uedcollar (for cody).

some bonus ones under the cut .... because i do think about this way more than i need to.

jack rabbit. yeah i actually do think he writes like this. there's no real explanation for that.

noley i mean mr movie star himself. he did practice this for many years.

lozzie i mean lizzie i mean lizard. probably spent some time with noah when they were kids just practicing their fancy signatures. hers is also way messier than this.

nepo boyfriend i mean roswell. this one is not officially a "font" but something my best friend wrote because he has good penmanship and we had a vision.

honourable mentions:

i think ellie's writing is completely unreadable to the human eye. the only person who knows how to read it is jamie, but he struggles too.

jamie writes like a 12 year old boy because i think that's the age he stopped putting effort in.

iris might not even have a signature. i'm sure they know how to write and would if they cared to, but they don't. fabian writes everything for them.

janey has a normal-ish signature that gets progressively more threatening and less readable as time goes by.

jodie adds little stars to everything they write. sometimes it's more prominent than the actual words.

[divinehatred]

CASUAL ASK/RP BLOG FOR THE DIVINE HATRED AU OF BLOCK TALES

run by @rnainframe | main muse: "the builder"

character ref [placeholder - more polished art will come eventually]

while i am an adult, i would prefer for this blog to remain sfw.

magic anons are allowed!

while there's other characters in this au, builder is the main focus!

this blog is run by someone who is disabled, primarily chronically fatigued. if i don't answer or reply to you, it doesn't necessarily mean i reject what you have to say - it's probably because i don't have the energy.

this post also doubles as a place to store all the various tags this blog will use!

co-ran by @deathofamemer

[yourflame]

Best thing I ever did to combat rp insecurities: stopped giving a fuck

[pixelpaladin24]

Just an ordinary day in Stardew Valley

[xxfamiglia]

//all the Valentine’s memes on the dash and I only have one ship..

don’t get me wrong I love the bull and fox I just crave more ships

[gravesung]

curseless suguru is honestly gripping me so fucking hard In general tn. don't get me wrong, i love canon geto, but there's something about being able to explore him in a grounded setting without taking away his knowledge that there is something so so so so dark and rotten inside of him. what he thinks of it, what he does with it, depends heavily on catalysts and influences, which is why he ends up a relatively not-garbage person in musician/chef aus but goes down suuuuch a dark path in yakuza au.

but like... take his idol/producer verse for example. kenjaku (@harerazor <3) is still the head of the yakuza clan, but suguru got out early early — even so, everything he touches becomes potential collateral damage, and he knows that, but he touches anyway. in addition, though he's working freelance as a producer after his scandals kill his idol career, he's still working with an agency that produces idols in the same shitty way he was produced. he's perpetuating that cycle (until he breaks away with chiaki and helps her go solo-solo, but even so, the collateral damage issue...)