#and the man was LEAKING in the fucking casket and they had to get a clean easier to transport one

[bunnyb34r]

Having to explain to my mom that 5min crafts is a content farm/what that is. That sure they have some genuine hacks, but a lot are genuinely dangerous and bad

It's like I'm not trying to be the parent, but I've been on the internet daily since I was 9 years old and you respectively have only been on it for maybe 8 years? Consistently? And only on Facebook. Like man the shit I have seen has aged me a lot more mentally than I care to admit.

It's so hard too bc I know I should like a know it all/conspiracy freak when I tell her not to get a reddit bc she's gonna get sucked into a WS cult and get radicalized, or when I tell her Facebook reels is the same as tiktok. Which she has continuously forbade me to have since it came out (bc evil chinese company. It's okay when it's an evil American company though). That she needs to be careful and not just believe whatever she sees, but it's like for once I DO know more and I DO need to be the adult.

Like I remember having so many fucking talks to get her out of that SAVE THE CHILDREN shit and debunking the wayfair shit, and the Hillary Clinton shit, and all this shit. I constantly am telling her "nope that's antisemitism in disguise, heres why" ab stupid theories and shit and why they're harmful and it's like I want to fucking scream

Idk where I was going with this but like god I'm tired

#and she gets mad when im 'parenting' her and its like well then fucking use your brain!!! think before you share shit! ask questions!!!! #had to explain that the reason jfk had a diff coffin on air force one wasn't like a body swap but bc the first casket wasnt secured right #and the man was LEAKING in the fucking casket and they had to get a clean easier to transport one #that it was his family that didnt want it open not the gov like the man had half a fucking head at that point!! what did you expect?! #and then shes like well how do YOU know all this shit. how do you know YOURE right and Its like bc i check my sources?? bc i know how to?? #bc i actually use my brain and dont sit in a digital echo chamber validating what i want to hear #thankfully we dont actually get fox in our house somehow (god probably) and we dont have cable so she cant watch fox & friends #but Facebook is it's own fucking up hill battle and it's like go back to playing 1010! and shit on your phone instead #and she stays on Facebook for that dopamine hit and its like i know you have adhd and your dr doesnt believe you but for godsake #i stg she's the reason my body hair is still turning white. it initially stated bc my dad was causing us so much fucking stress and then #it lessened a bit but now im finding more and more like my body is eating the pigment sgdgdgdgd #im gonna go gray by 35 i stg i have ONE white hair on my head and have gotten several on every part of my body like eyebrows and armpits ect #the funniest is leg hair like oh okay go grandpa #ANYWAYS im tired and i guess i needed to get this out #marquilla

[gremlintiny]

The previous Defender (I.)

No light or pleasant scent was found in the stuffed, almost biteable air. But the man had been digging for hours at this point, relentlessly trying to get something he didn’t even know was there, only hope could fire up his engines. The hope to fulfil his anger in this damn world.

The ground was covered in long lost items. Items, that were once or twice precious to several people who are probably not even there anymore. Items, stained with dark soil, thick dust and shattered pieces of other forgotten gems.

He didn’t pay attention to them after some time. His teardrops had already dried up but determination drove him to be able to do something for the still living souls out there with that information. With that tiny little paper, buried in filth and memories of the dead, or stray souls.

The spade, that he brought with himself, was almost at its limit after this much work. The person’s hand was also trembling and not only by the eagerness to find what he was looking for in that abandoned warehouse.

“For fuck’s sake!” He weakly shouted this into the dirty void. His chest was moving up and down, more and more hectically as the lungs realised how bad the air was contaminated. Soon, the swearing was replaced by mild coughing. Yet, he didn’t even question if it was worth doing so.

And finally, under a baby toy and probably a child's, named Minho, secret box, he saw something sturdy. Something that could have endured these tough impacts, for a long time - if nothing had damaged it from the outside on purpose. The small casket that might have the answer he was searching for.

Ever since he lost a never replaceable light in his life but not his heart, he had been consistently trying to bring justice to him. To them. To himself, as well, because if the leaks were true, everything would be destroyed, sooner or later. If it was irrelevant anyway, why not try to dig up salvation, as a last resort?

He shakingly opened the little chest, scared to see if there was actually something inside. His stare was then fixed on a crumpled paper. Only one sheet. And some… sand?

A weird, chaotically drawn hourglass occupied most of the place, but he almost instantly saw the scribble on the side: “it was a trick”. Some figures, assumingly simple hourglasses, resembling the number 8, were scratched randomly where the writer found some space.

The man with a confused expression thought to himself. ‘Is it… the Chromer?’

#ateez #ateez lore #hongjoong #parallel universes #lil snippets will randomly come and go to round up the story #mikaela was there too somehow #these ones are more like background information #z #soE #the previous defender

[dbs-superleggera]

Watch Streets Is Watching on YouTube Music

"The Streets Is Watching"

Uh-huh uh huh uh, gee-gee-geyeah

Peeping, watching, streets

You boys are soft like bread

Uh-huh uh huh uh, live from Brooklyn

Uh-huh uh, the streets is watching

Check it, check, uh-huh uh, check

Look, if I shoot you, I'm brainless

But if you shoot me, then you're famous, what's a nigga to do?

When the, streets is watching, blocks keep clocking

Waiting for you to break, make your first mistake

Can't ignore it, that's the fastest way to get extorted

But my time is money, and twenty-five, I can't afford it

Beef assorted like Godiva chocolates

Niggas you bought it, I pull the slide back and cock it

Plan aborted, you and your mans get a pass

This rhyme, you're operating on bitch time

Y'all niggas ain't worth my shells, all y'all niggas tryna do

Is hurt my sales, and stop trips to John Meneilly

The type to start a beef then run to the cops

When I see you in the street got one in the drop

When I'd rather be on tour getting a hundred a pop

Taking pictures with some bitches in front of the drop

The streets is watching

When the, streets is watching

Blocks keep clocking

Waiting for you to break, make your first mistake

Can't ignore it

Now it's hard not to kill niggas

It's like a full time job not to kill niggas, can't chill

The streets is watching you when you froze your arms

Niggas wanna test you when your gun goes warm

Can't get caught with your feet up, gotta keep your heat up

Sweet niggas running 'round swearing shit is sweeter

Once you're tagged lame, the game is follow the leader

Everybody want a piece of your scrilla, so you gotta keep it realer

Kidnap niggas wanna steal you

Broke niggas want no cash, they just wanna kill ya

For the name, niggas don't know the rules

Disrespecting the game, want you to blow your cool

Force your hand, of course that man's plotting

Smarten up, the streets is watching (it's on)

When the, streets is watching, blocks keep clocking

Waiting for you to break, make your first mistake, can't ignore it

My street mentality: flip bricks forever, know me and money

We like armed co-defendants, nigga we stick together

Shit whatever for this cheddar ran my game into the ground

Hustle harder 'til secret indictment time came around

Now you can look up and down the streets and I can't be found

Put in 24 hour shifts but, that ain't me now

Got a face too easy to trace, niggas mouths got slow leaks

Had to hire a team of workers, couldn't play those streets

See out of space like Mercury, you jerking me? Hectic

Had to call upon my wolves to send niggas the message

It said this, 'Let's play fair and we can stay here

I'm trying to transform you boys to men like daycare'

Ay there's money to be made and, niggas got the picture

Stopped playing with my paper and, we got richer

Then hard times fell upon us, half of my staff had warrants

The other half in the casket lay dormant

I felt like life was cheating me

For the first time in my life I was getting money but it was like my conscience was eating me

Was this a lesson God teaching me? Was he saying that

I was playing the game straight from Hell from which few came back?

Like bad coke, pimp or die, was my mind frame bad?

Was niggas thinking simplify was turning cocaine crack?

Ain't a whole lot of brain to that, just trying to maintain a stack

And not collide like two trains that's on the same track

But, get my life together like the oils I bring back

In the bottom of the pot where no water gets hot

Got my transporter take it across the border then stop

To set up shop with a quarter of rock, here's the plan

For three straight weeks, niggas slaughtered the block

But you know the game is food, it fucked up me and my dudes

One drought can wipe a nigga out, faster than the cops

And this unstable way of living just, had to stop

Half of my niggas got time, we done real things

By '94 became the subject of half of y'all niggas rhymes

Public apologies to the families of those caught up in my shit

But that's the life for us lost souls brought up in this shit

The life and times of a demonic mind, excited with crime

And the lavish luxuries that just excited my mind

I figured, "Shit, why risk myself I just write it in rhymes

And let you feel me, and if you don't like it then fine?"

The mind state of a nigga who boosted the crime rate

So high in one city they send National Guards to get me

Shit, bitch, who's fucking with that? The streets

#Youtube

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

i’ve started writing something and i’ll post it here just for spontaneity. (i’m not done with this so i’ll be adding more later on. i’ll make a tag for it if you want to follow the rest)

TW for torture (it’s not gory) and implied death

He had never planned to see the Russians-of-the-Upside-Down again. Never mind being tied to a chair and being tortured by them again. Oh, and no, he never thought he’d be revisiting the experience with Jim Hopper either. But there he was. Wrists bound behind some sharp edged, metal chair with Hopper to his back. He could only feel relieved that none of the kids or Robin were with him. They were his unofficial responsibility. At least they were away from this. The helplessness and unrelenting ache. He wasn’t even sure how Hopper looked nonetheless how he himself did. All he knew was that this was getting to be a lot worse then beneath the mall. He was almost certain that they were targeting him more. More punches the face and more kicks to his stomach. They’d even taken out a cattle prodder at one point.

It made sense. Hopper wouldn’t have much information, he had been escaping them, not breaking in like Steve had. Plus, the doctor and Ozerov both knew who he was. They didn’t like him much at all. They all shared a past or some shit.

“Steve?” Hopper’s raspy and exhausted voice carried around their confinement room. “You alright there, kid?” Steve just barely managed to pick his head up before burning struck his neck. He grunted as he let his chin lean back into his chest.

“Uh,” he coughed up a metallic taste, “Well, I’m doin’ just peachy.” He tried to shift in his chair to relieve a cramp working its way up his calf. He earned the relief but got the rope digging into his ribs in return.

He heard Hopper’s feet scuff a little behind him, “Yeah, well, at least you can still use your ears. Maybe less of the mouth, you left a trail of blood when they brought you in here.” Steve coughed again when he tried to laugh, unsurprised.

“I didn’t even get to say anything.”

The scuffing again, “Really? Then why’d they go at you so much?”

“Well,” Steve tilted his head to the side, “I guess they didn’t like how last time went.” He stared at a spider crawling around in the floor. It was kinda big. Maybe a little too big. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Their captors had beef with him and Steve didn’t have much to help him go on at this point. The spider crawled forward. It’s black, delicate legs and yellow spotted, bulbous abdomen didn’t quite get through to Steve head. He laughed weakly as a thought passed through. “What if they kill me?”

Hopper scoffed but he didn’t sound as doubtful as he tried to put on, “They’re not going to kill you. Calm down, kid. Keep your head straight.”

Steve nodded silently as he and the spider stayed stagnant, “Can I tell you something, Hop? Something I’ve never told anybody. Never got the chance.”

Hopper sighed in what Steve deciphered as frustration, but he agreed anyway, “Yeah, go ahead, Harrington.”

“I think I like guys,” he whispered. The spider was impossibly still for something living.

Hopper shifted again in his seat, “Oh. Uhm. That’s cool, I guess. Good for you, son. Hope you find a nice..lad some day.”

Steve nodded, “Yeah.” One of the spider’s legs moved. “Maybe.” Another shifted forward. “But I don’t think—“ The spider moved faster than Steve could have processed even in a better state. At one moment Hopper made a rumble of questioning and the next Steve was screaming as the spider bit into his neck. It’s little pinchers pierced the soft skin of his jugular. It was the size of his hand and made no noise or give as he shook his torso as much as he could. The spider unhooked itself and he felt the little legs move all around his shoulder.

“Harrington?” Hopper yelled, “Ste—“ Steve heard the man yell in shock and pain just the same. And then the door opened. Steve’s vision was getting blurry but he heard a familiar pattern of thumps stop just in front of him.

“Howdy, Ozerov,” he managed to speak with some diligence through the waves of electricity riving his veins.

“Is that your native speak?” the man asked uninterestedly. There was the squeak of wheels rolling across the floor and the clattering of the tools Steve could remember a little too clearly.

“I guess,” he shrugged limply, “No one really uses it that much. Maybe Hop does, ask him.”

“Don’t talk to him, kid,” Hopper muttered, “Lemme talk to him.” More struggling.

Now, Steve wasn’t the smartest. He’d never claim to be. But he knew that wasn’t going to cut it. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time. He tried to grip onto reality and not the black and white dots that covered his vision. “What did you inject us with now?”

“I’m not sure which one you were given,” he could hear Ozerov’s snarky grin. “The spider bit at random. One of you got a simple hallucinate and the other got,” there was a pause and then Steve could just barely make out two blue dots amongst the neutral, “Poison.”

“Fuck,” he heard Hopper curse loudly.

Steve clenched his teeth through a rather unbearable muscle spasm, “There by chance,” he breathed heavily through the surge of pain, “A way to tell which is which.”

“Well,” Ozerov tutted in mock sympathy, “Our friend over there seems to be handling his better than you so...” there was a rank puff of air that flitted across Steve’s face at the next words, “Take a guess.”

Steve felt tears gather, “Shit. Of course,” he kicked a leg out but didn’t hit anything. He struggled against the bonds again and ignored the pain of the rope burns already there.

Ozerov chuckled menacingly, “Of course yes. But we have an elixir. Do not worry. It just comes for a price.”

“What do you want from me?” he yelled.

“Where is the girl?” he felt something grip his numb shoulders, “The one that helped the infected boy? Last time. Where is Eleven?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, “You think I would give her up like that?” There was a beat of a pregnant pause and the the clang of metal on metal.

“No! Hey! Put that down. Don’t touch him!” he heard Hopper struggle tremendously, rattling both of their chairs even though they were bolted to the ground. “I swear to God. Do not touch him I said! Put it down! No!” The man sounded terrified and Steve felt petrified with not being able to see clearly enough to understand why. There was suddenly a icy burn on the side of his cheek.

And then another voice, “Don’t worry, the poison has already made his nerves numb. He won’t be feeling much.” His other cheek went cold and he felt them both begin to leak blood. He felt pinprickingly freezing.

“Not going to be so pretty anymore,” Ozerov chuckled beside him, “You’ll be having a closed casket.”

“You son of a bit—“ Hopper was cut off by a harsh slapping sound.

Steve felt a tug on his scalp and then...it went black with the sound of pitchy screaming.

===

He didn’t know when it was that he woke up. He opened his eyes to clear blue and the relaxing feeling of humid wind. He sat up and felt the texture of the sand he was sitting in. Grainy and loose. He cupped some in his hand and watched it sprinkle away back into the ground. There was a loud rush of water as he looked up, greeted by the ocean. Sparkling and textured in the most breathtaking way. He didn’t think he was breathing. Didn’t find himself out of breath at all like he had been before.

He was on a coast. There wasn’t a sun anywhere he could see. But it was still incredibly bright.

He stood up in a wobbly manner and turned around. It was sand for as far as the eye could see in any direction besides the vast ocean. Split in two different worlds.

He had a guess where he was and a sudden pit formed in his heart.

He gasped when he heard it; the voice.

“What’re you doing here, Pretty Boy?”

#steve harrington #jim hopper #billy hargrove #stranger things #stranger things russians #sh1tbird-shantytown writes #harringrove

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 1

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything.

 It felt good to stand in the sunlight.

 Ichigo had spent so long in Chaldea it felt good to have the sun on his skin, warming him from the outside in.

 He had gotten so used to having the solid presence of his Shielder at his side that standing alone on the platform from the train felt more like standing naked in the streets of his hometown. Not a pleasant feeling. His family wouldn’t be there to see him, and they weren’t. He wasn’t supposed to be home for a few more days at least. How could it be that everything that happened to him, all of the fighting and all of the bloodshed and all of the war would have happened in the span of just a few days? How could his years have been spent and yet nothing but him had changed?

 It was enough to make his head spin.  

 He needed to get home.He didn’t think he could ever really finish explaining everything that had happened to him, but he would tell his family the truth. There had been an accident at the facility, and he was home early.

 Even though it had never been an accident.

 *

 There was smoke. Smoke and the scent of blood and spilling gas lines and raw metal twisted beyond recognition.

 He barely heard Dr. Roman yelling at his back, telling him to come back. Ichigo had never shied from danger and he wasn’t going to start now. He dove into the smoke, choking him and clinging to his clothes. Pods of people were disarrayed around him, their bodies still and blood leaking out like creusom caskets. He couldn’t get their doors open, no matter that he tried, but there was one person who was not there. One person who wasn’t him, blocked from the first mission for his bad attitude towards the Director. Nevermind that the director was just a kid herself.

     “Bulkhead closing in 180 seconds. All Devision 2 personal, evacuate immidiately-”  

 Ichigo didn’t understand what that meant. He didn’t know what most of what had happened today meant, just that his little summer internship wasn’t even remotely what was on the flyer. But he didn’t pause as he scrambled over and massive chunk of rock, stuck through with wires that cut his hands like an oversized porcupine.

 A flash of white out of the corner of his eyes gives her away.

 There, lying under the debris, her small body crushed an broken and leaking blood, was Mash.

 It was Mash but all he could see was Yuzu, her wide eyes huge and terrified and filled with tears. Not a girl he’d met an hour before, after passing out on the floor. Not the best meeting.

 The ground was slick with blood and water, turning Ichigo’s white shirt a pale pink where it splashed on it when he dropped to his knees next to her. She was trapped, and the rock was too big for him to even be able to budge it.

 That didn’t stop Ichigo from trying.

 The overhead voice was still talking, and Mash was muttering at him, her voice too weak to make much sound. She was dying. Dying, her tiny body crushed until she coughed and more than just blood came out.

 Ichigo howled with rage and denial and shoved harder, harder. It was hot and smouldering and his hands blistered and blackened with burns. The light above them changed from blue to red and it burned into his retina until he couldn’t see anything else. Just red. Red blood, red light, and his body gave out. Too much smoke, he couldn't breath, he couldn’t see. He was helpless. He couldn’t do a single thing and its burned more than fire.

 Mash’s small hand found his. Her grip was weak, but she was alive. She was still alive and he couldn't just let her die-

 He grabbed her hand with both of his. Holding tight.

 The overhead was still talking, her voice robotically calm and detached. Small paws from the ferret, or whatever it was that had brought him to Mash landed on top of their joined hands.

 “Sen-pai,” her voice was a whisper, and wet with blood. The smell was making him sick. “Please… r-run.”

 “No way,” he denied firmly, gripping her hands tighter. “Not without you.”

 “Senpai…”

 Someone else is yelling at him. A ripple in the air. White hair and panicked eyes. The director, the one Ichigo had pissed off. He reaches for her without thinking, and his hand grasps hers.

 And then he didn’t see red. He saw blue, light that poured across his skin and came from beneath it, rushing like water across the burning room. A circle in the sky, a hollow moon of blue and Mash’s hand in his.

 * *

 He knocks on the door, feeling more stranger than family. His key is long gone, he’d dropped it somewhere in Rome, he thinks, but its hard to keep track of trivial things like that when emperors are trying to gut you like a fish.

 It’s Yuzu that answers and he can’t help it.

 The second she’d within his sights he drags her into the fiercest hug he can manage. He’s gotten taller, he realizes. It’s not a surprise. He spent three years in less than a week, and even if he hadn’t…

 “Ichigo?” Yuzu doesn’t fight him, and he’s grateful for it. She must be confused, because as much as Ichigo loves his sisters he’s not the most physically affectionate person in the world.

 “Hey,” Ichigo doesn’t let go for a long time. “Sorry I was gone so long.”

 “Huh? But you’re home early…”

 Ichigo doesn’t say anything. He’s loath to let her go, but eventually he has to. Karin is at soccer practice, of course she is.

 Ichigo feels his dad coming at him from a mile away, trying to sneak up on him from the clinic next door. He’d seen Isshin through the window, a glance in the corner of his eye and the flying kick thrown at him isn’t stopped with violence for the first time in ten (thirteen) years.

 Ichigo catching him around his middle, holding him off the ground, and Isshin has little choice but to hand there, his arms around Ichigo’s head.

 “Son?” there’s a question or two or a thousand, but Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer all of them. He doesn’t put Isshin down until they’re in the living room and even then he sits right next to him. Knee to knee. Yuzu brings in a can of tea for him.

 “There was an accident,” he tells them. “Chaldea, there was an explosion. So everyones been sent home.” Everyone who survived. Everyone who made it through the initial explosion and wars that followed.

 “Huh? I thought it was supposed to be a security organization, and there was an explosion?” Isshin scowled.

 It was sabotage. It was death. It was the world turning red and the future being stripped away from human hands.

 “It’s fine,” he says, even though it wasn’t even remotely. There were a million things wrong with what has happened. “I’m not hurt.” Which is true enough. He can see his dad sizing him up, trying to read between the lines. He had to look older. He’s taller, his cheeks are sharper and he’s lost baby fat. He’s always been fit, but now he's stronger, built for endurance and running for weeks on end. Tempered by wars and helplessness and a desperate bid to save the world.

 “I’m fine,” he said again, and Isshin let it go. Ichigo didn’t exactly know how to feel about that.

 He spends the rest of the day flitting from family member to family member. School starts again in four days and he heavily considers skipping it to hang around his      dad    of all people.

 He can’t help thinking about Mash. She didn’t have anything like this.

 * * *

 They move from one fire to another.

 Ichigo knows if he stays among all this smoke he’s going to end up with permanent damage. Because you know. Fuck him. He has no idea what happening, just that he thinks he’s teleported and apparently magic is as real as ghosts are. And he’s not dead, Fou sits on his shoulder.

 He doesn’t know where Mash went but he doesn’t have time to worry about it. Some kind of skeleton gang, at least five of them are approaching. Skeletons, living, breath - well, moving in any case, skeletons. Half of them have swords. One has a spear.

 Ichigo thinks he’s broken his hand when he throws the first punch, but the skeleton crumble into a strange yellow powder that tastes like what Ichigo assumes a graveyard would. Death an d decay and strangely damp.

 He can’t stop with one but by the time he’s kicked the absolute shit out of the last of them the sky lights up with another shade of red. Like a handful stars falling from the sky, and he realizes belatedly that there’s no way for him to block whatever the fuck is flying at him.

 So he tries to run, but there’s a flash of purple and pink and Mash is in front of him. Only she’s taller now, older, and she’s holding a shield bigger than her body is. She’s not alone. White hair, snake-yellow eyes. Olga Marie, the director that had been pissed at a ‘commoner’ like Ichigo was with her too. Only, she wasn’t really there.

 It had been years since Ichigo hadn’t been able to tell the dead from the living, but this time it takes him a few minutes to realize that Mash is very much alive, if not apparently a magical girl, and Olga Marie is anything but alive.

 They don’t have time to worry about it, because they’re under seige and Ichigo is apparently a      wizard    .

 He should seriously be more surprised.

 But he’s not. It explains a few things. Like how he can see ghosts on the regular, and why his punching skeletons actually works.

 They pick up another stray on their way, a wizard named Cu Chulainn. He and Mash swear themselves to Ichigo as his ‘servents’, familiars who he supplies with energy and they fight on his behalf. It almost reminds him of Chad, except here he’s entirely outclassed.

 The helplessness tastes bitter and vile.

 A third servent appears, a woman this time who likes to turn people to stone.

 “You’ll all join my garden,” she tells them, hanging off a petrified man. Ichigo can vaguely remember reading something about a person like this. The eyes, he thinks. It’s her eyes.

 He meets them squarely and bonks her harmlessly on the head. He’d have more luck punching the statues than her.

 “Hey,” his voice is gruff. “Stop being a lunatic. We’re all getting out of here. So either come with us or let us go.”

 “You- what?” Everyone is staring at him. Bewildered, but Ichigo had never done what he was supposed to. He does what he wants, and even though she’s threatened them somehow he can feel her. Like the rush of scales across his skin, cool and potentially threatening but if she really wanted to kill them-

 Well, they’d just been hanging out by the river. If nothing else should have taken his head off with her curved spear.

 “Am I gonna have to repeat myself? Damn, I said we’ve got bigger things to do than fight you, lady. So just come with us, or let us go!”

 “Master!” Mash takes a startled step towards him. “Please step away from her! She could kill you!”

 “Why would she do that?” Ichigo demanded, turning towards them, “We haven’t even done anything!” It’s not like he’s against fighting. He fights all the time. But they need to get out of here. He needs to get back to his family, to his own damn      time    .

 Besides that, he can see her power. He isn’t sure how, but he can see her strength and that of the two other Servants. Not see, maybe, but he can feel it. Like he can feel ghosts even with his eyes closed. Either way, she’s not strong enough to beat both of the others at once, even if Mash is a novice.

 “This is a war…”

 “Look,” he spun to face her, staring fearlessly into her eyes. “Just say yes or no already!”

 She blinks. Once, twice, thrice.

 “Yes?”

 So with three servants in toe, he sets out to fight the ones who holds the holy grail. All of this destruction, a city of fire devoid of the living and ghosts both... Only servants and masters remained, all because of a cup.

 All for the sake of a wish.

 Was it really worth it?  

 * * * *

 Ichigo’s bed is equal points familiar and foreign.

 He ends up going to sleep on the floor, the bed too soft and too warm and he feels like he’s going to suffocate.

 All he can think of are late nights spent in Chaldea with Mash, with Roman, and Di Vinci, and countless others. He misses the solid presence of Mash and her near encyclopedic knowledge of history. Everywhere , everywhen they went. He misses the sharp bite of Mordreds tongue betrayed by her sea-dark eyes. He missed the quiet, hulking form of Asterios, always well within reach. He missed the sharp bite of his guard dogs tongue and the quiet prayers of the saints at sunset. Even Kiyohime, her claws digging into his arm, afraid she’ll be abandoned again-

 He’s up before dawn.

 Ichigo puts together enough breakfast for twenty people. Rolled omelette and rice and foreign things. Shakshuka and fried green tomatoes.

 His family stares when they come down for breakfast.

 Ichigo stands, in his dads ‘kiss the cook’ apron, with a bowl of matcha stirring swiftly in his hands.

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Karin asks, looking him up and down, trying to find something. Isshin’s stare is particularly disconcerting. Like a scientist trying to understand something new, he’s never seen his father look that way, especially not at his own son.

 Ichigo has to turn away from their staring.

 “The time is different there,” is the understatement of the century. “I wanted to make breakfast.”

 “There’s enough here for an army!” Yuzu cries, gesturing to the spread out in front of them.

 Or enough for two Berserkers.

 “We can have leftovers for lunch?” is about the only explanation he has. How does he explain that he used to cooking with EMIYA enough for an actual army?

 “Yeah… I guess so,” Karin is still staring.

 Isshin pitches himself at the portrait of their mother, sobbing grossly.

 “Masaki! Our son is growing up so fast!”  

 * * * * *

 Lev Lainur has an ugly smile. Everything about him is slimy and distrustful and Ichigo has seen enough ghosts to know, just by looking at him, that he is      not    human.

 So when Olga Marie tries to go running to him, Ichigo wraps a firm arm around her middle and holds her back.

 “Let go!” she shrieked, clawing towards the slimy man, “It’s Lev! Lev will fix everything he’ll-”

 “He’ll kill you.”

 Olga Marie freezes in his arms, looking towards Medusa. Rider. Her eyes are narrowed and her hair writhes with snakes, hissing a spitting venom.

 “Kill her?” Lev laughs, a sound like metal grating and children screaming. There’s nothing pleasant about it. “I already have! I planted that bomb directly under her feet, I have no idea how she’s even here!”

 Ichigo knows.

 It’s because of him. Because of his interference in the explosion. The other hand he’d grabbed, it must have been Marie’s. And they’re all here together.

 “W-wait, no. I’m not dead! I can’t be!” But the fight goes out of her. She lets Ichigo hold her, and when Lev beacons gravity shifts and the world tries to pull Olga Marie from his arms. He tightens his hold and barks at Medusa. Chain snake out, lashing them together and to the ground and holding them there, even as Lev pulls until it feels like his skin will come off. Ichigo can feel it again, the drain on his energy. Mana, magic energy, pulled when the servants fought. He has no idea how much he has but it must be just enough for Lev to scoff.

 He shows them the red earth again. The world, the future. Humanity, all gone. Destroyed in an instant, and they the only survivors. All of the past, all of the future.

 There is nothing left of it, save him, Mash, and the ghost in his arms.

 Something inside him writhes and snarls, thirsting for vengeance and at the same time is keens a wailing cry of anguish.

 It’s his mother all over again. Laying on the riverbank, bleeding out and Ichigo helpless in her arms.

 It’s Mash in the command room, crushed under burning stone and Ichigo only able to hold her hand.

 No, no, no, no!

 He won’t allow it. He will not let himself be so      useless    .

 There’s a flare of energy and Medusa gasps. Mash and Cu straighten up like dogs that heard a whistle and their fight turn on a dime. The archer falls, and his king a second later until all five of them stand before Lev. United.

 * * * * * *

 School starts.

 The world turns on.

 Everything is the same, and nothing is at all.

 * * * * * * * *

#shattered chains of fate #ao3 cross post #lore55 #bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach/fate grand order #Ichigo Kurosaki #mash kyrielight #olga marie animusphere #cu chulainn #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #sorta

[allfandomxreader]

A Eulogy for Billy Hargrove

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It’s one week after Billy’s death and Max asked you to speak at his funeral.

Warnings: Definitely cussing but I think that’s it

A/N: Hi I’m back from the dead and have been thinking about Billy a lot lately and thought of this :) let me know what you think! Not my gif!

Masterlist

In the first flashback you were the one talking to Billy, not El whenever he died. 

Billy’s weight presses against you. His hands no longer feel soft and gentle, the way they felt in the months prior. His body no longer belongs to him. His eyes see right through you, almost as if you aren’t beneath him. You still see him as the man you loved --love.

Your body aches. Your head reels from the impact it made against the tile. Your limbs sore from running, your throat still burning from where Billy grabbed you. But none of this matters. You want to reach Billy, you want him to come back to you, for everything to be over and life to carry on.

“Seven feet,” You blurt. His eyes lock with yours for the first time, his body jolting at your words. “You told her the wave was seven feet.” His breathing deepens, his grip relaxes. “You ran to her on the beach. There were seagulls,” Tears escape your eyes as Billy begins to slowly come back. “She wore a hat with a blue ribbon. A long dress with a blue and red flower.”

Billy looks away, his eyes scanning something you can’t see. Something he always does when he’s concentrating. “Yellow sandals, covered in sand.” You choke, “She was pretty,” Billy’s lips curl into something like a smile, the closest he could get in a time like this. “She was really pretty.” You nod and he follows your actions, curls bouncing beside him. “And you, you were happy.”

Tears cascade down his cheeks. You reach for him, slowly, as if asking permission to touch. “Do you remember telling me this?” He nods again, eyes fluttering closed. “Do you know who I am?” Another nod. “I love you,” You sob, “I love you so much.” You want to hold him, to feel his skin against yours.

The sound of the Mind Flayer’s screeches pull Billy away. Just when you finally had him back, he was taken once more. He stands slowly, squaring his shoulders like he does to seem threatening.

The Mind Flayer screams but Billy doesn’t flinch. From where you lie, you can see the terror spreading through Billy’s eyes. You already know what’s coming, the monster will reach for you. There will be pain. You don’t want to die, you’re not ready. But Billy came back, and right now, to you, that’s all that matters.

Instinctively, you kick yourself back. Using the last bit of your strength to scoot away from the Mind Flayer, but there’s no use. You can already see the hand shooting from his mouth. You raise your arms to block your sight, accepting pain, accepting death.

And then nothing.

When your eyes open you only see Billy. His hands push against the Mind Flayer, running at it, trying to save you. He’s screaming, you can almost feel his agony through his cries.

You see the other hands too late. It’s too late to scream, too late to warn Billy. The Mind Flayer tears into Billy’s side. Billy doesn’t stop screaming. Another hand into his body. Billy’s grip weakens, his limbs fall back to his sides but the hands don’t stop coming.

With one final scream from the Mind Flayer. Dark liquid leaks from Billy’s mouth, you can’t tell if it’s blood or whatever’s left from the Mind Flayer’s possession, maybe both. He hasn’t stopped screaming.

The Mind Flayer shoots one last hand, this time into Billy’s chest. Billy falls silent, his body limp in the monster’s many hands. The monster retracts, Billy’s body dropping to the floor.

It was your turn to scream, a sudden burst of strength pulsing through your body, just enough for you to reach him. He’s gasping, choking on the darkness that’s pooling in his mouth. “Billy?” You sob, hovering over him. Your hands brace his shoulders that are slick with sweat. “Billy, Billy please.” You shake him, trying your best to keep him awake, to keep him alive.

“I love--” Another choke, “You too.” His voice is hoarse, but nevertheless, it’s him. You can tell by the twitches in his lips that he wants to smile, he wants to speak, to say how everything will be okay like he normally does when life gets shitty. You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, careful to not add to the pain he’s already in. He squeezes back.

The blue in his eyes fade, his lips in a line, his body perfectly still. Just like that, in a span of a few agonizing moments, the Mind Flayer took everything from you.

Billy Hargrove died six days ago.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, the young woman staring back is almost unrecognizable. Your eyes swollen, the circles beneath them so dark even makeup couldn’t hide them.

You should be getting ready for college, packing up last minute things for your dorm, bidding goodbye to your parents, eager to get the hell out of Hawkins. Instead, you’re preparing to say goodbye to a man that was taken too soon.

You clutch the crinkled eulogy in your hands, folding it gently and tucking it into your pocket. With a final deep breath, you carry yourself through the house and out the door and into your car.

The four doors and cushioned seats used to be comforting, but now it just reminds you of Billy. Even his scent still lingers, or maybe you’re just imagining it.

“I hate when you drive, you know? You always take turns too fast and hit every single pot hole on the road.” Billy scoffs, dipping some fries into ketchup that’s smeared onto a napkin.

“Oh, so suddenly I’m the bad driver?” You laugh, “That’s rich coming from you Mr. 60 miles per hour in a 35” as if on cue, your tires glide over broken pavement jolting you and the complaining passenger.

“You just proved my point!” Billy laughs, flailing his hands dramatically. His outburst sends the napkin from the console and onto the seat and his jeans. “Shit.” He grumbles, peeling back the flimsy paper and rubbing it with clean napkins.

“Don’t rub it, shithead! That’ll make it worse!” You screech, trying to stay focused on the winding stretch of road ahead of you.

“How else am I supposed to clean this shit off then?” He only rubs the condiment into the seat’s fabric further.

“You blot it... I think?” You chuckle, watching your boyfriend struggle beside you with ketchup covering his fingers. “I swear to god if that stains my seat you’re never going to hear the end of it, Hargrove.”

You stare at the dark, lopsided stain that still adorns the passenger seat. You can faintly make out his sincere apologies through his laughter. You almost laugh at the amount of chemicals the two of you scrubbed the seat with. You’ll never wash it off, or even try to. Not now.

Billy’s burial is tucked away near the edge of the cemetery. Knowing Neil, it was probably the cheapest plot of land he could find. Even in death, he couldn’t honor his son. It makes you sick.

Today, the air is warm, the sky is clear, not a single cloud in sight. The sun beats down on your black clothes, you feel as if you’re being burned alive. As if you haven’t endured enough pain to last you a lifetime.

You walk leisurely along the path not ready to face the closed casket. You weren’t ready to face a lot of things that this day will bring. The looks of solemn faces, the look of concern. Your mother has worn that look every single day. People will ask the inevitable: “Are you okay?” and of course, you’d have to say yes.

You aren’t okay. You don’t know if you ever will be. Billy left a gaping hole that will never be filled. He was your other half. Everyone will tell you “It’ll get better with time.” but it won’t. You could live seven lifetimes and the pain of Billy’s death will never get any easier.

You hear voices behind you. The annoying shrill of Carol and Tommy’s voice linger behind you. “Should we say something?” Carol says in an attempt to whisper, she’s never been very good at it.

“Be my guest.” Tommy hisses. They fall silent as they approach, their footsteps even slow. Carol doesn’t say a word, neither does Tommy, and soon they pass. You meet Carol’s eye, the look of sympathy written across her features. You can’t tell if she’s faking it or not, either way it disgusts you.

Carol’s claws for nails drag along Billy’s bicep, he doesn’t bat it away. “Billy,” She sings, bringing the red cup to her lips, staining the plastic with expensive lipstick. “Come on, just this once. Forget about the little bitch for just tonight. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She purrs.

Billy rolls his eyes but looks at her nevertheless. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut short when locking eyes with you.

Your hands shake, rage pulsing through your veins more than the alcohol. You throw the half empty cup against the wall, trudging out of Tina’s grand house and into the cold autumn air.

“Y/N!” He calls after you, pushing through the crowd of teenagers. “Hey! Would you just stop walking for two fucking seconds?”

“Fuck off, Hargrove.” Your feet don’t stop moving. You don’t know where you’re going or even where the sidewalk leads, but anywhere is better than that house.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He jogs to catch up.

“Exactly. You didn’t do anything. You could’ve told her to piss off or push her hand away but you did nothing!” Billy watches your arms move in wild motions as your anger got the best of you. “For fucks sake, is everything you said a lie? Everything that we’ve done and talked about, was it all just some sick game to you?”

“What? No! I--”

“Because it looks like you’re still the same power hungry horn dog that you were when you first stepped into town. Fuck, I should’ve listened to Nancy or Steve, or literally anybody with a working brain to not get involved with you.”

“What are you talking about? Carol means nothing to me.” He’s frantic, you can tell he’s being truthful. You almost feel bad for making a scene. You stand silent for a moment, crossing your arms over your chest to keep warm.

“Then why didn’t you defend me?” Your voice is almost lost in the wind but Billy catches every word.

“You stormed out before I could even say anything.” He sighs, taking slow steps towards you. “I’ve never lied to you, everything has been nothing but the truth. I’m sorry I was a piece of shit when we met but I promise I’m not that guy anymore.” He folds you into his chest, the scent of tobacco and alcohol invades your senses.

“You promise?” You whisper. He pulls away, taking his warmth with him.

“Fuck Carol, or any other girl. I want you, I love you. I’ll love you until my heart stops. I’m going to be yours forever.”

“Jesus Christ,” You chuckle, “Are you proposing to me right now?”

“No, but one day, I’d like to.”

There was a lot of truth in what Billy said that night at Tina’s party. He loved you until the very last second of his life. But you didn’t think forever would just be memories and old ketchup stains. You thought forever would entail a marriage, maybe kids, if not at least a dog. Forever should’ve ended sixty years from now, not six days ago.

A sea of black greets you when you finally make it to the burial. People are milling around, some talking to one another, other’s munching on refreshments you’re surprised Neil even arranged. People stop talking as you pass them.

You see Max, her tear stained cheeks, tissue balled in her hand. Lucas holds her free one, El rubs soothing circles along her shoulders. The rest of the teenagers are beside her, nobody says anything, each of them staring at the closed mahogany casket just a few feet in front of them.

The funeral begins, a minister takes the podium and rambles about the afterlife. Neil even talks, he says bullshit about being a proud father and how Billy meant the world to him. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Susan blots her tears and gives Max a soothing pat on the leg as her daughter emerges, brushing past Neil as she messes with the microphone.

“Billy--” She begins, words caught in her throat. “Billy was my brother,” She opens her mouth to say more but her voice fails. Her sobs are amplified from being so close to the mic. Through blurry vision, her eyes meet yours, a silent plea to help her.

You stand, gaining attention and murmurs from the audience. When you reach Max, you pull her into a hug, stroking her hair as she cries into your shoulder. “It’s okay, I got you.” You rock her back and forth, ignoring the uncomfortable shifts from people in their chairs.

Max finally stands, still sniffling. She squeezes your hand before taking her seat between Lucas and El.

You lean close to the microphone, shifting it slightly so you could stand straight. “Um, a few days ago, Max asked me to speak today,” You start to pull the wrinkled paper from your pocket, ignoring the smeared ink and tear stains before balling it up and tossing it to the side. He didn’t deserve something rehearsed, that’s not how either of you did things. You refuse to start today.

“Billy Hargrove was a lot of things. He was a student, an athlete, a brother,” You pause, giving a weak smile towards Max that she attempts to return, “A friend, and probably the love of my life. I know a lot about Billy, I know him better than anyone sitting here today. So, I thought I’d share with you who the real Billy Hargove is.” You breathe, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“If Billy ever told you that his favorite color was red, you shouldn’t have believed him. It’s actually blue. More specifically, he told me it was the color of the sky on a clear day.” You look towards the sky, the sun blinding you only for a moment. “Billy would’ve loved today. He’d look up at the sky, he’d close his eyes, and stand in silence. After a few moments he’d beckon for me, and I too would face the sky with my eyes closed. He’d ask if I could hear it, the waves, the seagulls. Truthbetold, I’d never be able to. I’ve never heard the ocean. But I’d always say yes.” You smile fondly at the numerous occasions where that exact scenario occurred.

“Billy was smart, he was one A away from a 4.0. He always took pride in having a higher GPA than me. Billy was also strong, and not just because he worked out everyday. No, Billy was strong because he had to be.” You glare at Neil for a brief moment, making him move awkwardly in his seat.

“Billy deserved so much more than what was given to him. I wish he could’ve seen California one last time. I wish he had the chance to leave this town, to start over, to never look back. He deserved that more than anyone else I know.” You take another breath, mind racing for something else to say, something to make people know Billy wasn’t the monster they believed him to be.

“California was his happy place. He told me many times that wherever I was, he was happy. But I always knew his happy was in California. Billy would tell me all kinds of stories about him and his mom. There was this one story where he caught a wave that was seven feet. He ran and told his mom who was on the shore. He never forgot to emphasize how pretty she was. How happy she was, how happy he was.” Tears prick your eyes, threatening to spill as you retell the story for the second time this week. This time, Billy wasn’t your audience. “He always talked about how one day he’d see her again. I wish he got that chance.”

“Billy died a hero, in many ways most of you could never understand. He died a hero to me,” Your eyes travel to find Nancy, Steve, and Johnathon. Each of them give a knowing, proud smile. You look at the young teens in the front row, the boys stare at their shoes, kicking their toe into the earth below. El wipes away tears, Max grins at you through hers, clinging to every word you speak. “To all of us. Even if you don’t know it.” With a final deep breath, you open your mouth one last time to finish your speech.

“Billy didn’t know peace for most of his life. I hope that he does now. And I hope wherever he is, the sky is forever clear, that he can see the ocean waves and hear the seagulls.”

Most people have left by now. Nancy and Johnathon made sure to give you hugs, Nancy reminded never hesitate to call. You said you would, but both of you know you’d probably never pick up the phone.

You sit alone staring ahead at the grey tombstone. “In loving memory of William Hargove. A loved brother and son.” You trace the words with your eyes over and over, unable to look away.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, “I know you would’ve wanted it this way. But it should’ve been me.” You stand, taking a final look at the empty cemetery. “I’ll love you until my heart stops, Billy Hargrove. I’m going to be yours forever, I promise.”

Forever Tags: @superfrankie111 // @rueinn // @lemonadeorange73 // @simplechicwithacrazedheart // @youshutthefuckupville // @captainpeggy40​ 

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove gif #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy Hargrove one shot #billy hargrove au #billy hargrove x reader #billy Hargrove x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things preference #stranger things x you #dacre montgomery #dacre x you #dacre x y/n #Dacre Montomery #dacre montgomery imagine #dacre montgomery x reader #dacre mongomery x y/n

[a-world-in-grey]

Bring Back Memories au II

Tissue warning! (and coarse language)

Also tagging @agent-jaselin because I blame them for inspiring this au in the first place.

.

-The glaives believe Sola to be dead. Tredd and Nyx are broken. It's like the Burning all over again, except the grief feels like someone tore out part of their souls. 

-Tredd never wore a Mourning Braid for his parents and siblings, and Nyx thinks he might one day unbraid his Mourning Braid for Selena. But for Sola? Never. Because the aching wound in their souls feel like they will never heal.

-They return to Insomnia, and Nyx and Tredd are so glad they can leave it to Captain to report to the King. Titus knows his men are grieving, he's not going to push them to face the King, to force them to tell the King that his daughter is dead. 

-Nyx… doesn't know why Abyssus sticks to him like a stubborn burr, but he won't admit that the big cat's presence helps him keep it together when he wants to fly off the handle. 

-The funeral… it goes. Titus secures invitations for the remaining 33 members of Sola's regiment, because they were brothers- and sisters-in-arms and they deserve to be there. The King, the Marshal, and Captain give speeches that Nyx barely remembers. Everyone in the regiment cries by the end. Nyx can see the Crown Prince, seated next to the King, the odd golden fox Nyx remembers Sola once called Cyrus sitting in his lap. Dark head bowed, and thin shoulders hunched and shaking.

-Once all the speeches are done, and everyone is waiting for the pallbearers to lift the empty casket to be delivered to the Royal Mausoleum, Tredd takes a breath and lets his voice rise to the rafters of the cathedral. It's not a Lucian song, but rather a Galahdian one, because for all that Sola had never been braided, she was one of them. One by one, the rest of the regiment joins in, until all 33 of them are singing.

-And despite his knee, the King insists on being one of the pallbearers. An elderly man, thick Leidan accent and clearly close to the King, is at the front with Regis. Another man, dark skinned and closer to the King's age, takes one of the center holds opposite Clarus' son Gladio, who stands for both his father Clarus and for the too short Crown Prince. And at the back, the Marshal and the Captain. Leaving Clarus and the Kingsglaive to form up around the procession because like Pyre they're going to allow assassins to take a shot at Sola's family at her funeral. Nyx and Tredd and Abyssus hover near Sola's little brother, while Libertus and Crowe guard his Hand. 

-The hug Noctis gives Abyssus isn't surprising. What does surprise Nyx are the two hugs he gives to Nyx and Tredd, before allowing Gladio and Ignis to usher him into the waiting Regalia. 

-Safe in Little Galahd, the fourth regiment gathers to mourn and get roaring drunk. Nyx doesn't remember Libertus dragging him back to his apartment, slung over Abyssus' back. His next memory is Abyssus waking him up at some Pyre-cursed hour, raging hangover making his already shitty mood worse. Nyx tries to push Abyssus away, but the damn cat just meows insistently at him, dodging the half-hearted swat Nyx blindly aims his way.

-Nyx's resolve to go back to sleep loses against Abyssus' determination when the cat grabs him by the tangle of his sheets and drags him, bedding and all, onto the floor. Nyx swears, blearily glaring up at Abyssus. Abyssus huffs at him, unimpressed before dropping shirt and sweatpants on his head. Nyx grumbles about making cat-kebabs, but stumbles upright and into the clothes before tossing his bedding back on the bed and then searching for something to help his Six-awful hangover.

-A search he's forced to abandon at the knock on his door. Not by choice, if it were up to Nyx he'd ignore it because fuck everyone else at the moment, but Abyssus lets out another one of his demanding meows and Nyx just wants to go back to sleep. Nyx yanks open his front door, ready to tear whichever unholy daemon of a morning person a new one, only to freeze at the sight of the Crown Prince standing on his doorstep. 

-Nyx really wants to know who he pissed off to deserve this. He's hungover and nowhere near awake for this, he's not even on duty! But he knows Sola would come back from the dead just to kick his ass if he let her little brother get hurt, so Nyx looks around to see if he can spot whichever Crownsguard are shadowing Noctis.

-Only, unless they're sneakier than an Arra - and Nyx knows where he'd put his gil and it's not on the Crownsguard - it doesn't look like the Prince has anyone guarding him. What. The. Pyre. Nyx manages not to swear out loud through Astral-worthy willpower and ushers the kid inside. 

-Once he's leveled a Look at Abyssus and the cat's taken up a position at Nyx's front door and only window, just in case, he levels a stern look at Noctis and tells the kid that he'd better have a good reason for being in the slums at - Nyx checks the clock and wants to glare at Abyssus all over again - seven in the morning without any bodyguards. Does anyone know where Noctis is?

-Noctis blinks wide blue eyes at him - Sola's eyes, fuck - and says that Nyx does. Abyssus huffs from the door, and Nyx swears the cat is laughing at him. Nyx is not amused. Nyx rubs a hand over his face and tells Noctis that he can't do this. They just lost Sola, don't… don't make his father grieve him too. Noctis hunches his shoulders, looking away guiltily. He mumbles an apology, but some of Sola's stubborn defiance pokes through when he adds that it's important.

-Nyx sighs, but ushers Noctis over to his crappy kitchen table, rummaging through his cabinet for two glasses and painkillers. He sets the water down before him and the kid, but pauses at the elixir Noctis holds out to him. Nyx frowns, and tells the kid that he's not injured. Noctis tells him that it's for the hangover. Nyx… doesn't actually want to know how an eleven-year old knows what a hangover is or how to make a magical cure for it. Especially when he knows for a fact that Sola never drank, even after she became legal for it.

-But he's sure as Pyre not turning it down. And Ramuh does it help. Nyx savors the sweet relief for half a second before turning his attention back to Noctis. He asks the kid what's so important to bring him down here without telling anyone. Noctis says that Nyx knows how Sola was his Sword, right? Nyx nods. It was something Sola was fiercely proud of. Noctis asks if Nyx knows why.

-Nyx… actually doesn't know, and he admits it easily enough. It's not like the inner workings of the Royal Retinues was common knowledge. Noctis doesn't look surprised. He frowns in concentration, like he's trying to figure out what to say. He tells Nyx that the Lucis Caelums are Blessed by the Draconian. Nyx nods. That's common enough knowledge, and Galahd has a number of Clans Blessed of the other Astrals, though none so recent as to have magic. Noctis says that because of the Blessing, they bond with people. Like, stronger than normal.

-Nyx frowns, and asks what Noctis means by stronger. Noctis flails a hand, saying that he's not sure how to explain it. It's… it's a feeling. It's instinct. But, when he was a baby, Sola decided that he was hers. And that she was his. And when Noctis was older, he accepted and returned that bond. Sola was his sister.

-Noctis huffs, frustrated, and complains that he's not explaining it right. But Nyx is frozen in his seat, because that… that's familiar. He tells Noctis that Sola Claimed him. And Noctis Claimed her back. Noctis perks up and says that yeah, that's exactly it. Meanwhile, Nyx is thinking back, a year and a half ago, when Sola's enlistment was leaked to the public and Tredd dragged him to calm Sola's Rage. How Tredd had called Nyx one of Sola's Claimed.

-And Nyx asks Noctis if it's only their Retinue that Lucis Caelums Claim. Noctis shakes his head. He says that Sola Claimed the Glaives years ago. All of them. He figured it out when she kept calling them 'her idiots.' Nyx fixes Noctis with a deadpan look and Noctis grins innocently back. Noctis adds somberly that it was why he encouraged Sola to stay with the Kingsglaive, because she was happy with them. They were hers.

-Nyx swallows hard, because damn it, he's not going to cry. He roughly asks what this has to do with Nyx specifically. Noctis tells him seriously that Nyx was Sola's Sword. Nyx chokes on his water, because what. Noctis says he didn't see it before. Sola never wanted a Retinue when he was little, because she was worried the Council would make her stop being Noctis' Sword. But Sola must not have realized it, because Nyx was Sola's Sword and Tredd… her Heart? He wasn't her Shield because Sola refused to have a Shield and he doesn't think Tredd was her Hand-

-Nyx holds up a hand to cut Noctis off, and takes a moment to order his thoughts. He was part of Sola's Retinue, go figure. Tredd too apparently, which, Nyx can see now that he thinks about it. And if Sola Claiming the Glaives wasn't enough to bond with them as her Retinue, but Noctis Claiming Sola back made her his Sword… Nyx thinks of the bead he added to his Mourning braid for Sola, for the woman he'd have adopted as his little sister if only he'd realized it sooner. 

-Fuck, that makes far too much sense.

-Nyx asks if Tredd should hear this too. Noctis nods. He says that he could use Abyssus to find Nyx, but he doesn't know how to find Tredd. Nyx nods, and says that he'll call him, and Noctis can tell them at the same time. Privately, Nyx is feeling just this side of petty because if he has to be up this early to have this conversation, then Tredd can suffer with him.

-It takes three calls before Tredd finally answers his phone, swearing at him. Nyx tells Tredd that he's going to be stopping by in thirty with breakfast, get up and get dressed because the Crown Prince is coming with him to talk with them about stuff no one knew they had to tell Nyx and Tredd about Sola Claiming them. There's a few seconds of silence on the other end, and Nyx asks if Tredd got all that. Tredd swears and says that yeah, he got it, but Nyx better bring the good shit, not Yamachang's pathetic excuse for kebabs. Nyx snorts and says that yeah, yeah, he'll get a proper breakfast for him.

-Nyx tells Noctis that they're gonna pick up breakfast on the way, wait at the table while he changes. Nyx washes his face, scrubs his teeth, and throws on jeans and a shirt, redoes the worst of his braids, and buckles his kukri to his back. Then he's ushering Noctis out his front door with Abyssus and locking up before hoisting Noctis onto Abyssus' back. Because if he's the only guard Noctis has currently, he wants Noctis to have a quick escape route if things do manage to go south. And Abyssus is more competent than half the Crownsguard. Easily.

-Turns out Noctis hasn't breakfast either, so Nyx picks up three of the breakfast burritos from Psamathe Furia, who takes one look at the Crown Prince and tones down the spices on one because Nyx honestly doesn't know if Noctis shares Sola's delicate Lucian palate.

-Tredd is in fact up and presentable by the time Nyx pounds on his door. Nyx gives Tredd a cheerful good morning just to be an asshole, and Tredd tells him to shut the fuck up. Nyx tells Tredd to watch his language, there's a kid present. Tredd swipes one of the burritos from Nyx, retorting that the kid's in public school, there's no way he hasn't heard it all. The two look at Noctis, who's staring at them innocently and Tredd tells Noctis that his innocent face sucks. Noctis pouts and Abyssus laughs at Noctis. Noctis clambers off, accepting the milder burrito from Nyx and finding a place to sit at Tredd's table because Tredd tells both of them that he's not discussing anything until he's had food damn it. Noctis wrinkles his nose at the veggies, but obediently eats them when Tredd gruffly tells him not to waste food.

-Noctis presents Tredd with another hangover cure, which puts Tredd in a marginally better mood but prompts him to ask where the Pyre Noctis learned to make hangover cures. Noctis says that it was Sola. Whenever a mission went bad, he'd spend time with her while she made them, because she always said the other glaives would need them. And Noctis was curious, so she taught him how to make them too. Nyx pinches his nose because fuck, that was Sola all over. She always showed up with her hangover cures after a mission gone bad, because half the glaives usually went out and got drunk. And sure, Sola usually poked fun at them while she handed the cures over because she could be a bitch like that, so no wonder she taught her little brother how to make them. Handing out cures made by a kid would've been hilarious to her. And because she could never really say no to her little brother.

-Nyx listens as Noctis repeats the first part of his explanation to Tredd, who, to his credit, picks up the details almost immediately. Though he asks what the Pyre Noctis means by him being Sola's Heart. Nyx snickers, because Tredd looks so disgruntled. So Noctis explains what he knows about each position in the Retinue. It's a bit rote, but clearly someone's drilled the details into his head, because he explains that the Sword's duty was to wade into danger and destroy threats before they reached their King, therefore protecting him. They attacked. Whereas a Heart protected their King's emotional wellbeing. Protected their King's heart.

-Noctis says that a Retinue is en-tit-led to stuff, even after Sola's death, and Noctis wanted to make sure they could get it if they needed it, because Sola was his and they were Sola's. And it's all he can do for his sister. He's knows it's not much, but he got Iggy to help him print off all the info for them. Nyx tells Noctis that they appreciate it, and they'll look it over. But he needs to get back to the Citadel. Noctis frowns, but Tredd tells Noctis that Sola wouldn't want him taking stupid risks. He's still a kid, but he's smarter than this.

-Before Noctis can reply, there's a knock at Tredd's door, and Nyx opens the door to see a very Unimpressed Cor. Nyx apologizes for the trouble, but Cor says he appreciates Nyx alerting him to the situation before anyone caused a panic. Noctis cringes from the Look Cor gives him, and yeah, kid knows he's in trouble. Nyx tells Noctis that if he really wants to come down to Little Galahd and meet more of Sola's people, let them know first and they'll come get him, okay? That way everyone knows he's safe. Nyx asks Abyssus to go with Noctis. The roads can't be good for his back. Abyssus nods, and Noctis climbs back on.

-When the door closes, Tredd slumps back in his chair and breaks down into grief-tinged laughter. Nyx agrees with the sentiment exactly. Tredd says that of course the fucking short stack went and grew on him, like a Ramuh-damned fungus, and once he was attached she had to up and die on them, and he couldn't even do anything because he was fucking bleeding out like a useless idiot! 

-Nyx tells Tredd, the first person he's told, that he tried to reach Sola. But Sola stopped him. Raised a shield and he, he couldn't break through before Abyssus dragged him away. Tredd says that of course Sola did that, the self-sacrificing dumbass. Nyx whispers that he's not sure he'll ever be able to forgive her for that, for not letting him try to save her. Tredd tells Nyx that he'd be dead if he'd reached her. Nyx admits that he knows, not saying that he'd almost prefer it that way. Tredd hears it anyway. Tredd says that Sola always did care more about them than herself. They were hers. Nyx smiles bitterly and says that no one ever told Sola that she was theirs too.

-Neither of them say that now they'll never get the chance.

#Bring Back Memories au #ffxv #Nyx Ulric #Tredd Furia #Noctis Lucis Caelum #Abyssus #ah yes #the aftermath of a major plot point #in which I find a million different ways to hurt my characters #with the little things #before the next big hammer smash #poor Nyx and Tredd #they've got no idea what's coming #take the respite while you can boys #it's only getting worse from here #I'd say I'm sorry #but that would be a lie

[calleo-bricriu]

It's not Monday but I ended up falling down a rabbit hole of listening to videos & podcasts about things morticians put up with and I would like to tell a recent family story that both explains a lot about me and about my entire family.

...and why I have so damn much fun NPCing some of my relatives as Calleo's relatives.

This one involves, no surprise if you've read the title, the death of a relative.

An Uncle on my mom's side had a pretty rapid decline and death after a terminal diagnosis; not surprising, he was a life long heavy smoker and drinker.

There are some things to keep in mind here:

1) He and his wife lived in a very remote part of very Fucking Nowhere, Northern Wisconsin. It was a good 20 minutes to the nearest incorporated town and about an hour to the nearest hospital and about 3 hours to the nearest town with a funeral home and crematorium. The latter being most important, as my uncle was clear that he didn't want anyone "staring at him" in a casket and that those things were a waste of space and money.

2) My cousin, for purposes of this, I'll call him John, is like a weirder, older, slightly more unsettling version of me, right down to being ridiculously stubborn about everything and being able to find all sorts of loopholes. He got expelled from high school in the mid 1980s for breaking into the computer systems, changing his grades, then leaving what amounted to a “Your systems are really fucking insecure you should fix that. - John” file on them.

3) The Uncle in question did not want a viewing and wanted to be cremated.

So, my Uncle died at the hospital; really, he died at home but he was officially pronounced DOA once the ambulance reached the hospital an hour away.

At this point, for some reason, the doctor had not signed the death certificate.

This will be important (and I'd also like to not that while my mom was telling me what happened--keeping in mind that the uncle who died was her brother--she's trying very hard not to fall into hysterical laughter).

Cousin John had been up from Big City 6 Hours Away for awhile to help his mom out while his dad's health was declining and had the thought of, "Why pay to have the body delivered to the crematorium 3 hours away, I have a pick up truck and bungee cords."

Now, you might be thinking, "Wow, that's probably illegal, what's wrong with your cousin, who would even ask that?"

The answer here is yes, and nothing more than what's wrong with me; I can tell you honestly he was legitimately thinking of practicality, not wasting the time of others, and cost savings. After death a body is just a body, its inhabitant is gone; that's the general viewpoint our family takes.

So, Cousin John goes back to the hospital, somehow convinces the staff there that it's cool for him to load his dad's body (in its fashionable Hospital Morgue Bag, and WITHOUT A SIGNED DEATH CERTIFICATE) into the back of his pickup truck, bungie him down like a deer, and drive him to the crematorium 3 hours away.

Doctor says he hasn't got around to signing the death certificate just yet but to come back once he drops the body off and he'll have it ready.

You might now be thinking, "This is definitely not legal" or "What the hell was his plan if he got pulled over?" or "Why did no state trooper along the stretch of highway notice a body bag bungied down in the back of a small pick up truck?"

Yes, and knowing John he would have just straight up said, "I'm taking my dad's body to the crematorium in $City," like that's not a completely insane thing to say, and I don't know are the answers to that.

So John drops his dad's body off, the crematorium accepts it DESPITE THE LACK OF A DEATH CERTIFICATE AT ALL (let alone a signed one), simply on the word of John saying, "The doctor hadn't signed it yet, he said it'd be ready when I get back so I'll bring it tomorrow."

You might still be thinking, "No part of this is legal or sane" and, again, correct, but we're not done yet.

John heads back to the hospital, doctor is gone for the day, since that was the only attending physician and the body is now gone from the hospital, nobody else can (or will) sign the death certificate. Now, suddenly, protocol is to be followed, I guess--I mean it’s not like they helped John load a body into the back of a pickup truck 6 hours prior or anything.

They tell John to come back tomorrow to talk to the attending physician to get the signed death certificate.

Now, repeat the part about the doctor "forgetting" or "not having time" to sign the death certificate for FOUR. ENTIRE. DAYS.

And the crematorium calls John, tells him they don't have refrigeration facilities, THE CORPSE IS NOW STARTING TO LEAK AND SMELL as corpses tend to do after a few days, and that they have to have the body--that nobody has a signed death certificate for--to a funeral home that does have refrigeration facilities and that'll add $800 for storage costs to the bill.

And again, you might be thinking, "Surely, no funeral home would accept a body under these circumstances!" and you would be incorrect, because one did.

So now, John is mad.

Not mad that the corpse of his dad has been actively decaying and stinking up a crematorium, mad that there's $800 more on the bill.

Priorities!

So he goes to the hospital, refuses to leave until he gets the signed death certificate and starts going ON, as loudly as he can to the point that other people are just...staring...because John has never looked, let's say, stable.

He has wild, long, wavy black hair, those sort of huge bug eyes you get when you're a combination of hyperthyroidsm and Polish, is about 5'3", and while he's usually very quiet when he gets really into a rant he's very, very animated.

He’s a perfectly stable, generally quiet person, which I know nobody believes at this point because this story is how I’m introducing my cousin to you all.

So this short, balding, frizzy haired, bug eyed, wildly gesturing Polish man is yelling at a doctor for letting him take a body out of the hospital without a signed death certificate, regales everyone listening with the whole saga of the crematorium, rotting body, and funeral home, and demands not only the signed death certificate (which he shouldn't have been able to take the body without having in the first place) but also that the hospital cut him an $800 check immediately to pay off the funeral home that they never should have had to use because of the delay in signing the death certificate.

...he got the certificate, got the check, paid off the funeral home, PUT THE BODY BACK IN HIS TRUCK (because fuck paying them to deliver it when he could just bungie it down and drive it back across town I guess), drove it back over to the crematorium, dropped it off (with the signed death certificate) and stood there, refusing to leave, until they got the cremation done and over with.

And the worst/best part is as my mom is telling me this story and trying not to laugh the whole time, my dad just sits there shaking his head because his side of the family is strange too just not...quite in that way...and the first thing out of MY mouth was, "Yeah, that sounds exactly like John."

#death #I don't know how several people didn't get fined for all of this #but everyone was just...okay with it #like it was a perfectly ordinary bit of shennanigans #ooc #that cousin is definitely the relative of Calleo's who built his house in a bog #and lets people think he eats the bones of people who get lost #when he really just bores them half to death talking about some obscure topic before eventually letting them leave

[james-stark-the-writer-wips]

A Year At The Opera - Excerpt

Chapter 12, Part 10: Aaron and Eleanor

Word Count: 1000 words

Here's that drama I promised :)

*

“Oh god not them.” Ryan muttered under his breath as he turned to see who had just arrived. “Anyone but them.”

“Where is he?” Asked the most-likely leader of this group of leather wearing men with chains around their waist— fuck this was a gang wasn't it…

Fun fact about Athea: they barely have a police force. Athea does not have a fucking gang. And appropriately, Aaron didn't even have the slightest idea of how he could process this. 

“You are not welcome here.” Ryan walked up to the man. 

The other five men took a step forward but the leader motioned for them to stay back.

Aaron had never seen his dad so angry. He was practically fuming: nostrils flaring, hand balled into a fist, ready to throw a punch. This was so insanely out of character Aaron could do little but stare wide eyed. He'd barely ever seen Ryan snap back at someone or raise his voice. This had to be really fucking bad.

“He was more my family than he was ever yours. I have more right to be here than you do.” The man spat. 

Ryan clenched his jaw, the words little more than a whisper. “Don't make me throw you out. Do not fucking ruin my brother's funeral, Holton.”

“Try putting a fucking finger on me and it'll be cut off before your next breath.”

Ryan narrowed his brows. With every word out of Holton's mouth Ryan seemed to get angrier and angrier. “Who even fucking told you this was happening?” 

“You thought you would hold a funeral for one of our brothers in this town and I wouldn't find out about it?” 

Ryan took a step closer to Holton. Ryan was tall and fairly well built but Holton looked like he lived in a gym, almost comically oversized biceps and pecs big enough to rival the best big titty goth girls around. Holton would fucking down Ryan Ina single punch if it came down to it. 

But Holton took a step back. 

“Look,” Holton began. “We both loved Joe and I don't want to make a scene. None of us do. We just want to pay our respects. For everything he did for us.”

Ryan unclenched his jaw and his fist, relaxing a little. “You get five minutes. Then I want you and your goons out of here.”

“Thank you.” Holton said. 

The chains on their side rubbed against their jeans as they walked up to the casket. 

“Hey, Mary.” Holton whispered. 

“Hey,” She said. “That could have gone better.”

“Eh, I can handle Ryan.” Holton chuckled. 

Ryan stood in place, staring them down from afar. 

Holton turned to casket. The thin, almost lanky, man next to him asked, “Do we know what happened?” 

“Well, Ash, they're refusing to give out any details but they're saying it was a leak at the plant.”

“Well someone must know what happened.” Another man spoke from the group.

“Well if they do, they're not talking.” Mary replied. 

“Promise me you'll find out who did this.” Holton said, choking up. 

“If it was an accident, there's nothing to find.”

“Someone is responsible for accidents too, Mary. Just promise me you'll do whatever you can to find who did this.”

“I promise I'll do what I can.” She sighed.

“Thank you. I knew I could trust you.” Holton said. 

Asher ran a hand through his blonde curls as he stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do. And in the middle of all this, that was all Eleanor could focus on: Asher Blake. Or Ash as he liked to be called. Eleanor was not focused on the funeral services, she was not focused on her friend next to her. Instead, her eyes and her whole being immediately wanted Asher Blake at first sight. And god she was trying not to show it. After all, Aaron needed her right now. He was going through something traumatic, she couldn't be distracted. And yet she couldn't force herself to look away. His jawline, his nose, his eyes, his hair, the slight slouch he walked with, his deep voice, his rings, the leather, the chains, his cliché but somehow still attractive skull necklace, his rainbow nail polish. To her credit, it was hard to look away from the guy. 

Holton reached for the casket handle but Mary stopped him. “There's nothing to see.” Holton withdrew his hand. “There's a reason it's closed.”

“Just promise me you'll find whichever son of a bitch did this, okay?” Holton growled. 

Mary nodded. 

As if on cue, the priest announced, “Its time.”

“Uh, actually, if you don't mind, we'd like to carry our fallen brother.” Holton said. 

Mary looked at Ryan who just shrugged. 

“Alright then, let's uh, go outside.” Holton turned to Asher. “Get it from the other side, boy.”

Ash rushed to the other side and picked up the casket. Two other men besides Holton picked up the lower end of the casket. The other two provided light support in the middle and with the directions of the priest they all began to move outside. 

All Aaron could even do was just sit in his corner and watch it unfold. He'd stopped processing things a while back. All Eleanor could focus on was the way Asher's shirt slightly lifted up as he carried the casket away, revealing his abs. But as he disappeared out her door along with everyone else in the room, Eleanor could finally put her attention back to Aaron.

“Dude, holy shit.” She sat down next to him on the floor. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on it. “That was so much.”

“You're telling me.”

“You didn't tell me your uncle hung out with Legion?” 

They're called Legion? God, please pick a worse name.

“I didn't know either lol.”

“Well are you okay?” She asked sincerely. 

“Yes, I'm fine, I just need to process the last ten minutes. I'll be okay.”

“Good.” She smiled, stretching her legs. 

“Go.” He said, turning to her and giving her a half smile. 

“What?” She asked, confused. 

“Girl, I saw you looking at him. Go. Before he's gone.”

“Do you know that I literally love you.” A statement. Not a question. 

“Yes, now go, dumbass.”

El giggled as she stood up. “I'll be right back.”

She gracefully walked out of the room and shut the door behind her, leaving Aaron alone with his thoughts. Exactly what he needed right now.

*

#writeblr #writblr #creative writing #original writing #writing #excerpt #excerpts from my writing #wip #a year at the opera #ayato

[buriednurbckyrd]

Necessary Paradox (11)

***Smut, ahoy! 

.

.

Y/N's symptoms were mild while she was still wearing the patches, but they both knew that her impending heat would likely be intense so they spent the first few days just relaxing enjoying each others company.  The first day was spent exploring all the rooms of the cabin, still in disbelief that it was now theirs.  The second day was cold, but clear and sunny, inviting them out to investigate the outdoor property. There was a path in the back of the house that led to a serene duck pond. A stone patio beside it would be shaded by the trees in the spring and summer, making it an ideal place to lounge.  Steve snapped a picture of Y/N looking out over the water, her face turned to the setting sun.  Her peaceful expression painted gold with the light was an image he wanted to treasure forever.  

When she peeled off the last patch and threw it away she insisted they open a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate.  They drank the expensive alcohol with frozen pizza in front of the fire.  Steve told her stories about growing up in the 40s, the war, and Peggy.  Tears rolled down her face as he described how it was to see her again after being unfrozen, how her memory had faded in and out when he visited her, and the heartbreak he felt when he helped carry her casket into the church for her funeral.  

He even told her about the complicated and brief relationship between him and Sharon. Y/N's past had been laid bare from the beginning, and he felt guilty, like he had been hiding things from her.  She assured him that that wasn't the case.  It hadn't felt right until then to tell her; the two of them stretched out on the plush rug soaking up the warmth of the fire.  The nearly empty bottle of wine on the coffee table with the few remaining crumbs from their dinner.  

...  

Two days later and Steve woke up drowning in her scent.  She had always smelled amazing, but now it made his mouth water like a starving man being given a feast.  His eyes opened and he looked down at her, she was curled up at his side, bare arm thrown over his stomach.  Her brow was furrowed in her sleep and her hips moved restlessly against him.  He groaned softly and rubbed his hand over his eyes.  

He was hard and throbbing in his pajama pants.  It was much more than a normal morning phenomenon, it was unbridled lust for the Omega squirming in her sleep and smelling like sex and every delicious thing he could possibly fathom.  If he moved he would wake her and half of his Alpha brain thought that was an excellent idea.  But the other half, the protective and nurturing half was loathe to pull her from her slumber.  He probably could have laid there and suffered in silence if it weren't for the soft, breathy way she called out his name.

“Steve...” She tipped her head back as if she were looking right at him, though she was still lost in her dream.  Her fingers dug gently into his skin.  

“Y/N.” He answered in a long moan.  Before he could stop himself his hips jerked, searching for friction.  The movement jolted her from sleep and her eyes blinked open.  

“Steve?”

“Good morning,” he said weakly.  “I didn't mean to wake you.”  She smiled dreamily and stroked her hand over his chest.  

“I don't mind, this is better than any dream.”  She stretched herself to reach his lips and gave him a long lingering kiss.  “Don't get me wrong,” she began.  “Any dream you're in is great, but it doesn't compare to the real thing.”  

“Dreaming about me, Omega?”  His hand crept under the tank top she had put on to sleep in.  “What were we doing?”  Her skin was warm and smooth and a little shiver went down her spine from his touch.

“Several things,” her fingers teased down his belly.  “Which culminated with this inside of me,” she gripped him through his pants and he let out a surprised gasp.  “While I rode you.”  She clenched her thighs together and gave his erection a playful squeeze.  

“We c-could...oh fuck...reenact that if you'd like.”  She kissed up his neck and nibbled on his earlobe.

“I thought we were holding off on that while we were here until my heat comes, Alpha.”  He groaned and nodded.  He wanted to kick himself for suggesting that on the drive to the cabin.  They both agreed it would be best to let her body adjust and for her heat to begin before they had sex again.  And the temporary abstinence would make the mating a little more special in his mind.  He wasn't ashamed of their previous activities, but there were several good reasons to wait.  Even if he was finding it more and more difficult to remember what those reasons were.  

“You're right.”  He croaked.  He covered her hand with his when she didn't stop.  “The next time I make love to you I want to mate you.” She shook away his hold and pushed her hand into his pants.  

“Okay, glad you cleared that up.”  He yelped and tried to wriggle away, but she swung her leg over him and sat on his thighs.  

“I thought-”

“You said the next time we have sex, Steve.”  There was a wicked gleam in her eyes.  “I can take care of you without having sex with you.” Her head fell back and she inhaled deeply.  “I feel more like myself than I have in years.  It's like I can feel everything more clearly.  I can smell your scent and it's like smelling you for the first time.”  She looked down at him with a gently smile.  “But if you think this is stepping out of bounds I'll stop.  We can walk away from each other for a little while and go on with the rest of our day.”  She took his hand and held it to her cheek.  “This isn't just about me, I want this to be special for you too.”  She kissed his palm.  Steve chewed at the inside of his cheek and thought about it for a few moments.  

“I don't think I could bear it if you walked away from me right now, please just touch me.”  She started to pull down the waistband of his pants and then paused.  

“Are you sure?”  

“Anything but actual sex.  I gotta stand by something, right?”  He joked and she grinned.  “But please, just fucking touch me or I'll lose all conviction.”  He huffed out a laugh.  

“I've got you, Alpha.”  She cooed.  “Just lie back and let me take care of you.”  The two of them adjusted so she could maneuver his pants down his legs until he was fully naked.  His cock was red and leaking and he hissed in arousal when she skimmed her fingertips over it. “I'm kind of glad we're doing this,” she wrapped her hand around him and began to stroke him.  “I haven't had much of a chance to pleasure you before.  And who knows how much I'll be able to do when my heat fully hits.”  She swirled her thumb over the weeping head and he bucked up into her hand.  “You're so exquisitely beautiful, Steven.  And I don't mean just your body.”  If they weren't in their current position he would be protesting her praise, but she just kept stroking and touching and all he could do was take the pleasure and the praise.  “From day one, you've been exactly who I needed.  Falling in love with you was the best thing that's ever happened to me.”  

“Y/N,” He moaned.  “I...”  He wasn't sure what he was going to say.  

“I've got you,” she said again.  “I never thanked you for telling me about your past the other night.”  She leaned down and left little open mouthed kisses over his chest, licking and biting as she went. She sucked a small bruise on his collar bone before pulling back to meet his eyes.  His were glazed over with arousal, but she could tell she had his full attention.  “I love that we can be vulnerable with each other.  We can trust each other with our pasts.  I love you with all of my heart, Steve.”  Tears stung the backs of his eyes.  

“I love you too, Y/N.  My Omega.  My Soul Mate.”  She kissed him, rolling her tongue against his.  He let her take charge and submitted to her ministrations.  Maybe other Alphas would have fought back, but Steve didn't mind one bit. Her confidence was beautiful to him.  He knew how it felt to have her melt in his arms, and in his mind there was nothing wrong with letting her return the favor.  She sat back to catch her breath.  

“I want to taste you.”  She said and he let out a whine of approval. Wasting no time she moved down his body and closed her lips around the head of his cock, lapping at it with her tongue.  She sucked gently, but it still sent shock waves through him.  Her hands twisted along his shaft.  

“Oh, fuuuck.  That feels incredible,” he groaned.  “Please!  Massage my knot, please!”  She followed his request and her fingers kneaded the sensitive flesh at the base of his cock, where his knot would inflate when they mated.  It throbbed like a heartbeat and the way she massaged him had his eyes rolling back in his head.  “Omega,” he gasped.  “If you keep that up I'm gonna come.”  She paused long enough to lift her lips away from him.

“Do it.  Come for me, Alpha.  Give in to me.”  She sunk back down over his length and increased her speed and pressure.  He was lost when she moved one hand away from his knot and cupped his aching balls; and then flicked her tongue against the sensitive spot right below his head at the same time.  He came with a long strangled moan, spilling his seed into her mouth.  He heard the tearing sound of a sheet ripping in his fist, but he couldn't have cared less.  “That's it, god you're breathtaking when you come.”  She purred and continued to caress him through the aftershocks of his orgasm.  All he could do was lie there and pant with his heart racing.  

“Holy shit.”  He gasped.  “I really hope that wasn't a one time thing.” Y/N chuckled and rocked her hips against his thigh.  

“Oh darling, that turned me on almost as much as it did you.”  She leaned down and kissed the side of his neck.  “I'm wetter than I've ever been before in my life.  I think it's safe to say my heat is coming very quickly.”  

Next

#steve x plus size reader #Alpha!Steve #omega!reader #plus sized reader #marvel au #A/B/O verse

[silverpixiedust23]

Stuck With You

Credit to the owner for the amazing pic))

Pairing:Demon!Seokjin X Reader

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Me trying to be funny, maybe smut in the future...?

Summary(idea taken from Pinterest): “How? How were you able to summon me?!” He shouts, randomly, for what seems like the tenth time. You’re standing in the corner, book on your legs as you flip through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “For the last time, I don’t know! You were supposed to be chicken soup!”

Chapter 1: Chicken Soup

You walk home; your black mourning dress hot and stuffy. The winter air blows softly against you, brushing past your legs and underneath your skirt. You shiver, pressing the old and tattered cookbook to your chest.

The cookbook: the last thing your grandma left you before she...died. Even thinking about it makes your heart clench. The service was hard, especially looking at her dead body in the open casket.

The walk up the stairs drains you, the heavy cookbook lugging you down. You curse your choice of living on the 6th floor of an apartment building with no elevator. You finally reach your door, stopping in front of it.

You sigh as you dig through your purse to find your keys. Hand tightening around the cool metal, you yank them out of your purse with too much force, dropping them on the tiled floor below. You groan, bending down to retrieve it. The cookbook slips out of your hand, tumbling to the floor next to your keys. You sigh once more, too exhausted to even curse your clumsiness.

As you reach for the book, the window at the end of the hall bangs open; a freezing draft of strong wind blows inside, running you over. It flicks open the book, turning the yellowed pages with fury. It slowly stops on the chicken soup recepie page.

You raise your eyebrow, hand going to caress the page. Your grandma’s chicken soup was amazing; you adored it.

You close your eyes as you snap the book shut. You lift it in your arms, slipping the key in the lock. You glance at your number plate: 666.

The door is soon unlocked and you step in, your heels clicking on the wood.

You drop your purse to the floor, stepping out of your black heels, sighing as you feel the cool floor through your stockings. The coat that was hanging on your arm is thrown on the couch, rumpling messily. You pass a hand through your hair, not caring.

You quietly step in the bedroom, slipping off your heavy earrings and dropping them roughly on the counter of your dresser. The zipper of your dress follows after, replaced by the comfort of your camisole and boy shorts.

You stumble in the bathroom, splashing your face with freezing water. You slowly lift your dripping face and stare at yourself in the mirror. A few strands of hair stick to your damp face. You’re skin is paler than usual, deep bags under your eyes and glossed pupils.

“Oh—fuck it,” you curse, turning off the running tap and storming in the kitchen.

The cookbook was sitting on the couch, half covered by your coat. You run to it, hastily grabbing it. Pushing it close to your heart, you walk in the kitchen, flicking the light on in your flimsy kitchen.

You place the book down, gently, on the marble counter. You bite your lip as you open the book at the page that had presented itself to you before: Chicken Soup.

You scan the ingredients quickly, ticking them off your hand, you realize that you have all of them. A small smile forms on your destroyed face.

You unlock your phone and quickly put on a playlist of old songs you’re grandma used to sing. Memories of her playing with you, cuddling you, cooking for you flow back. You loved her so much, and she loved you so much. You try to stop the tears from falling and luckily succeed.

A sad smile spreads on your face as you place the pan underneath the tap. You quickly walk to the book, reading the next sentence.

Some cursive writing at the bottom of the page catches your attention. You lower your gaze, frowning. It wasn’t there before, when the page opened in the hallway. You pass your hand on it, even more confused. The writing seemed added, not part of the original print. As soon as you touch the writing, a shiver runs through body. It looks like some notes your grandma added. They are almost inchonpressible and you lean closer to read it better.

“As I, foolish reader, pronounce these words,

A darkness soon is to fall on my soul,

What else can I do, other than to fear,

As a demon crawls from the deepest corners of hell.”

You read aloud. “Huh, that’s weird.” You say, frowning at the words. You stare at the words for a moment longer before you turn around.

As soon as your back is turned, a strong blast of wind hits your back. You gasp, turning around. You freeze, your heart thrumming. The book is shaking, the pages trembling. The black words seem to start leaking, splotching the rest of the papers and hiding the other words. The darkness slowly starts to drip on the rest of the pages. You stand, frozen, in a corner, your hand outstretched.

The book soon turns comepletly black, it’s darkness falling to the floor in sluggish globs. The dark globs seem to know where they are meant to go as they start whizzing around on the floor. One of them brushes your feet, a numb iciness spreading quickly around the area it touched. You yelp, clambering on the kitchen counter. The globs soon stop having a party, slowing down as they creat a complex pentagram on the your kitchen tiles, melting into solid lines and a drawing a defeneat shape.

The lines of the pentagram start to bleed into red lines, a soft, purple light contouring it as you watch, frozen in fear. The brightness of the light continues to augment until it’s blinding. You scrunch your eyes shut, cowering in fear. A loud crashing noise pierces your eyes, you scream in fear, confused and scared. You have no idea what broke—probably the table.

You wait after the explosion, silently counting to ten before you peak open your eyes.

You shriek in horror, collapsing against the tiled wall, almost falling off the counter.

A man, was standing on the remains of your destroyed table, now just splinters. The man is facing the other way, so the only thing you see are his broad shoulders. At your piercing screams, he turns around.

As soon as he catches sight of you, cowering in a corner, panting and starting to panic, the smirk he had on falls to the floor. “Wno are you, girl?” He asks, raising his perfect eyebrow. In fact, everything of him is perfect you realize as you observe him. His eyes are long and wide; his nose is perfect and so are his plump lips.

“I-I’m....I’m...” you stutter, helpless.

He sighs, deeply annoyed. “O-Kay. I don’t care. Where is the person that summoned me?” He asks, adjusting his cuffs, looking around the empty room.

His facade of calmness changes to confusion as he realizes you’re the only one in the room. Realization dawns on his beautiful face as he looks at you once more. “It was you?” He asks in disbelief, his hand pointing at you.

You gulp, nodding shakily. “You came out of the cookbook...”you stutter, pointing to the now perfectly fine book, laying close to your feet.

“Yes I did,” the man says, extremely bored. “But now, the firt important question is how, you, little pesky, stupid and dull human, summoned me. The greatest demon of all time.” He hisses at you.

You feel a spark of anger flare in your body as this man, or demon, burst in your home, destroyed your perfectly fine table and now was insulting you. You had just lost your grandma and here you were, dealing with this parasite. You have had enough

“I don’t know! I don’t know and I don’t care! Get out of my house!” You say, your tone increasing until your shouting. It feels good to express all the pent up frustration.

“I will leave until I know how you summoned me!” He yells back, jabbing a finger at her.

“Oh, go to hell! I don’t know!” You hiss back, your arms crossing over your chest. You resist your strong urge to stick your tongue out.

The demon’s eyes trail to your breasts before they return to your face. “I’m from there! Anyways, I want to know how.” He demands, firm.

“I repeat, since it seems your thick skull doesn’t seem to understand. I. DON’T. KNOW!” You snap back.

You slowly bend down to pick up the cookbook. Before grasping it in your hands, you poke it, making sure it won’t turn black again. After waiting for five more seconds you pick it up, pressing it into a hug as you realize it’s fine. You sigh happily before you clear your throat, regaining composure. You bite your lip as you start trying to find the page with the writing on it.

“How? How were you able to summon me?!” He shouts, randomly, for what seems like the tenth time. You’re standing in the corner, book on your legs as you flip through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “For the last time, I don’t know! You were supposed to be chicken soup!”

The demon seems horrified. “You....you...I was summoned while you were cooking chicken soup?!” He cries, shaking.

“Yes! Yes, you were!” You glare at him before turning to look for the page. “My grandma scribbled a poem about foolish readers and darkness on soul or something,” you hiss.

“You’re grandma?” The demon asks, confused. “You...your grandma has a demon summoning spell on her chicken soup recepie page?” He raises an eyebrow, his eyes glinting.

“Yeah, don’t ask me about that either,” you sigh, biting your lip in frustrations as you skips through the pages.

“Where is said page?” The demon questions, stepping out of the pentagram on the floor.

“I....I don’t know...” you answer back, furiously flicking one page back and forth.

“Do you ever answer anything without the phrase, ‘I don’t know’?!” The demon asks, exasperated, his hands going through his hair. You ignore the insult and curse under your breath.

“We have...a little problem...”you mumble, staring at the pages.

“What now?! Has the page magically flown away and gone on holiday?” The demon spits, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You are silent for a moment before looking up at him. Your eyes are wide as you grasp the book. “It—it seems so,” you answer quietly.

[trainwreckweather]

8&24 (hospital+ soulmate AU) stella/scully

Prompt given by the lovely @viceversawrites (thank you! 💙)

******************

It's rare. They say it's like divine revelation. You feel everything, see everything. Taste, hear, know.

So many have chased the feeling to death. Scientists have tried to engineer the euphoria and intelligence in a pill for the richest of the rich.

But it's dangerous. And really, it doesn't compare.

In this day and age, it's a common folk tale. A myth. Taught in history classrooms, in literature too- oh, the sheer romance of it. Professors swoon at uninterested students snapping gum and looking bored.

They don't care about what doesn't concern them.The subject of soulmates is laughable to them.

Oh- oh it's real they say.

It's real, sure. No one will dispute that. It's happened before. Ordinary humans changed within an instant. No one knows why, or how. They don't know how a highschool dropout can communicate in every language known to man- dead and lost included, mere minutes after handing over a fast food receipt.

They're stronger, smarter, and more perceptive once they've met their soulmate. More compassionate too, it seems.

But the catch is, you have to touch the hand of your soulmate to see it all. To know.

Statistics are not in anyone's favor. You can say 'small world!’ all you want, but the population is up there, nearly 8 billion now. Take the seas into consideration, the miles separating city from rural lands, and the restless spirit of humans- it's harder than hitting the jackpot.

No one has time to go and touch the hand of every person they come across, though it's not uncommon to see small children, whimsical and hopeful glide along, giggling as they brush the hands of everyone they pass.

A children's schoolground game. There are nursery rhymes about it too, but Dana doesn't have her head in the clouds, doesn't pay any mind.

She isn't like the children and preteen girls singing and daydreaming of enlightenment and the truest, purest form of love.

She's a realist. She gets up, grooms, shoves half a bagel in her mouth, maybe burns herself with coffee on her commute to work.

People love, people marry, and she thinks she gets along just fine with the knowledge her brain holds now. She isn't interested in soulmates. It never even crosses her mind.

She thinks in numbers, hard facts, statistics. Diseases and treatments and dosages. Possible cures. The closest she's gotten to letting loose is whooping with the kids in her ward who've just gotten the best news of their lives yet. They can go home.

That's where she usually is, that's where she does her best work- The pediatric ward. She shakes all of her patients hands and (thankfully) not once did she feel any different than before.

Today is a changeup.  The ER is short staffed and her ward is quiet.

Dana reviews vitals, orders tests, transfers and medications to be administered. It's busier than she's used to but she adjusts to the fast paced rhythm like she does most things. She finds her groove and excels. Like a machine.

People feel bad for her. She doesn't date, she's buried in her work, too invested. She takes it home with her and reviews files, over and over. Tests theories, work things out in her head, this way and that. What is the best course of action for little Brian? If I proceed with this- he could have permanent nerve damage, if I risk it he may die.

Her nights are much like her days, blended and ordered and perfect. She's happy. She thinks she's happy at least. Who cares about what others see? Who cares about the ultimate human form? Who cares about love? She has everything she could ever want or need.

“Dr. Scully, ambulance is here in two. Car crash, 33 yr. old caucasian female, possible head injury.”

A nurse; his tag says Tommi. She thanks him.

Stella Gibson isn't happy about being here. Before she even pulls back the curtain, she can hear the complaints, a strained british lilt reaching her ears.

“It's barely a scratch! I'm fine. The ambulance was unnecessar-”

She enters and interrupts before things can escalate.

“Ms. Gibson! External injuries can oftentimes present in a manner that doesn't show us what's going on inside. I agree that you're probably alright. But I want to order an MRI and have you stay overnight for observation. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Stella,” she corrects with a steely gaze that leaves no room for argument. Dana nods once.

“Stella. Is that alright with you?”

Stella answers in the affirmative, but doesn't look to happy over her predicament.

She is fair haired, fair skinned and freckled, and has piercing baby blues. She's in need of stitches just above her left brow. Regardless, she's a strikingly beautiful woman, and something instinctual tells her to stay on Stella Gibson's good side.

And something primal, something she isn't used to, tells her to protect this woman at all costs.

She holds out her hand to this woman sitting upright and stiff on the hospital gurney. It's her standard practice. Doesn't think once about it, let alone twice.

Stella begins to say something in an almost sheepish tone, something about how she isn't used to driving in the U.S. - but it's cut off abruptly as soon as they make contact.

The textbooks- they don't prepare you for this. Dana is hit with a force so hard she nearly collapses- stumbles and gasps at the sensation. It's as if all of the earth's energy has funneled itself into this triage.

She feels it. Each and every atom. She can feel them feed off of each other, but it doesn't hurt. Why doesn't it hurt?

It's intense, so much so that she fears her bones will splinter, and that she'll fly apart, simply cease to exist as she was.

Dana doesn't realize what's happening, she can't make the connection. She can only feel. And see.

She sees a young towheaded toddler with unruly curls and crimson rain boots. Someone, her father, lifts her so she can pat the wet nose of a gelding. She feels the anticipation of the girl- part fear, part excitement. The same feeling is there when she views the girl on her back, no longer a girl and so sure that this is her ticket to womanhood. Only 17, but later she feels the sadness and regret. And the sting.

And the sting. Of the freezing rain pelting as her father's casket is lowered into the bitter dirt. Frozen. Frozen like her heart. Which she tries to melt with the burning of cigarette smoke and liquor and the flowing of warm blood and the heat of a quick fuck. It never quite works. Always something missing. Something to be filled.

Filled with University courses, with self confidence, with a uniform. There. Now there is purpose. Now there is wrong and right and she she stands firm on the right side of the line.

She leaves the country to get away from a Stalker, someone who she met once, fucked once, and that not even the law could get rid of. Like herpes.

She's trying to start over here in San Diego. It's different. It was her hope to permanently thaw the ice with this weather. She's working as a barista. She can barely afford her studio. Her car is wrecked. Still she's happier than she's been in a long while.

Happier now still.

As sudden as it starts, that's how it stops. The rushing in her ears is replaced with faint ringing. Dana is back now. To this room, to this body. She's shaking like a leave.

Adrenaline, her mind supplies.

Stella is wide eyed and opened mouth; their hands are clasped between them. This is when it hits her, what just happened.

“Dr. Scully?! Ms. Gibson?! Are you alright? Here, I have a chair.”  Someone is panicked and confused, but that someone is not her. It will never be her again.

She doesn't sit. She waves the nurse off as best she can. She still won't let go of Stella, can't take her eyes off of her.

That primal urge to protect is now reinforced and emphasized. She wouldn't have believed it before, if someone told her it was possible to fall in love in an instant. But really, how can can you call a lifetime an instant? She was there, she was there to see Stella's victories and her downfalls. She was right there with her, feeling what she felt, seeing all she's been through. It's incredible, the strength one person can possess. It's incredible what one can survive. She's never been so proud. She's never been so in love.

Too overwhelmed, they both start leaking tears, but they're smiling at each other, face splitting, opened mouth smiles. Dana can taste the salt on her tongue.

She laughs at the absurdity of today. If Stella had been more careful, if she was out sick, if the ward had needed her- all these ifs. Eight billion little ifs. She shakes it out of her head.

She knows things now. Not just Stella things. She could (and most likely will), cure cancer if given a quiet room and a day to herself.

But right here, right now, there are pressing matters to deal with. Such as making sure her soulmate (god, her soulmate) has nothing more than a gash and a mild concussion. After that- wow. What does one do after this?

Stella sniffs and squeezes her hand.

“I don't suppose you would mind if I asked you out to dinner...”

#there are probably lots of mistakes but im done looking at this sorry #my fic #stella/scully #au #the fall #the x-files #i dont really like this but oh well #i tried

[vaxreed]

Supernatural AU hank/gavin/connor/rk900 (lore from what I remember when I was 17): Hank is a police officer loved by the community and Lieutenant at a young age. Had some martial problems but nothing that was too severe yet and a son he adored. He comes home from a late shift and the house is pretty quiet. He smells smoke and instantly goes to see the source is Cole's room the door knob is practically burning but he bears through the pain and opens the door to see the entire room engulfed in flames. Like they're so strong he instinctively backs away knowing there's no way he could get through the wall of fire. He goes in search of his wife, hoping Cole was with her and that they ran already. He hears sirens in the distance someone must have called it in already. Hank leaves hoping to find his wife and son outside. When he doesn't find them he tries to get back in and fights the firefighter holding him back as he calls out for his loved ones.

There are two caskets at the funeral. The tiny one leaves a massive crater in his heart. Something eats at him. Things were fine, the saw that the cause of the fire was a gas leak but Hank should have caught it or his wife would have known. He can't help but go back into the burnt and ruined apartment. Everything smells like sulfur and there are footsteps that are burned onto the floorboards. The thing that made them had feet hotter than the fire. Much hotter. This didn't make any sense. He started doing research. Started drinking to cope.

He spends nights in the library searching for newspaper clippings of similar things that happened in the United States. They all say the same thing the smell of sulfur and the footprints that scorched the ground hotter than any fire could.

He finds a hunter when he's exploring his lead. A guy a decade or two younger than him face riddled with scars, mean looking guy and the gun that was pointed at him would prove his theory.

"Take a step back you god damn shifter." a low growl in his voice.

"A what?" Hank doesn't understand what the hell is going on.

"Don't fuckin' insult me by playing dumb." he cocks the shotgun. Hank squeezes his eyes shut

Thinks he going to be shot, that he was never going to find out what killed his family or why. Instead he feels something flick onto his face. Smells like...rosemary? The man puts his gun down.

"Get the fuck out of here, don't go sniffin' where you don't belong." Before brushing past him. Hank reaches out and pins him against the wall. Didn't matter who he was this guy didn't get to disrespect him like this.

anyways they kill the shapeshifter. And hank asks to come along with gavin. Gavin essentially laughs at him and tells him to fuck off. But he has the feeling eating at him. this bitter loneliness in the pit of his stomach. He gives in. But he only has a motorcycle. Hank says he has a car.

They travel together following Gavin's lead. Hank quits his job, and takes what he has to fund this expedition. Gavin teaches him all he can and they go on missions together hunting supernatural beings. Gavin does it for sport, didn't matter if they felt remorse or only did it survive, he didn't care. Hank acts a moral compass.

They work well together. They get close but never really talk about why they do what they do. Sometimes they have a little too much to drink and fuck in the bar bathroom before heading back to the car. Hank is in the driver's seat while Gavin has his smoke then they get back on the road and don't say anything. Time passes. Hank has a few leads they check out but nothing great so far.

Then one lead takes them and it's a trap set by Elijah. Gavin has only met Elijah once, and it was when they were both young at his mother's funeral. He actually looked exactly the same hasn't aged a day in the 20 years they haven't seen each other. He almost doesn't recognize him. He has a group of skinwalkers. Their dog forms are rottweilers and their human forms are Chloe essentially lol. They try and take Gavin, Elijah promises him the ability to unlock his untapped power and reveals his true nature. Hank gets them out of there fast.

The rest of the time is them fleeing from various people who are after gavin. You don't get many Half-Human Half-Demon hybrids. Hank finds out that his son was a potential person they wanted to host Lucifer. They wanted someone young to raise them the way they wanted but their bodies were too weak and an explosion happened causing the fire. Gavin is one of their options for who can host Lucifer.

Around this time, angels are sent down to assist. For those who haven't seen Supernatural, or who are actually reading this lol, angels are very much beings with sticks up their asses. Not very merciful and will do what it takes in order to get the job done. The angels posses two beings, not related yet look eerily similar from different parts of the world.

Their human names are Connor and Richard since humans wouldn't be able to comprehend the magnitude their names carry. They locate the hunters since they know Gavin is who they are looking for, other angels were sent to assist the other hybrids as well, Gavin isn't the only one but these two are sent to protect him...well really to make sure he isn't possessed, they'll kill him if there are no other options.

Connor has spent more time with humanity finding himself fascinated by it. Richard doesn't like leaving heaven so he's a bit colder than his associate.

in the end they all totally fall in love but it's complicated. OT4 vibes only 

#hankvin #and other ships #au #crossover #ficlet #ish #? #spn #my shit #headcanon #i say other ships cuz they're involved but it's not enough for me to tag and yeah #sorry i just threw my ideas together with little editing cuz i was so excited for this au #i just have aus every other day

[lordshaxx]

fuck yeah heres a drabble of super soldier shaxx >:3c i shared it w some of u already but i figured i may as well post it here before i forget to lol tw for implied self harm and attempted suicide

Everything hurts. There is metal grafted to his bones and nanites crawling on his skin, his blood boils beneath and his eyes burn underneath the artificial light. He cries yet tears cannot fall and his voice goes unheard; he claws at his skin but they have cut his nails and so his hands drag over old scars instead, stinging still and pulsing in tandem with the Light.

Needles prick into his back, pressing into his heart, his lungs, and his veins and he chokes as the tubes suction to him next and the burning Light presses in. He cries again, white hot tears staining his face as he curls in on himself, willing the pain away until the needles are gone and he can feel excess Light leak out the holes they leave behind and drip over the rings of bruises that circle them. He cries as he bleeds until he faints in a pool of white and red Light.

Fifteen years. It’s been fifteen years since they first began pumping him full of Light. Fifteen years that he’s been dragged to the same bed to recover, wheezing over bandages too tight. Fifteen years that he’s groaned in agony for twenty hours as his body and the Light try to harmonize, creating more mass where there shouldn’t, and his bones creak and his head screams as he grows once more. His sleep is restless, fevered and nightmare-fueled; he wakes only to vomit the Light that doesn’t want to stay, watching as it’s taken away, undoubtedly to be filtered and redistributed for his next session.

“Please,” he begs weakly, “please, just let me die.”

They won’t let him.

There are bracelets on his wrists and ankles when he trains. He knows why they are there, they haven’t been there long, and he distinctly remembers the day that forced them to create them. It wasn’t the first time they brought him to the target range but it was the first time they had let him train with other weapons that weren’t different kinds of pistols.

If it weren’t for that guard standing so close to him, he thinks he would’ve been able to have ended it all right then and there but the bullet grazes his ear and bounces off the glass behind him instead. The very next day with the gunshot still ringing in his ear, they had clamped the bracelets around his wrists and shown what they would do should he had tried something like that again.

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it, however.

His skill is unsurpassed now, deadly and efficient whether it be with a firearm or close combat. His strength is unrivaled and agility is inhuman. His intellect able to rival that of the Traveler’s oldest Seers and the galaxy’s best and brightest. For all intents and purposes, he is the model soldier. An image of human perfection.

Yet, in the glass cage they force him to call home, he kneels and cries. His wails of misery and pain echo around the facility and haunt those that possess a capacity of compassion; he longs for a true home yet he also longs for a morbid release. He doesn’t care what he has become and what he has accomplished for when he looks into the mirrors that surround his cage, he sees only a broken man beaten to the thinnest thread of hope.

When his body rejects the new Light introduced after a session, he finds peace amidst the failures of his systems. He is weary and ready to leave his broken form.

People, however, refuse to let him die. As the last of the new Light puddles around him and the tubes detach from his back, the room is flooded with red and he flinches and curls in on himself at the shrill alarms that suddenly blare out. The doors open and suddenly there are hands on him, too many hands, and he wants to lash out, but they take the bracelets off his wrists and ankles and place clothes on his back and wrap his eyes.

“It’s okay, sweetie, we have you,” comes a soft voice, motherly and gentle despite the cacophony of noise and he is compelled to follow. The darkness of the blindfold is cooling and clears his mind somewhat even as he stumbles when the hands try to lift him and guide him along. Many bodies lean against him, keeping him upright and stable and they lead him out the steaming room of Light and tubes into the cold hallway. They continue down the familiar path until a rough voice yells at them to stop and then he’s tugged into an unfamiliar room. Gunfire causes his head to shoot up along with the ensuing screams but then a door closes behind them and the sounds are muffled save for a loud bang against the metal door.

“We’ll be safe here,” that same voice says, still soft. The hands settle him against a cool wall as he breathes harshly from the adrenaline that still courses through him. Delicate fingers take off the blindfold, revealing a narrow but gently lit hallway, seemingly separate from the alarm systems of the rest of the facility.

It’s hard to focus, his vision blurring in and out, and he squints at the woman that kneels in front of him. Her face is older, gently wrinkled, and there’s a particular white lock of hair hanging in front of her vibrant blue eyes; he thinks that there is something familiar about her yet he can’t quite place it. She seems to notice this, smiling sadly as a small hand cradles his cheek and he leans into the cold feeling with a sigh.

“We’re going to get you out of here, okay?” she says, other hand moving to gently brush his own lock of white hair behind his ear. “You’re going to get better but we have to get you away from this place before you can do that.”

He only manages an incoherent mumble, face scrunching slightly when a wave of nausea rolls over him and he leans over to dry heave onto the ground. His throat is scratchy and dry by the time he’s done, barely registering the hand rubbing gentle circles into his back, and he feels like he’d be more content if he were to just lay down and sleep right there, right now.

But then, he’s back on his feet, held up by the many hands once more and they guide him down the hall and further away from the muffled alarms. He doesn’t know where they are or where they’re taking him - for all he knows, he could be going somewhere worse than this, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight back, can barely keep his eyes open, and all he can do is groan pathetically when those familiar pains pass through him, jostled and accentuated with the rough movement of walking and half-jogging.

He can’t tell when they get outside, barely recognizing the rain as it ghosts over him in a misty sheet. It’s dark out, in the shadow of the facility where the floodlights don’t shine down. Another group of people are waiting and amongst them, another person he thinks that he should know. A man this time, with a young face, perhaps the same age as himself, and with kind hazel eyes. The man and his group stand by a large metal box which rests in front of a transportation vehicle and, when they get closer, he feels drawn towards him as though the Light in him wants to meet the man as well.

The box next to the group lets out a hiss and a whir as the top opens, revealing a ballistic gel layer in the rough shape of a person. His hazy mind just barely realizes that it’s a cryo-stasis pod. The hands help maneuver him inside where he sighs as his back meets the cool gel and he blearily looks up at the faces that crowd around the pod. The woman kneels near his head, accompanied by another familiar looking woman - she’s paler with narrow eyes and freckles across her face, just like him, - and they both look at him lovingly.

As the man kneels across from them, he reaches down, hand glowing a soft warm yellow and he closes his eyes when the hand meets his forehead. The warmth spreads throughout his body, seeming to shush his pains with gentle kisses as his Light hums happily, and for the first time in fifteen years, he is calm.

A small hand picks up his own as he begins to drift, sleepy and warm, and he feels a soft pair of lips press against the back of his hand followed by another while a Light kiss is pressed against his brow, the first woman murmuring, “Safe travels, my son.”

And with the casket sealed, the warrior sleeps.

In a future not so distant, the warrior will be found in a strange new world by a construct and a Crow. His true calling to the Light will be honored by the construct and the Crow will free he who is to be Lord Shaxx.

#[ yeets this out there and runs back into my hole ] #[ time to sleep for another 3 months gbye ] #( . drabble ) #suicide attempt tw

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Genuine

Stony (Steve Rogers x Tony Stark)

Warnings: Lowkey angsty and long

Note: so my jetlagged ass decided to write this based off of THIS prompt. (shoutout to @itsallavengers and @savedbythenotepad) Pls enjoy. Gif isn't mine

“Fuck." Steve Rogers didn't swear when other people could hear, at least work people, and that's when they knew it had really gone to hell.

“He got away. They're blowing the Destroyer any second now.”

“Jump out, we’ll pick you up.” Coms went off when Captain America jumped into the ocean and the SHIELD situation room went into a frenzy.

“We can't risk Riles coming after Rogers inside SHIELD.”

“So what are you suggesting?” the commander asked. The agent who had said it stood up a bit straighter.

“We fake the Captain’s death, sir.”

The commander seemed to mull over the idea and looked at the carnage that Riles had left. Three destroyed city blocks in Sierra Leone and now the USS Patriot.

“Get it done. Feeds of how he drowned, funeral, everything.”

“Who are we keeping in on it, sir?” There was someone already getting ready to call people in for a briefing, Tony Stark number one on the list.

“Riles has already compromised our cameras, tech, homes, who knows that else. This stays within the six of us.”

“But sir, his husband.” Tony and Steve has not kept their marriage private from anyone. Captain America and Ironman were married and the whole world knew.

“His life is in the eye of the camera. His reaction will be more genuine if we don't tell him and we can't risk a leak.” All the other agents stare for a moment and then got to work. Two of them were on a chopper to pick up the Captain and the others were putting together a fake autopsy.

Tony rolled over in bed sometime after the sun had reached high in the windows of their room. He reached over, forgetting Steve was on a mission and then rolled right off the bed so he'd be forced to get up.

His automated system had coffee already brewing and he snagged the cup before checking for any urgent messages on his tablet. Nothing from the garage or from within Avenger’s HQ.

“Friday, news.” The TV flickered on.

“-from what we can see the USS Patriot was completely destroyed. Everyone on board is presumed dead. The expl-” The report touched his ear, “We’re getting another report in... This has been officially claimed as the handiwork of former SHIELD current Hydra operative Damon Riles. Three of the Avengers have been linked to his running destruction across the globe.” A pixelated shot of Riles was shown on the screen as coverage of the USS Patriot’s wreckage continued on the screen. Tony fell lazily onto the couch, sipping his coffee and watching, waiting for the segment to change. Instead the screen showed the reporter again. He was still speaking about Riles’ past chaos when his face went absolutely white. His mouth actually fell open for a moment till someone off camera reminded him to be a reporter again.

“Word has just come... and this is straight from the rescue teams, Captain America’s body has just been found within the wreckage of the Patriot.” If the reporter went on, Tony wouldn't have known. Blood was rushing through his ears and he was sitting straight up.

Captain America’s body.

Captain America’s dead body.

Steve’s dead body.

His love’s dead body.

Once the initial confusion crashed, Tony started to feel a burning and he looked down to see that he'd spilled his coffee on his shirt. Without much of a thought he shucked it off and fell to his knees on the carpet that Steve had picked for their suite in the HQ.

That's where Rhodey found him a few minutes later, burns covering his chest, and Tony silently crying at the news that was still running.

-/-/-/-

Steve tossed and turned in his small bed. Despite the fact that now two super soldiers were commonly holed up in safe houses, no one had thought to make the beds better fit. Of course that wasn't the only thing that bothered him. Steve missed Tony. He'd been away from home for nearly a month, three weeks of tracking and following Riles and now a week of being in this tiny box of a safe house. He wondered how Tony was acting for all the cameras. Stoic wasn't usually Tony’s style but he tended to hold back on emotions in front of the camera. He'd only ever cried once for the public and it had been for their wedding. Steve had been crying too.

Tony was crying. All of the Avengers grieved with him, but Tony didn't budge from his spot on the floor. He’d sit blankly sometimes and Rhodey didn't leave his side, worried he’d go catatonic. It took two days for the other Avengers to move from grief to rage and they went after Riles in the privacy of HQ, trying to find him before SHIELD could take him in. Prison was too good for him. Too good for a man who killed Captain America. Who killed Steve.

But Tony didn't budge. He didn't try to help. He floated aimlessly around the suite, eating when Rhodey or Sam convinced him to. Sometimes one of them would go to check on him and find him broken down on the floor. Sam ad made sure all the alcohol in the building was under lock and key. Everyone was worried he’d drink himself to death, but Rhodey knew there was worse in Tony. If he drank he would go after Riles and it would be a suicide mission.

The public mourned. Steve watched it on TV and nearly broke his cover when he saw rows of little kids standing and watching his casket roll down the streets of Manhattan. They all were red faced with tears running down their faces. Fully grown adults looked about the same and soldiers had lined up, young and old, to salute him going by. He was an American hero.

“I can't watch this,” Steve muttered, and he left the room as the agents tasked with watching him made sure their plan went off without a hitch. It did.

The casket was carried into the church, same one that Steve’s mother used to go to, by his friends. Bucky was at the front, stoic with a grimace that could have killed, Thor was beside him. Then T'challa, Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Natasha, and Clint. None of them looked sad anymore. It had been a week. They were all pissed. Steve peeked back in on his way to the kitchen and saw Tony coming down the aisle, Rhodey walking beside him like a crutch. Steve smiled. Tony was a damn good actor and the camera would eat it up.

Rhodey could feel Tony shuddering as they walked up behind the casket. They were supposed to be carrying it, but Tony couldn't stand up on his own. His legs felt like they were made of paper and every step felt longer than the last. What was the point without Steve? Where was he walking to? Rhodey sat down right in the front and Tony stared at the black casket. There was American flag draped over it. Captain America was a hero, a war veteran. Steve Rogers was his husband. Tony looked at his hands and the lights shone off his wedding ring. Rhodey touched his arm when he sobbed and he closed his eyes, focused on the floor.

“Sergeant James Barnes.” Some General was speaking. It was supposed to be formal, but all his friends hated it. Steve wasn't all that formality. He was the rule breaker he'd always been. They should have saved the propriety for Arlington, and probably for somewhere Tony wasn't.

“Captain- Stevie was my best friend. I thought I'd have to be here some day, doin this because the scrawny kid none of you got to know got beat up in an alley. He woulda loved to see what he does... did now. My point is Stevie was my best friend. I known him over a hundred years and despite him being a pain in my ass for all of them... he was a good man. Everyone here can say he was a good soldier, and a good hero, but before that before any of it, he was a good man and a good friend.” Bucky stepped away from the podium before he could tear up. Steve was his best friend. He was gone now. And all Bucky wanted to see was Damon Riles with his head on a pike, ripped clean off his body.

“Mister Tony Stark.” Whispering started in the crowd. Rhodey stood to help Tony up, but he waved him off, standing with brutal detachment and striding up to the podium. That seemed to be all the strength he could muster because when he got to the podium, looking out over the people and the cameras, he slumped, shoulders caving and eyes looking at the wood grain. Silence fell, the kind right when people saw the real version of an icon, the real version of their hero.

“Steve w-wasn't just a soldier. He wasn't just a hero. Steve was a man. He was my husband. I think I took those two things for granted as separate. That even if Captain America got hurt, my Steve would just come home.” Rhodey and Sam were already out of their seats.

“I didn't even say goodbye. He left for his mission in the middle of the night, left a note on the fridge. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him.” The whole world saw Tony Stark, clear as day, mentally break down on camera. The feeds cut out, Rhodey and Sam took him back home and not one of his friends went to the burial in Arlington.

-/-/-/-

Riles resurfaced less than two weeks later and SHIELD went to pick him up but he was already gone. Half an hour later his body was found very publically. He was left, body broken by Russian torture methods, electrocution, and blunt force trauma, on the steps of the DOJ. Not a single person was arrested and very few people cared to know why.

It hadn't been for Steve, because Steve would have wanted the wheels of justice to turn, for Riles to get arrested and thrown in prison for life. The Avengers has formally not claimed responsibility. Because it hadn't been them who did it. It was Tony’s friends. They had sat by and watched Tony be a ghost for almost a month, and if Sam dropped him from a building once or twice it wasn't because Steve would have wanted it. It was because of the emptiness behind Tony’s eyes. The way he'd thrown himself down into his garage and tinkered till his hands bled. The night that Bucky had found him on the floor sleep in front of Steve’s old suit on display. The day Natasha found him staring at a bottle of Jack Daniels that he never opened. It was for the death of both of their friends.

Steve found out about Riles’ murder when he walked out of his safe house, and while he was going to team the team for going overboard by killing him, all he wanted was to see Tony. It wasn't a long ride to the headquarters and he made it there midday. The team must have been training so Steve checked the garage first, then Tony’s lab, and then their suite but didn't find him. He had started a systematic search of the halls when he found Tony sitting outside Steve’s old room. He was leaned against the door that just had his shield symbol on it. He didn't look up when he heard footsteps and the greyness of his skin made Steve’s hair stand up.

“Tony, what's wrong?” Tony looked up and his whole body shook, eyes going wide. He shuffled back, the door opening to let him in and the lights came on.

“Tony, what's wrong?” Steve’s intuition knew something was horribly off now.

“You're not real. No, just like the last one. Just my imagination. Not enough food, Rhodey said. Not enough food.” Tony sounded like a robot, he was pinching his arm, bruising it among several other tiny bruises just like that one.

“Tony, stop you're scaring me now,” Steve said, trying to reach out. Tony backed up more and his knees buckled. He fell and Steve went to catch him. Tony’s body went rigid when Steve pulled him into his arms.

“Tony, I'm right here, I'm right here.” Steve had no idea what was happening but it was the man he loved and they would live through anything.

“No! No you're dead. Steve is dead. Tony soo this just eat some food. Rhodey said food would help. Food and sleep.” Tony had gone hysterical but Steve suddenly realized what had gone wrong.

“Tony Stark, look at me.” He followed the order, looking Steve in the eyes.

“Tony, I am right here, take my hand.” He put out his hand and Tony stubbornly clenched his together in the hem of his shirt. He didn't flinch when Steve moved so Steve slowly reached out and untangled the cotton from Tony’s tight grip. He then intertwined their fingers, holding Tony’s gaze. His eyes flickered down to Steve's hand in his and he seemed to rest reality, squeezing to make sure. Then he reached out with his other hand, touching Steve’s face. Tears started rolling down his cheeks long before he could find words.

“Y-you're alive. Y-you're here.” Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, rage boiled in his eyes Tony shot to his feet. Steve followed, unable to keep up with Tony’s emotional developments.

“What the FUCK, Rogers? You let me believe you were DEAD? FOR WHAT? So that they would kill Riles? YOU LET US ALL-”

“Tony! TONY! They picked me out of the ocean in a chopper and said that everything was taken care of. They put me in a safe house and left me there I figured SHIELD told you! I didn't even get to ask! I thought... I thought...” The same anger that had just assaulted Tony fizzed inside of Steve. He was marching down the hall, Tony by his side, to the Avenger’s usual hideout. Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Bucky all shot to their feet when Steve marched in, Tony holding tightly onto his hand to make sure he was really there.

“None of you knew?” All of them were staring in utter shock despite their standings as unphasable agents.

“I have some bones to pick with SHIELD.” Bucky was the first to arms.

“Right behind you, punk.”

#stony #superhusbands #marvel #mcu #captain america #ironman #tony stark #Steve Rogers #notsopersonalcharlie #charliewrites

[astheshipsinks]

More freewriting.

I’ve just been doing random shit on notepad when I’m sleep deprived enough to give it a shot. It hasn’t been good, no meaning, no form, not much meter. Whatever. 

Brain, pediatric Liver, geriatric Heart always erratic From pounding to static Quiet as a Polish attic Then rat-a-tat-tat erratic.

I pre plan on impulse, cover every base For every baseless situation I face Just in case. This apartment goes from home to prison or from a cell to a shell that I'm hidden within. Maybe it's an allegory, maybe it's a cave Maybe it's just a story and there's a damsel to save Maybe but not probably, probably still in the cave And those shadows' shadows playing on the walls Are sirens in the shallows signing their calls "Hey man, take a dip, grow some balls maybe take a break from all the puking in bathroom stalls. Where do you get off whining anyway? What the fuck would Sartre say? Burden of responsibility? You're fucking kidding me. You have no accountability, your reality is just self fulfilling prophecy" Probably not but if they were I'd jump in head first Banking on a sandbank to break my brain like Patty Hearst

Liter, liter on the wall How fucking far can I fall? How many drinks, how many cups? How many sad self-medicated fuck ups? Til' time takes ten and the clock clocks out While heart stands still, and my liver's soldout?

Better yet, how long until the forest feels verdant, the sunset full and the seasons are vibrant? When will the clarity I promised me become reality and not just a mockery of every drunk's idea of sobriety?

This oak still bleeds bourbon, just a leaking cask, just a casket cloaked moron reaching for his hipflask full of dust and tar and coagulate scraped from the scars he dug into doors and drywall moonlighting as prison bars.

Struggle, struggle. Every knot in your back is bondage. Struggle to bandage every scar that's not sexy, just baggage. Push and kick with hands and feet and knuckles and talons breathe out all the worth you've feigned, all the talents you never had. All the tricks of the trade you swore were masked by valium and booze. All the answers you never had when someone asked what you did for a living, you lived for a living, but you never really lived now did you?

You lied and said you were doing all these things. You lied and said that you were more than your angst. More than the spite and tirades you were never sure you meant.

There'd be parades in your name when you learned how to breathe in this fog how to inhale without choking, how to grind, how to slog on, how to fail without failure. Now you're not sure how to balance on the rope you laid in honor of the bridges you've burned. You're not sure how long you can claw with those talons you were so SURE that you had, how long the scar tissue on your knuckles can bleed, not sure if you'll ever be freed of the noose you tied when you were eighteen. Because you were young and you were dumb and you never had fun and now your old and you're still dumb and you still don't know to have fun. You're still climbing the same hills but now that there's no stone to roll you have the time to reflect on every fucking thing that you said every time that you pled, every time that you bled, every time you insisted that you'd stop when you were dead but you're still not dead, you're just a coward.

#poetry #poem #spilled ink #sadboi