#fanfics would've gone hard though

[propertyofushiwaka]

sadly sukuna can't actually lactate it was a fake thing :(

Oh thank goodness because I was in distress

#fanfics would've gone hard though #🚪.doorbell

[nihilnovisubsole]

[taps mic] is everybody here? everyone still manning their tumblr blogs after the twitter roller coaster of the past couple of months? cool

so! 2022, huh? it's not new year's eve without one of my soppy, navelgazing year-in-review posts. if you're reading this, you survived. as an acquaintance of mine put it, "i hope 2023 is the year it all pays off for you."

if i seem unusually optimistic about it, it's because this year, against the odds, things started looking up. i had no idea when i stepped out last december 31st and listened to the neighbors' firecrackers what i was in for. i didn't know that when obsidian emailed me on a january afternoon about "a quick follow-up meeting," it would be their offer call. i didn't know what kind people i'd meet there, or the lengths they'd go to to make me feel like a respected peer instead of a gatecrashing fan. i knew least of all how it would affect my state of mind: that i'd finally feel a sense of accomplishment and dignity. i look ahead and i see a viable future for myself. i've been paid to write for years, but now i can support myself with it. i think about the weight that takes off my mother. i remember staying up until 4 A.M., wondering how i'd do the only thing i ever wanted to do. it was a big, dark ocean then. it's still an ocean now, but i've got a boat, a crew, and a lantern. it's hard to overstate what that does to you.

the downside is, there are only 24 hours in a day, and your time feels very different when you're on the clock for eight of them. i knew it'd be a change, and it's gone more smoothly than i thought it would, but i just can't churn unpaid stuff out the way i did years ago. projects that would've taken a long time in college have become interminable now. you wouldn't believe how much half-finished art i have sitting around. it's not lost on me that this is just ordinary adulthood, and even i had to get around to it at some point. laugh all you want! seriously, i probably deserve it, and it's hard enough to find things to laugh about in this decade.

part of me misses that pillowy freelance lifestyle of cramming my paid work into the mornings, then doing fun projects all day. then i remember i was numbing the ache of not having a career that i now have, and the superficial sense of leisure came with a heavy price. it wasn't worth three cents a word and almost no creative input. it wasn't worth being on medi-cal and having my mother keep me afloat. it certainly wasn't worth watching my friends work themselves half to death because they weren't privileged enough to have that support network. i think we all agree that we should have a better world, that artists should be able to just make art, that contractors aren't paid enough. [except for relic, they were very generous, i loved them.] in the meantime, we have to make it through with what we have, and figure out how to look after each other as best we're able to.

i think, when people gain a measure of success in life, they want to fantasize that they did it all by themselves. that's ridiculous. i wouldn't be writing any of this without the people who hyped up my wild fanfic ideas or bought dangerous crowns. i'd never have written anniversary without the other longsummer nights authors building a vivid world for hercule and aida to live in. i'll never forget the colleagues and the industry doors they helped me through, and, you know, i'm not much now, but i hope i can pass that on. even if you only have a little power, you have to use it for good, right? otherwise, that's how you get a chandelier dropped on you.

seriously, though, read anniversary. i want to talk about it more. it's short, i swear!

#long post

[junosswans]

Explosion boy-critical rant, or more like a comment on fanfiction's interpretation of him but I'm going to tag it as character bashing and censor his name anyway so that ppl who don't wanna read it won't okie

It's really laughable to me how some fanfics interpret the bullying thing as "I hurt you because if I didn't do so others would have done it 3 times as bad, I was doing it to protect you" and such logic was surprisingly not an one-time thing?? That I've seen in multiple fics??

While there were a few (mostly fics that deviated greatly from canon) that managed to pull this off and make b*k*gou's incentive look at least a little convincing within the fic's context, the majority of them baffled me greatly. The top student in aldera with a whole bunch of minions (<– canon) most definitely did not need to do that to shield anyone. If dude would boldly state that whoever crosses his friend crosses him? no one would dare lay a finger on Izuku, at least not when he's around. But because he took such a leading role in the bullying, people jumped on the train to get included and not become the next victim. If there's one person, just one person in the class who dare to speak against it vocally, you could almost guarantee that it would temper down. That's how the psychology of group bullying typically works (as far as I'm concerned), that a few main bully start shits and others whose fear of isolation outweighed their sense of justice follow suit. Would there have been other bullies who's gonna step into Bak*g*u's place as the lead bully if firecracker boy didn't do it? Almost undoubtedly. But as the school's popular guy since kindergarten, I'm also 100% certain that if he wanted to "prevent others from bullying someone", it would've been as easy as breathing.

Now, I'm not chastising the character with durian inspired hairstyle, because the fandom had gone through that many times (though I might again), but that one would need to put up a better argument if they wanted an excuse for certain behaviours. Because this? This is not a convincing one (but I also feel the need to reiterate that fanfiction doesn't have the responsibility to be realistic, I'm just expressing my irritation at lackluster logic). I couldn't help but feel like some people just... Perhaps got too used to the idea of "boys are rude to you because they like you" or they have never witnessed group bullying situation. (Which is fine btw and I don't wish anyone in that situation) I guess it's just a bit of my pet peeve and if b*kug*u could at least admit it was his insecurities (still much work to do ahead) you could too my dear

Also, just a side note, Bak*go* redemption fics where Izuku tried to convince others that "it's the school that failed him it's not his fault"? Like, I'm not excusing the school obviously they deserved to be burnt to the ground and it did feel in character for Izuku to ask others to forgive mr dynamite, but also have you considered that just in the beginning of the story, in the midoriya origin episode, it was pretty clearly stated that the bullying and name calling started way before their quirk manifested and before they went to kindergarten even. Of course also before the whole "falling into river" shebang. So tbh I have a very hard time to wrap my head around why he would bully Izuku (and evidently others, as we saw Izuku tried to stop bkg and his friends from kicking another kid) aside from being born like *that*, and in general I just find the "his school failed him" argument also lacking in some way.

Anyways this has just been on my mind today and I wanted to rant a bit to someone that's not my sister (who is unfortunately subjected to a lot of my mha rantings while not into it) lol

#anti katsuki bakugou #bnha #lia speaks #sorry? #anti bakugou #anti bakugo

[blurredout10]

Remember To Love

Cyberlife Tower Connor (RK800-60) | Sixty/ Reader fanfic

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3866

Additional Tags: fluff&angst, but mainly angst, Valentine’s date, smut, p in v sex, a LOT of feelings, memory issues, idk how to tag without spoiling

Link to AO3 or continue under cut:

You weren’t one for tears, not particularly in bad terms when she came knocking, salting the wounds of your pain, though you refrained from opening the door.

She knew of your home, knew that the misfitted bathroom door needed an extra push to be locked, knew of the scratches of peeling paint in your corridor, scarring walls where you had tipped a hand dragging in a wardrobe. She knew of your favourite spot on the couch, a smidge left on the dual cushions to avoid stray light from the morning sun; the smell of brewed coffee, weighted wafts of three generous spoonfuls marbling into added milk, she’d watch you stir with a mirrored bitterness in your brows, tensed to shadows. 

She’d knock again, when your ribs shuddered in quickening heartbeats, stinging your eyes when you’d catch her silhouette passed the front door glossed windows. An acquaintance to the dust building up on high shelves, a friend to the sugary hospitality you’d embrace her with, you were by no means at odds with her. You cared for her, as she did in watery streaks on soft cheeks. 

She knocked still. She knew all how you felt, down to the numbed joints of your fingers, a pale ache when your hand found itself wrapped around the front doorknob, brittle, desperate. 

A comfort, she was. But the floorboards creaked in your steps, retreating. The ghost of her invitation left imprinted in the white on your palm, your rejection tainting you as it did her stilled silhouette.  

You didn’t cry. 

“Is this your wicked plan?” he smirked lazily, every bit carelessly suggestive with bobbing brows, walking backwards to meet your eyes, “take me back to your place and have your way with me?” 

You blinked away the sting, tears a forgotten companion, though that didn’t matter on a day like today. Because today was for Sixty. 

A day of love. Valentine’s Day. But you loved him every other day too. 

“How else will I get you to sleep with me?” You tilted your head playfully, guising innocence in opposed to the prompted dirty thoughts, but you knew that’s exactly how Sixty liked it.  

He tutted, amused, advanced diagnostics effortlessly weaving through pedestrians as if he had eyes in the back of his head. You almost missed the subtle makings of a glint in his eyes, warm static, rounded smooth and bright as the sun itself; the spark would've gone unnoticed if you didn't know what you were looking for.  

Like rich soils, deep browns that treasured life, burdened with the memory of nature’s roots, those were his eyes; naturally beautiful, despite being made an android of plastic and metal, and thus only comparable to being your entire world.  

His hair messed of its order, a perfectly imperfect curl painting him comfortably handsome. He wore a black leather jacket today, vintage, probably thrifted from downtown where Connor bought most of his clothes. Sixty was incredibly picky, where he picked the clothes Connor didn't like. 

“On the first date?” Sixty’s lips curled sharper, his tone of surprise though he eyed you curiously, “aren’t you devious.” 

Devious he was, surely, especially after deviating. He was impulsive, reckless. He wore his charm as if it were an attached limb, grabbing hold of whoever caught his eye, and you’d grown accustomed to his touch.  

His temple LED circled calm blues, the moon in its orbit, but in looking up and finding the crescent in the night sky, peeking behind clouds, you found it incomparable to Sixty’s circles. A window to his processors. A way for you to see what he sees. 

If only it worked the other way around too. 

“So, where are you taking me next, babe?” 

Chest pulled in a dull ache, you stretched away the pain of a particularly hard heartbeat and blinked away the feeling. Sixty had turned around, taking your silence with a perked smirk, a casual sway in his step like the sidewalk would carve a path for him. You thought it should too. 

The night was still young, and people still dropped in flocks, crushing crowds wave after wave, so you were grateful your plans for the date weren’t on the streets of Detroit. Not that Sixty would mind, he loved that stuff. 

You watched him; the evening chill tickling his rouge curl on his forehead, but he showed no mind. Ambient colours of yellow and pink dipped into his skin tone, string lights of the streets finding solace in the twinkle of his eyes, the forest and its fireflies.  

Bar patriots stumbled into the night, their drunken friends clasped tight with caring hands, a support in strength. The slow humming of car engines, packed hood to trunk in traffic; it was busy, but you only looked at him  

He smiled, small, to himself, a display in the slice of solitude amidst heavy crowds, but you had seen it. You were always there to see it. His shoulders relaxed, his walking slowed, as if to compensate for the surrounding stimulation, light and life, just where he belonged. 

And then he found you.  

There was a twitch in his right eye, his LED hesitant though not losing its cooled neutral. As though the world blurred into pointless detail, busied sounds of mindless chatter muffled when you asked him:  

“Everything okay?” 

Sixty’s brow tensed minutely, a half squint working into piecing thread that he couldn’t see, search for something he didn’t know.  

You couldn’t read him, even after stepping closer, flickering from freckle to freckle, eye to eye, in hopes you could truly become his thoughts, truly see. Confusion was evident on the dip of his brows, furrowing deeper, looking sharper as if they’d give him answers by cowering in fear. Like reading a book without words, flicking through empty pages with frustrated fingers; what could he not see? 

You sighed, not enough to diffuse the tension in your lungs, and dropped it.  

“Love Sets Sail,” he read when following you to the canoe, wood tipping back and forth when you flashed your ticket and stepped in, taking a seat on the side of paddles. Sixty paused, hesitant.  

“First canoe?” You asked him.  

“Not exactly,” but he stepped in, water sloshing like kids in a playground prancing joyously. You caught the way Sixty blinked away a revisited feeling, hands still edging on his side of seats, knuckles painted white.  

You knew why. Which is why you took charge of paddling the boat, in hopes of replacing the memory that still burdened him, pained in the way it still stuck forefront like a broken record. Amanda had broken him even before he had died, only to be repaired by the very androids he wished stay dormant. But the scratches of his experiences, the razor-sharp edges of ‘don’t disappoint me, Connor,’ had scarred across the grooves of his mind, digging into plastic flesh in the shape of flashbacks and nightmares.  

Androids weren’t thought to dream, but Sixty did. Virtual, like his abandoned Zen Garden, leaves left to rot despite everlasting, rose petals nothing but a trace of what he had suffered.  

You smiled at him, small and genuine, and took the paddles, pulling where the water resisted. Sixty didn’t return it, but stared, lips parted.  

Sixty was never afraid, at least that’s what he wanted you to believe. He was as if he discovered the strength in the fragile, picking fights on those who catcalled you, climbing trees like a young boy, more mammal that most humans. And you’d cheer him, chin high when confronting pervy men, hollering his name for every branch he conquered.  

Untouched by fear, but that wasn’t quite true. He was scared, more than you’d ever know.  

“I have something for you,” you perked, letting go of the oars and digging into your bag. Sixty watched still, not used to being designated passenger princess.  

You gestured a little box to him, velvet against your fingers, and immediately brought up a defensive hand, “I’m not proposing. Keep your pants on.” 

Though there was indeed a ring inside, harbour lights finding the silver band amiss the river’s blackness, but not enough to shine light on Sixty’s reaction. His LED pulsed, blipping into ambers for a total of three loops before reverting.  

“It’s just a little something, for my Valentine,” you reasoned, gesturing the box into the space between you two, “will you wear it?”  

Crickets. 

Sixty was a stranger to gifts, not untypical for an android who supposedly had everything he wanted, which is why you chuckled, “if you say no, I’m tipping you into the river.” 

Tense as he was, he still quipped, “I’ll drag you down with me, if you don’t mind getting wet.” 

Crickets again.  

“That was terrible,” you laughed, grateful the night shadowed the heat creeping up your neck. He laughed with you, the goof. 

It broke through the tension, thankfully, and he lifted a hand subconsciously, even he wasn’t sure why he did it. You slipped it onto his ring finger, a perfect fit, obviously. 

You caught the flash of teeth beneath his smile, a taste shy but curved with all parts charm. Dahlia dimples dug into the folds of his cheeks, entirely his, inimitable by that of anyone, not even Connor who shared his likeness.  

Sixty, so beautifully himself.  

He flexed his fingers, adjusting to the feel of metal, no doubt scanning every little scratch. Old habits die hard, even if he didn’t do detective work anymore.  

“You like it?” 

Sixty shot up to your question, smile still affixed, permanently sewn, “I do.” 

And upon taking you home, ever the gentlemen despite his playboy persona, did he move to take it off and you stopped him, hand on his forearm, eyes locked on his.  

“It’s yours,” you let your lips perk into a smile, in hopes it’ll compensate for the sting in your eyes, an echoed knocking returning on the front door.  

Tears, walking in, unannounced. 

He stiffened, eyes widening in concern and following the trail of the first teardrop, his jaw slack, hung as if to say something.  

You shook your head, using the sleeve of your arm to soak up tears, smiling with damp cheeks, “just- just ignore me, I’m being emotional.”  

A choke riled up, entangled in bronchioles, wet pain itching your trachea like mucus and another tear fell through, as much as you wished it opposed gravity. Sixty’s hand found yours, forgotten the moment where he was going to give the ring back.  

You grabbed onto him, hands locking, maybe to fuse skin and synthetic. He flickered between your watered eyes, temple golden in hypnotic pulsing, whilst he desperately tried to understand. 

“It’s okay,” you sobbed, lips quivering, taking in cooler air to heal the searing of your heart. He held on tighter, the metal of his silver band digging into your hand. You sobbed a little more.  

He pulled you in, hand on the back of your head, and kept you against his chest. Your front door stood a silent witness, and you wished nothing more than to hide you face and snack on your pantry, anything to distract you from the pained reality.  

But he held you, fingers lightly stroking your scalp, a better comfort than a snuggling warmth in bitter winters. The gentle hum of his chest, circulating air pressing his chest against your head, you trembled a little more even in relief.  

You flinched in feeling his lips press on top of your head, unexpected but quickly recovered. He, however, stiffened completely upon the contact, his hand frozen in the mess of your hair.  

Sixty stopped breathing.  

You pulled away, worried.  

His right eye twitched, blinking, forehead tensing as if wading off a headache, though he didn’t let you go, keeping his hand in yours. Like fiery static reigniting ashes, wire to wire, thought torn and severed, and the spark flashed, an inkling of something anew with something old finding its way into one of his blinks.  

Deep soils found your watered ones, bronze glimmer in the street lights of your road, passing cars filling in white noise for the silence. Sixty looked at you and you felt light. 

“Oh shit,” he breathed, delicate and knowing.  

You managed a smile, “hi.” 

“Oh shit,” and he grabbed onto your face, his eyes looking everywhere, encoding everything. The skin of your cheeks, the colour of your lips, he was frantic in taking in the sight of you.  

His LED sang an amber but it wasn’t a warning.  

You were here. And now, so was Sixty. 

“Fuck, babe,” his voice broke, gravel and pieced apart, and he couldn’t stop looking, hoping this time he could engrave the sight of you behind eyelids so he wouldn’t forget.  

Never again. 

“I-” Sixty stammered, breathing heavy despite not needing to as an android, “I-” 

“It’s okay,” you placed your hand on his, consoling, because you knew he’d come back. He always did. 

His breaths huffed nasally and once again, he took you by example, matching your breathing to regulate his own. He felt awakened, deviated, seeing life for the first time, and life took in the form of you.  

You chuckled in choked sobs, emotion rolling in doubled tears, where you cried in pain and joy. 

“You changed your hair,” he exhaled a laugh, moving a hand to caress your scalp again, always touching you. You nodded in his hands, smiling bright, and he dipped down into a hungry kiss.  

Humans emoted under the whims of their neurotransmitters, running euphoric in adrenaline, stumped in the lack of serotonin. Androids were made in that image, feeling on the basis of their organic counterparts, inheriting their symptoms if only magnified.  

When androids loved, they loved hard.  

Sixty was overwhelmed, surely, but he needed more. He needed to be utterly consumed by you.  

He touched, running hands under clothing, chasing the heat of your body like a starved man. He carried you to the bedroom, your legs wrapped around his waist, as if you could will him to stay if you were tight enough.  

“I missed you,” you said between the break of your kiss, hurriedly taking off his leather jacket, rummaging for the shirt underneath. He wasn’t patient either.  

He kissed hard, the skin of your lips borderline bruising in the shape of his, his tongue finding yours in a messy waltz. Engrossed in the feeling of having you here again, his optics seeing into memories that were once made nothing. Maybe if he touched you more, kissed your body into a memory, maybe it’d stick.  

He didn’t want to forget again. 

You stripped and he spared no time to smother patches of your skin in his saliva, tonguing kisses into skin, leaving traces of him in markings as evidence of his love; who knew when he’d be back to love you again?  

“Fuck,” he muttered deep and it squirmed a growing a pit in your lower abdomen, his sliding hands up and down heightening your sensitivity. It made him smile, knowing it didn’t matter when he remembered again, he always knew how to get you going.  

“Sixty,” his name sounded pretty as it fell from your lips, breathy and turned on. It made him ravenous, hungry to make up for the time lost in blipped tv static.  

You grabbed onto his shoulders when he kissed you again, his hand running up your thigh in a teasing trace, waking goosebumps from their slumber.  

He knew just how your body reacted.  

His hand dipped between your thighs, expertly drawing circles on your clit with muscle memory, slow and teasing. You hummed a moan that he swallowed down, all consuming.  

It stung, your arousal bordering painful, but it rolled into a pleasure burn, waking nerves that awaited his touch, meant to set alight only by him. He kept the pressure, letting you grind your hips into his hand, needing this as much as you did.  

You kissed still, fingers scissoring into his hair, pulling locks from the root in an attempt to translate your frustration, and he was quick to pick up on it, tracing his touch to your entrance and sliding a finger in with ease.  

Your hips bucked, the added euphoria rumbling deep in your chest in another swallowed moan where he continued to kiss you, taking the air of your lungs for himself. It overwhelmed you, but it was expected. It went down like this every time.  

Abruptly upping the pace of his finger-fucking, you couldn’t hold the kiss any longer, hands curled in his hair, your brows knotted in tense arousal. His lips shaped kisses on your jaw, tongue peeking to taste the angle of your mandible and found its way behind your ear.  

He whispered.  

“I never forget how you make me feel.” 

Your ankles locked around his waist, taking his fingers deeper, submissive to his pace. You moaned a breath in his ear, holding on tighter, clutching him closer. 

Maybe this time he’ll stay. 

You rolled over in an orgasm unexpectedly, jaw hanging low in an open moan, and Sixty watched with every intention to record the memory deep, eyes fixed on taking in every part of you, brows concentrating as if he could retain the memory by sheer will.  

You pulled him down by the neck, meeting his lips with a post-orgasmic haze, and rolled over to push him onto his back. Sixty could stop you, the man of metal put human strength to shame, but he didn’t.  

As desperately as he tried to compensate for lost time, he had forgotten you had too. Seeing him wholly, a man you loved with every fibre of your being, yet he only reciprocated a pleasant smile. You had to love him silently, take him on dates, ask him questions you already knew the answers to, but only to let him live as if living for the first time.  

Because he was. That be the curse of amnesia. 

You’d missed the feel of his skin under your fingertips, the way he shivered under your touch, honey eyes all watching but never all knowing. You caught the ring on his finger, a symbol you had given each other before Sixty was officially diagnosed.  

‘To never forget,’ he fitted your bling of silver, a simple engagement band with three baby stones, coloured baby blue like his LED.  

You shimmied on his ring, a silver band, plain and metal. 

‘And to always follow,’ you vowed back to him, because nothing would deter you from being his shadow, shine the torch when he grew lost, catch him when he fell.  

You’d do that. Even if he didn’t remember. 

You took him into your mouth, tonguing the head just how he liked it, because you’d never forget. He let out a breath, sat up on his elbows, throwing his head back in bliss when you took him deeper.  

A groan rumbled through, doubling when your hand wrapped around the base and compensated for what you couldn’t suck. He was holding back, fingers balled white whilst you slobbered up and down, tracing your tongue along every synthetic, pulsing vein. 

You found his hand and placed it on your head tenderly. His restraint snapped, running a growl through teeth, bucking hips into your mouth in a way that was purely animalistic.  

He collected your hair into a makeshift ponytail, watching where his cock disappeared into your mouth and the sight only had him bucking harder in response. In his reality, a fractured one at that, you were whole, squeezing a bottle of glue where he cracked and chipped.  

And in every reality, even those where he didn’t remember you, you still mattered.  

He connected with you. As a stranger in a coffee shop. As a pedestrian sharing an umbrella. He met you again and again, caught in your allure, falling in love with you all over again.  

“Oh, baby,” he attempted to sound more collected, but as you did, you broke through to him, snapping him in places he didn’t know. He fucked your mouth, eyes locked on the shape of your mouth, your cheeks, your nose and eyes.  

He never wanted to forget again. 

Sixty pulled at your hair, slipping himself out before he tipped over, letting slip a whimper despite doing it to himself. And instead guided you closer, Sixty leaning on the headboard whilst you straddled him with darkened pupils.  

You slid down on him, grabbing his shoulders like handlebars, taking him deeper in the slick of your opening. His arms wrapped around you, hugging you skin-to-skin and you bottomed out, breathing out a whimper right into his ear.  

You fucked each other, harder, deeper, making love as if to quantify for what was missed, for when you couldn’t. And you moaned together, enraptured in the sight of the other, never really knowing how long the memory would last.  

“More,” he growled, “give me another, baby. I know you can.” 

You bounced on him, throwing your head back in raw palpable euphoria, tasting it on your tongue, and you rocked back to kiss him again, so he could taste it too.  

He stretched you perfectly, hitting walls as if memorised, pounding like he’d beat you into the shape of him, because if his couldn’t remember, he’d make sure your body would. 

That’s what he was afraid of.  

That you’d forget.  

So he’d follow when he could, chasing an invisible thread to a memory he couldn’t recall, but knew it meant everything to him.  

“I love you, Sixty,” you whimpered. Sixty noticed the streaks of your tears, glistening in the reflection of his LED, only to feel the dampness of his own cheeks, fallen lines curving his jaw in every teardrop.  

In the sound of his static, he whispered back. 

“I love you. Never forget that.” 

When the morning came, he was gone, the empty spot next to you dipping the mattress in memory. You internally cursed the irony.  

He left his ring with a note. It was expected, because he’d rather you wake up with a reminder of his love than the knowledge of his disease. He wouldn’t remember you in the morning.  

You opened the note with sleepy fingers, the creases of his thumbs dipping into the page. You placed yours on the memory of his. 

‘I love you, baby. I’m leaving the ring because I know you’ll find a way to put it on me again. You always do.  

Whenever I see you, though I don’t remember, I know I love you. And I get the pleasure of falling in love with you all over again and again. There’s no greater feeling.  

I love you, baby. Even when I don’t know it. And I don’t need memory to know that.  

To never forget.” 

“And to always follow,” you finished.  

You embraced the tears that fell through, hugging the piece of paper close to your heart. Yesterday’s date played back in your memory, overlapped with the years before. 

The dinner, the walk, the canoe where he proposed. And the sweet love you made when you said ‘yes’ in multiple contexts. 

14th February was your anniversary. 

And come next Valentine’s, you’d do it all again. 

#dbh fanfic #sixty x reader #valentines fic #dbh #dbh sixty #my fics

[throwaway3844893]

Chapter One of my Post-Ballad fic!

Here is chapter one of my fanfic, Vipers and Virtues, a continuation of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and what I think may have happened to Lucy Gray Baird at the end. The full fic, on ao3, can be found here.

I lay in the underbrush, my breathing slow as I calm my beating heart. Night has fallen, and I stare up at the stars. They're hard to see, as a fog has settled, but I spot the Orion constellation easily. It shines bright, and I take it as a symbol of hope from the stars. They've always looked out for me, and you're never lost when they're around you.. I once believed my destiny was written in them, but Coriolanus is long gone.

    Coriolanus.

    His name is poison in my mind. I was so stupid to trust him. The moment he'd told me he was responsible for three deaths, and his avoidance of my question, I pieced it all together. The look on his face at the hanging tree wasn't grief. It was guilt. Coriolanus had blamed Mayfair and Billy Taupe's murder on Sejanus, despite killing Mayfair himself. Sejanus just wanted a better life. We all wanted a better life. Sejanus, a district boy... it all made sense. How Coriolanus disliked him, as subtle as he tried to conceal it. He viewed Sejanus as he viewed the rest of us: inhumane. Lesser beings. Savages. If it had been his choice, he would've left Sejanus in the Games to die in the hands of Reaper or the snakes. I took it upon myself to thank the stars for the snakes' behavior toward me, perhaps the one act of kindness Coriolanus provided me. Yet, he may have done it for himself, not for me. I was no stranger to the gifts presented to the mentors. If I won, he received a full scholarship to the Capitol's university, as well as fame amongst the Capitol. His acts were not out of care for me, they were to ensure his success. While I get nothing, he gets everything.

I can feel my heart pulsating in my arm where one of his rapid-fire shots struck me. I clutch it tightly as blood flows between my fingers. Sticky, red, hot. It reminds me of Reaper's pile of bodies in the arena. I tremble at the thought. Despite my efforts, memories of the Games will always remain.

It's been a few hours since Coriolanus fled, so I make myself stand. Whether it be from laying for so long or blood loss, I'm not sure exactly, but my head swims and I lean on the tree next to me for support. My legs tingling, I take one step, then another. A twig snaps under my foot. I flinch, but the only ones listening are the mockingjays above me. I watch one spread its wings and flap away in the direction of District 12, the only home I've ever known. This is no time for sentiment, so I continue my journey toward the lake. Thorns prick me, and more than once a branch scrapes me, but I continue on, determined to reach the small shed at the edge of the lake. Coriolanus must've fled back to the headquarters. If he reports me, I have to flee, and quickly, but I'm exhausted. I need to tend to my wounds and drink.

As I clear through the forest, I see a warped glint of light, signifying the lake is nearby. I let out a jovial cry, panting as I continue through the bushes. Twigs snap and trees rustle, but I don't care. The dirt beneath me gets slicker, and I catch myself half-running toward the water. Exhaustion, heat, and dehydration catch up to me, and I slide down the rest of the way, mud caking my legs as I submerge myself into the fresh, cool water. Shaking, I put my hands together and splash water on my face, letting the dirt trail off in little streams. I scoop water into my mouth, rejoicing in the freshness and how it soothes my aching throat. My arm angrily jabs in pain, reminding me of my wounds, and I slow my motions. On the shore, I find a large leaf and ball it up before wetting it. I bring myself to a shallower end, sitting upright as I assess my body. My legs are riddled with scratches and dirt, though those are the least of my worries. My left arm is caked in blood, the gunshot aching. The pressure I've applied to it helped a great deal, but if I don't treat it soon, it could become infected. My best bet would be to fashion a tourniquet, but I don't have any spare fabric on me. Unless Coriolanus left his scarf near the trap.

Begrudgingly, I stand up, despite my aching loins. I walk out of the sopping mud, my legs once again covered by the thick soil. I continued uphill, retracing my steps, carefully this time. For all I know, the snake, albeit it's limited danger, could still be around. Soon, I spot it, the small patch of orange that was his scarf. It had been trampled on, made obvious by the dirt stains and rumpled effect of it, but I hunch over and reach my left hand out to it, right hand still gripping my arm, and-

The snake returns, jumping at me in a flash. I recoil quickly, stumbling back a few steps. He seems to be guarding the scarf, circling around it while he hisses at me. His tongue darts out to me and I look from side to side, trying to figure out which angle to take it from. Sure, he isn't poisonous, but a snakebite on top of a gunshot wound? It increases the chances of infection, and in the woods, an infection could be a death sentence. Cautiously, I take another step back, watching his movements. Considering I set the trap with him and the scarf, any attachment was my fault. How ironic. Strange, though, how it protected something it was used to. It reminded me of the muttations that were dropped in the arena, how they protected me. The scarf smelled like Coriolanus, and it'd struck Coriolanus. It must have a connection with him.

No. I shook my head. This wasn't a mutt, it was a real creature, formed biologically, not in a lab. It needed a distraction, not a forged connection. I still myself, creeping down as slowly as I can, my legs barely touching the twig-filled ground. The snake recoiled, sticking its tongue out as it slowly backed away, eyes trained on me. I still, looking slightly to the left for anything I can use. All I can see is thick weeds and thorns, overgrown tree roots and puddles from the rain that haven't dried completely. I lean slightly, adjusting my weight so as to not make a sound. It's a very awkward position, my right hand grasping my arm, dried blood caked and sticky between my fingers, my entire body wobbling on its left side, my left and extended outward. It doesn't help that I'm in a dress. My eyes remain on the snake, who has completely retreated in its own circle on top of the scarf. I lower my hand, wincing as I get pricked by a thorn, but make no noise. My hand continues to lower until I touch soggy ground and drag it around. Soon, my fingers land on something smooth and solid, and I grab it. Or, at least, attempt to. Half of it is lodged in the thick mud, and in this position, with my weakened arm, it's nearly impossible. I bring my nails to the side, thankful for the lack of clippers in my old home, and begin to rake at the side of the mud. It's grueling work, but after a few minutes I have one side completely dislodged. I wipe my fingers, slippery with mud, on my dress, and dislodge the rock. Due to the force, my arm shoots up quickly and sends a bit of dirt toward the snake. I flinch, but it doesn't budge.

I groan quietly as I stand up, my muscles protesting. I need to get rest, and quickly. If I can't get that scarf, it's hopeless. The chance of getting an infection is low, but a risk is a risk. I raise my arm as high as I can without pain, which isn't very high, and throw the rock. It makes a loud thump, causing the snake to jump and bolt after it. In my haste to grab the scarf, I fall to my knees and blindly reach around for the scarf. I grab hold of it before slipping straight on my face with a grunt, loud enough to divert the snake's attention. It slithers back toward, fangs outstretched. I turn away, and suddenly I'm slipping. Down, down I go, running into twigs, bushes, and thorns, scraping and scratching everywhere. I stop with a thump against a particularly large tree root, gathering my bearings. I still have the scarf, a bright orange in the moonlight, and climb over the tree root. I can no longer see the snake, and the lake is only a few yards away. I sigh in relief once more, grabbing hold of a few sticks as I continue to the water. I waste no time in getting in, submerging myself fully before swimming to the shore nearest the shed. My stomach grumbles, my cuts sting, my arm screams in pain, everything hurts. Exhaustion tries to take over, but for my own survival, I must keep going. I manage to clean off my scrapes with a single hand, and then remove the pressure. I almost vomit at the sight of my arm, all bloody and holy, but I take to cleaning it, ignoring the stinging, before assessing the damage.

It was a clean shot, but the bullet didn't go all the way through. There is no way for me to remove it, so I have to hope for the best. Whatever "the best" is. I gulp down some water, before using the sticks and scarf to fashion a tourniquet. It's nowhere near perfect, and quite messy, but the best I can do. I drink some more water and properly rinse the dirt out of my hair before rising and heading toward the shed. I shiver a bit, and look to the sky. It's about midnight now. If Coriolanus were to alert the other Peacekeepers, wouldn't they have come by now? Or was he waiting until the morning? Either way, I have to rest up to keep myself moving by sunrise.

Only the embers of the fire I'd started hours ago remained, and the stench of burnt fish filled the room. Of course, Coriolanus had burnt the food. The satchel containing the guns that killed Billy Taupe and Mayfair was missing, too. Not that I care. Those weapons held the truth about their murders; It wasn't Sejanus, it was Coriolanus who'd killed them. Rightfully so, but Sejanus had hung because of Coriolanus' lies. You cannot come back from that.

I assess what's left: my metal can, some matches, the dry wood, a few packages of cracked nuts, courtesy of Maude Ivory, a bottle of water, and our fishing hooks. I displaced my knife somewhere near the katniss roots, but my hunt for it will begin tomorrow morning. I pile a few sacks on top of each other as a makeshift pillow, chew on a few tasteless nuts, and allow myself to drift to sleep.

Are you, are you

Coriolanus' voice rings in my ears. I can hear him, but I can't see him. I can't see anything. My eyes are covered, and stiff hands lead me down a gravel path. Someone is walking beside me, their feet dragging, and I can hear murmurs all around. I stumble on something large, but the hand pulls me back up and growls "Keep moving."

Coming to the tree

Blindly, I do. My only guide is the person behind me, who walks straight up, as if he has a purpose. The murmurs become louder, and the ground becomes bumpier as we continue our journey. When my foot knocks on wood, we halt to a stop.

Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?

The sack is removed from my head, and I gaze up at the hanging tree. My mouth opens in terror, and I see the hand on my shoulder is that of a Peacekeeper's. I look to my side, and my partner is Maude Ivory. "Maude Ivory?" I hiss, my heart beating wildly. I look around me, seeing the dusty, lined faces of the people of my district. "What's happening?"

Strange things did happen here

Tears streak through her dirt-covered face. "I'm sorry," she whimpers, lips trembling. She heaves, and a loud sob comes out. I shush her before a loud stomp grabs my attention, and I look up the platform. Two nooses, as customary, are tied to branches above trap doors. It only takes me a moment to register that they're for us. My jaw drops, and I look to Maude in horror, who is stuck on a silent sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobs, before our Peacekeepers lead us up the stairs of the platform. I'm trembling, but I keep a straight face. I remember something Coriolanus said to me once, in one of our private meetings before the games. Never let them see you bleed. I steady myself, climbing the stairs on my own accord. His voice continues to ring throughout the crowd.

No stranger would it be

I step on the trapdoor as Maude Ivory's Peacekeeper pushes her on hers before straightening her back. We stand tall, facing members of our district. Maude Ivory is hyperventilating, and I look at her, pressing my finger to my mouth. It's the only solace I can give her. There is no comfort: this is how the Covey's end. I spot our friends in the crowd, and they present grim faces.

Someone clears their throat behind us and begins to speak. "On this day, we bring you the faces of two traitors: Maude Ivory and Lucy Gray Baird. They have betrayed the Capitol, therefore all of Panem, and are charged for the murders of Billy Taupe and Mayfair Lipp. The weapons found in this satchel-" I assume the speaker holds up a satchel- "are confirmed to be those that caused the death of the mourned. Near the weapons we found Lucy Gray Baird, asleep in a shed, and upon the search of her home found Miss Maude Ivory, both popular members of the Covey. The hunt for the rest continues."

Murder? Treason? We'd done nothing. Maude Ivory, out of the two of us, was most innocent. She discovered the bodies, I was merely a witness to their murders! I'd never even touched the weapons, where was the proof I'd touched them? Why wasn't Coriolanus standing up for me? Surely, Sejanus had already been hung, had they not put the case to rest? Spruce was dead as well, so was Lils. Everyone connected was dead. Except Coriolanus. Something he said to me pinged. Snow lands on top.

No matter what, the blood on his hands would be placed on someone else. Who else died at his expense? First Bobbin, then Mayfair, then Sejanus... who else? Maude Ivory? Me? The rest of the Coveys? What was his plan, to kill off everyone in District 12? Become Head Peacekeeper? There was no prize in that. Then, I remember how he hoped to become a national hero. To return to the Capitol, a place he spoke so fondly of.

His selfishness got the best of him. He'd blamed me, said I framed him and Sejanus, to save himself. Coriolanus shows no mercy. Snow lands on top.

Someone stepped beside me, slipping the noose over my head. I swallow, looking straight ahead. I would be avenged. A hand brushes against my skin as the noose slips over me, a hand that I know all too well. "Coriolanus," I say under my breath, no kindness in my voice. I can sense his smile next to me.

"Lucy Gray," He murmurs, almost mocking me. "How shocked I was, learning of your involvement in the deaths of these poor citizens." Now, he was. I flare my nostrils, continuing to look ahead. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of meeting my eye.

"You'll pay for this," I growl, my voice harsh. He merely chuckles before whispering his mantra in my ear.

"Snow lands on top."

I can tell he goes to the trap door, to open it, to conduct the execution. Quietly, I hear him.

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree

Before he opens it, I hear the mockingjays begin to sing. It gives me satisfaction, and I smile before the trap door is opened beneath me.

I wake up in a cold sweat, grasping at my throat. I breathe heavily, taking in my surroundings. Sunlight spills in through the lone windows, and I gather my bearings. Slowly, I remove the satchel from under my head, and begin to fill it with my few supplies. For good measure, I take all but two dry logs. I remove all traces of myself, leaving everything the way it was, spare the missing logs. If the Coveys came looking for me, they'd know I was long gone. I step out of the shed silently, rubbing my eyes as I adjust to the sunlight. The sun is still rising, and I couldn't have gotten more than six hours of sleep, but the more distance between me and District 12, the better. I drink from the lake and refill my water bottle, then set off to find the katniss roots. Sure enough, my knife lay abandoned, a few uprooted katniss roots surrounding it. I grab a few more and store them for good measure. I return to the shed, sure to cover my tracks, and begin to follow the lake. I wade knee-height in it to hide my tracks, while also keeping note of any fish that swim by. The sun bears down on me, proving it will be a hot day. I'm thankful I have the lake near me. After putting an hour between me and the shed, I begin to hum the tune about Clementine. It's a sad song, really. Soon, a mockingjay picks up, and the forest lightens up with my song. They tell me that I'm not really alone.

Another few miles down, I find a fallen tree on the side of the lake and allow myself to rest. I sit back, basking in the sunlight as I assess my wound. The gunshot still aches, and the skin I can see is a bright red. I remove the makeshift tourniquet and wash my skin again, trying not to grimace at how awful it appears. I fasten it with new sticks, bathing my feet in the water. It's shaded here, and I watch a small bunny hop behind me. She pauses, staring at me as her nose quivers. I watch her deep, black eyes widen. The cloud moves and the sun shines down upon her as she goes back on all fours. How beautiful, a wild animal, free from the horrors of the world. She'd probably never encountered a human. Probably never again. The flowers blooming behind her created a perfect image, and if I were a skilled painter, I'd have painted the scene before me in a heartbeat. I feel a pang in my stomach. Despite my hunger, I let her roam free. She didn't choose her life, who am I to dictate hers? I don't need any more blood on my hands, human or animal. She hops away, heading east through the foliage. I watch her go.

I will not end up like Coriolanus. I refuse.

Despite that reasoning, after ten moments of rest I begin to fish. I catch some easily, quickly ending their misery with my knife and eating one raw. It's gross, and a bit demeaning, but anything to keep myself alive and healthy. I store the remaining two in a spare satchel before standing and continuing to wade down the path. The forest grows thicker, and soon I'm stuck with no shore, just deep water surrounded by thick bushes and overgrown trees. Nobody has stepped foot here in years, maybe decades. I would eventually have to swim to keep going, and that's not good if I end up in a storm. I turn around and walk the mile back to where I saw the bunny. All is still, and just as I left it. I sit down against the log again and drink, before rising and heading east, toward the bunny. Perhaps she was my savior. I bend under low branches and navigate through thorns, the lake behind me. There are still puddles around me, and it rains often. If I run out of water, I'll be able to follow my tracks back to the lake. I continue my trek until nightfall with no incident, sweating profusely. There are many miles between not just me and the lake, but me and District 12. The further I go from there, the closer to freedom, to the north. I've traveled east for some time now, but I can continue north whenever I please. Anywhere that isn't Capitol is good to me.

There's a large willow tree a few yards away from me, and I cross over to it easily. Slinging my satchel over my back, I begin to scale the tree, climbing until the vines conceal me and I find a sturdy branch to lay on. It isn't the comfiest, but if I fall I'll have a soft landing. Not that I plan on falling.

For the first time in my life, I peacefully lull off to sleep without danger of being discovered.

#tbosas #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #ballad of songbirds and snakes #suzanne collins #catching fire #fanfic #tbosas fic #writing

[hydriotaphia]

Hey, thanks for replying - yeah I've been in fandom for most of my life, but have never been that into fanfic. Bridgerton I think is the first for which I started reading. Despite my minimal experience, I'm aware of the general rules and don't believe I've ever violated them. Based on what you've said about constructive criticism though, I have perhaps been going about it differently. When an author says smthn like 'let me know what you think,' I'll give it freely. I don't do this for fics I don't like, but for the fics I do like, it feels like excluding the criticism is weirdly disrespectful. I want to show that I wasn't just reading with half a brain, and that I spent time thinking about how I felt about certain parts. I try and make sure I use 'i think/I agree' a lot, and I believe I used these phrases excessively in my first ask to communicate that everything is my humble opinion. When discussing the antwina fic I mightve neglected to do that, and as a result mightve ended up sounding harsher.

Anyway, I get your point about fanfic being fun and the distinction you draw bw it and published fiction. I wasn't thinking about it that way. Sometimes fanfic is written so well that it's hard to forget you're not reading a published piece, and that as thought provoking as it is, you're not meant to share those thoughts if the author hasn't requested it. Smthn to keep in mind ig.

No, I agree with you about the headcanon thing. There was this modern au I read some time ago that had kanthony dealing with grief. By the end of the story, we saw them both in better places in their lives after having been broken up for a while, and it was clear that both would still lead happy, healthy lives even if they didn't have each other. Ofc they got back together though, and one of the reasons why it worked the second time around was bc they knew they were stable enough individually that they wouldn't be destroyed if things bw them ended again. I found it totally believable and loved that that idea. For your fic, I don't remember all that I said, but I think one of the reasons I felt differently about anthony's ability to recover is bc it's a regency au, so no therapy and no one to really help show him the path to recovery. Ik you said heartbreak is nothing like death of parent and its aftermath, so it wouldn't really be something he'd need help for (time would be enough), and while I agree those two things aren't equivalent, for someone like Anthony whose repeatedly experienced loss (of 'two' parents, of youth, etc.) and who would lose the one other person who could understand/take care of him, everything would sort of pile up into a lifelong sadness. I think the park scene you're referring to is in the featherington gardens in ep 8 (?) I agree that at that point he wasn't hoping for anything and was resigned to a fate of losing her. But I think we disagree on what exactly his survival after that entails. It seems like you think he'll recover completely (?), whereas I think he'll survive, channel the hurt into care for his family, but nonetheless always keep that hurt buried within him. If he had married edwina, then I think she would've been too much of a trigger for him to keep it buried, and he’d lash out at her/become more erratic. I think I brought up a scenario where someone else who's gone through similar experiences can forge a similar bond to him that kate did, in which case I could see him getting over it. Either way, for me, time alone isn't enough for him to forget her.

About lesbian edwina - no you're definitely right; when I mentioned lesbwina that was me mostly joking. There's nothing in the show to suggest that. Even when I said the reason she didn't recognize the tension bw kanthony was bc she doesn't understand straight ppl, i wasnt being serious at all. Me wanting a lesbwina is entirely wistful thinking.

I don't want to clog up your blog, so it's cool if you end our back and forth upon reading this. It's been nice to engage 👍.

Hi Anon, it’s been a few days so you may not see this but work has been insane and I took a little time to step away. Thanks for taking all that on board.

I do want to engage and I am always happy to talk head-canons and meta, so feel free to message about those.

In thinking about it, though, I wasn't sure if your ask was seeking genuine connection because, while many people thoughtfully engaged with the Anthony/Edwina get married AU or ignored it because it wasn’t for them, it is by far the one thing that people seem determined to argue about as if I had concluded wrong. Almost a version of ‘This hurt me and therefore it is not true/you are wrong’ versus ‘This hurt me AAAAAAAAh’. And the former is exhausting as you can imagine and how I originally understood your ask.

It seems like you think he'll recover completely (?), whereas I think he'll survive, channel the hurt into care for his family, but nonetheless always keep that hurt buried within him. …Either way, for me, time alone isn't enough for him to forget her.

Your definition of recovery seems very similar to mine actually! You’ve described him doing productive things to cope while acknowledging he’s been hurt in the past, which is pretty much what I think too. To me therapy isn't the only way to get through it though so that's not a deal-breaker for me. I also can’t see Anthony as Miss Havisham where the past is always intruding on the present.

About lesbian edwina - no you're definitely right; when I mentioned lesbwina that was me mostly joking. There's nothing in the show to suggest that. Even when I said the reason she didn't recognize the tension bw kanthony was bc she doesn't understand straight ppl, i wasnt being serious at all. Me wanting a lesbwina is entirely wistful thinking.

Ha, I didn’t realise this was gentle teasing as it was mixed in with other things in the context of characterisations based directly on canon! Of course, pairings are whatever one’s little heart desires (meta is a bit different). But yeah, I do that too – almost none of my slash ships have ever been canonical (again I exclude Stucky from being made up because fuck you Marvel you wrote that and then denied them like COWARDS). Lesbwina is a pretty fun characterisation for sure! I’m pretty sure I have a WIP kicking around somewhere feat. Lesbwina 😊

#asks #bridgerton season 2 #anthony x edwina get married AU

[when-did-this-become-difficult]

La Reina Del Sur 3 thoughts below the cut, starting with ships and going on to other random stuff

Batman x Sheila - killed dead for me by absolutely agonizing pro-life messaging and HIM TRYING TO FORCE HER TO HAVE HIS BABY AND BLOCK HER FROM GETTING AN ABORTION????

Faustino x Rocío - this wasn't too bad because they did really give them a full arc and whatnot and Rocío's actress totally demolished that death scene (complimentary) but he was weirdly cheery throughout and her death wasn't mentioned very consistently until the very end when he went in for revenge. Psychologically unrealistic, for me.

Mateo x Sofía - undeniably cute but near the end I feel like Sofía underappreciated him and probably *really* didn't get the extent to which his background in extreme poverty and addiction (possibly also racism/colorism?) was really making him feel alienated from the group. i admit she's just a teenage girl and that's fair but like somebody out here needs to appreciate him thank God for Faustino...I want a happier life for Mateo than just Not Being Jailed, if it's not going to be a happy relationship with Sofía that's fine but I need more

Sofía x Fedor - undeniably cute period but the show just kinda went eyes emoji at this ship and had people having conversations about it, but gave us no actual substance :/ I don't consider this ship as having canonically sailed

Teresa x Oleg - *chef's kiss* beautiful pining and devotion Oleg, nobody is doing it like this man, and even though Teresa has made many declarations of trust and affection to him, they've never been romantic/sexual and she's never shown romantic/sexual interest in him I feel like in another world (or fanfic) in which she genuinely is in love with him, then great! but as it is it kinda feels like she wants to be in a platonic friendship 4 lyfe and he just can't take it anymore and that's fair he deserves boundaries etc etc etc idk how sustainable this is???? They're so hot together tho and obviously action couple battle couple I *want* it. but like. it's not happening and indeed it didn't happen los escritores no me dieron ni un pinshe besito or whatever man im not crying you're crying

Teresa x Pablo - God they were so hot and like HIGH QUALITY HOT but then during the back half of the season the writers/actors/directors decided nah no more chemistry but without a proper explanation or development??? which made his eventual death hit way less hard. because by then there was no romantic or sexual chemistry so the reveal that the key to his bank account was her birthday hit way less hard and they didn't kiss *even when she knew he was dying* which I interpret as honesty on her part in deciding she wasn't into him in that way but god in terms of shipping they would've done so much better to take him outta the picture halfway rather than like severely underbake this relationship which was initially such a point of focus & so thrilling. I will say that maybe I'm biased because his thing with rescuing his dad never failed to tug on my heartstrings and they killed him like, two seconds after that, but still????? I feel like he should've gone off on a high note or at least if they decided to go platonic in the back half they should've been more explicit about that and she should've told him that they should be just friends as ruthlessly as she did to Oleg just to make it all clear/come together. either that or have her legit have feelings for him so that when she's in the car thinking back on their kiss it actually means something. you can't have both

Susana x Genoveva - they no homo'd this so hard on Genoveva's part and that was very mean. can I not have a little bit of lesbians can they not just...leave it more open ended??????? come on???????? Genoveva girl are you really gonna have this woman KISSING YOUR HANDS and then be like wait actually nope what's . what's going on here????? I demand to speak to the authorities (but Susana and Danilo giggling about her feelings for Genoveva early on? that was the real mlm wlw solidarity and I loved it)

Danilo needs a really nice boyfriend not one of these schemey guys he's been with in the past rip to Antonio who was prolly the best of them but like ???? erm. I just need a real insider type like if Susana has a brother or smth that would do the trick for me. cannot believe that Epifanio exploited him like that that was also so so mean fuuuuuck

Ernie (lol) x Kosar - LOL!!!!!! this one tickled me ngl I love that they broke up Like That, it was so mean, and I honestly felt bad for him for approximately 0.01 seconds too so they did well with it

also I know nobody is thinking about this ship but me but erm lowkey let's say after a two or three year time jump, Faustino x Paloma is kinda a possibility for me????? let that one marinate. the angst of it all and also they're both very hot and they're both like, scheming a lot. sure he refers to her as his sister-in-law nonstop but...time will do wonders?? for me???

shoutout to the hotel lady and the security guy I hope they get rich and have a nice time free of their old evil boss, I feel like they had one of the real friendship vibes and they were genuinely just trying to do the right thing/protect the hotel as was their job and the hotel lady GENUINELY was drugged which was probably traumatic...also I must say that even though Karen was evil I kinda loved her and I was pretty down for her and Fredy oops

I think it's very funny that Teresa is now being known as some type of woman saving folk hero because this is all so insanely far from reality when it comes to drug traffickers which is what she was like the ties between the drug trade and femicide???? but ok sure we'll go with that we do enjoy traffickers getting shot in the head. sure.

the plotting was pretty intricate and well done, I think! creative! much to learn from it actually if i think about it

Kate del Castillo is erm. very controversial but I must say her arms in this???? her muscles in general? that woman is so incredibly ripped and I, you must say I'm very normal about it (lying)

glad I watched it, probably won't rewatch every single episode but might go back to rewatch specific scenes

RIP Anton and Jonathan and Rocío. RIP General Garrido and Genoveva's dad. fuck Montaño and fuck Charlie all my homies hate Charlie

AND FUCK YOU EPIFANIO!!!!!!!! I KNEW A WOMAN HAD TO KILL HIM AND I WAS RIGHT. WORLD AS IT SHOULD BE AMEN. MY ONLY REGRET IS THAT HIS KILLER WASNT GENOVEVA

#la reina del sur #la reina del sur 3 #spoilers #j.2023.all

[administer-distractions]

ramble about rwby please

oh a request u will likely regret but i will gladly oblige. it's a good thing ur asking me now though. If u had asked me in like 2016 I would've gone fucking ballistic. I was obsessed obsessed during volumes like 3-5. That was the time when I like wrote fanfics and made literally not exaggerating 40 full fledged rwby ocs with two of my friends.

i love rwby. back then I was rabid about it being basically flawless. I loved 4-6 and never understood the people who called it boring. looking back I get it but I still really enjoyed them. now I am more critical of media and actually really disliked volume 8. so much so that I went into volume 9 with my expectations a lot lower than normal. I honestly kind of was worried I wouldn't be into it. Yea turns out I think this is just My Show. I'm still watching it every Saturday. accidentally paid for a month of crunchyroll cause I couldn't find a decent 🏴‍☠️ website but it is what it is. I think I just love this show like. Fundamentally.

I'm enjoying volume 9 so far. Even though I do still hate 🐝 but that's another story. But the rest of it is a lot of fun. I glad the Ruby Rose Depression Era has finally begun. My poor girl has been through so much. This was inevitable and I'm honestly stoked to see her when she comes out the other side.

Weiss is best girl. For a while I thought it was Yang but no. It's Weiss. Sorry. I love her so much. Everything she does is iconic she's so funny but also she's got so much emotion to her. I like. Cannot get into it how much I love everything about Weiss.

Blake I have the most complicated feelings about because I feel like so much of her story has been twisted around Yang in a way that's distorted her. I feel like a can't get a good grasp of who Blake really is anymore. It's part of why I don't like 🐝 I like Blake. I just think I used to like her a lot more.

Yang I also love though. Like I said she used to be my fave. I think she's extremely interesting and complex. Yang has changed a lot like Blake but, the difference I think with Yang is that it feels more like growth and development as opposed to this sort of. Total tone shift that Blake has had. I used to use I Burn as an alarm. That was a mistake.

Honestly though I just really thought Ironwood got done so dirty. He didn't deserve any of that. I could've gone into this in real depth after it first came out but I've forgotten a lot of the details by now but like.

Ironwood was nothing but helpful since we first met him. Especially after they get to Atlas. And they kinda treated him like shit. And then he goes SO hard the other way in volume 8 and it felt so out of character. Not to mention I felt like everything team rwby did was honestly super stupid just. The whole time. I really didn't like volume 8.

I could keep going but I guess these are my surface level RWBY thoughts. Anyway. If they don't bring Sun back to me in this volume I'm going to take michael jones hostage I swear to fucking god

#i love sun too #i love him so much #he is my son #my sun son

[ravenrune]

any headcanons for carlos with a s/o that gets hurt because of him (not killed though), either by someone from his line of work or just because he was distracted/busy? angst gets me going, i'm sorry.

I love this! No apologies needed, it gets me going too. I fear I got carried away really badly. This is a long one, it could've been written as a fanfic. 😅 Warnings: Implied violence. Hospitals. Bit of angst? Word count: Around 1300. Oops.

● Carlos was shocked when he received a phone call from the hospital. They told him you'd been severely injured by getting stabbed in your lower abdominal area while walking down the street that night. They'd found his number in your phone and decided to call him based on the text messages you'd been sending each other.

● It took him several minutes to regain his composure and calm down enough to actually do anything. With trembling hands, he'd tried to unlock the door to his car, but it took him a while as he kept on dropping his keys.

● He immediately rushed to the hospital, not paying very close attention to his speedometer, or even oncoming traffic. It was kind of a miracle he arrived in one piece.

● At the reception, he found himself fumbling for the right words, and it took him a while to even pronounce your name the correct way. The receptionist was very patient, however, and they gently told him to take a deep breath and to slow down a little bit.

● Once they knew what Carlos had come to the hospital for, a nurse was called to come pick him up from the reception desk. He gently led Carlos to a quiet waiting room, where he told the other man about was currently going on. You'd come in just an hour ago, and you'd gone into surgery straight away. Sadly, he couldn't tell Carlos exactly how bad your injuries were or how long surgery would take.

● The nurse made sure Carlos had access to something to drink and something to eat and told him to try and relax. He reassured the other man that you were in good hands.

● As Carlos waited, he couldn't stop thinking about who could've stabbed you and why. He wondered if it had had something to do with him, but he had a hard time coming up with someone who was out to get him. He didn't work as a mercenary very often anymore, and he always made certain to keep his personal life to himself.

● After about an hour and a half, a trauma surgeon showed up to talk to Carlos. She told him about the injuries you'd sustained, and how she'd tried to patch you up to the best of her abilities. She also informed him you weren't completely out of the woods yet, as you'd lost a lot of blood and complications could still arise. That said, the surgery had gone well, but you'd definitely need a lot of time to recover.

● As soon as you were out of recovery, Carlos was allowed to go see you. His heart broke into a million pieces when he saw you lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and wires, and with some tubes sticking out of body. He was relieved to see you were breathing on your own, though, because he didn't think he would've been able to handle seeing you intubated and in an artificial coma.

● He spent the entire night sitting next to you, gently caressing your hand and softly whispering things about how you just needed to hang in there, about and how he couldn't do without you anymore. And he couldn't stop saying how sorry he was he hadn't picked you up from work, because he'd been out with some friends.

● Eventually he fell asleep in his chair, his arms leaning on your bed and his head resting on his arms. He never let go of your hand, even while sleeping. The nurses that came to check on you did their work very quietly, allowing Carlos to get some much needed rest.

● The next morning, he woke up to the sound of someone calling his name. For a moment he didn't remember where he was, but then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Instantly fully awake, he looked up to check on you and found himself staring into a pair of tired and confused eyes.

● "Oh baby..." For the first time since the phonecall, Carlos had to fight back tears. He felt as though all of his emotions were trying to come out at once. He quickly stood up from his chair, ignoring the pain in his legs and his back, and leaned over you. "How are you feeling baby?" He asked, softly placing his hand on your cheek.

● You were in pain, but it was manageable because of the pain killers you'd been given throughout the course of the night. You tried to explain what had happened, but you only remembered a couple of words that had been said before you were stabbed. Betrayal, Umbrella, mercenaries and something about cash. "I'm sorry, Carlos, I don't remember anything else..."

● "That's fine, bebê, save your strength..." Carlos reassured you that everything was going to be okay and apologised profusely for having put you through something like that. He didn't stop until you told him to, and that you weren't blaming him.

● It broke Carlos' heart how close you'd come to dying because of things he'd done in the past. The fact that the remnants of Umbrella were still after him after several years filled him with fear. He decided he wouldn't leave you alone in the hospital for even half an hour, and ended up asking a friend to bring you some of your stuff.

● While you were in the hospital, he never left your side. He ended up calling Leon to ask about any safe houses you two could go to, and made arrangements to move out of your house as soon as you'd leave the hospital.

● When you two finally made it to a safe house Leon had found for you, Carlos kept on worrying. Not about himself, but about you. He couldn't control the sense of guilt, and kept on apologising, much to your dismay.

● He took very good care of you at the safe house, making sure your recovery was going smoothly. He couldn't stop fussing over you. He cooked for you, cleaned everything before you even had a chance to do anything, and constantly made sure you were taking your medication when it was time.

● At night, he held you tightly, afraid someone would rip you from his arms and take you away from him forever. The thought of losing you had always scared him, but after the stabbing, he dealt with a lot of anxiety. He would become extremely protective of you and would only leave the house if Leon, Jill or Claire was with you.

● It had been almost as traumatising to him as it had been to you, so the two of you talked a lot; about what had happened, about where to go from there, and about making sure it would never happen again.

● After discussing everything at length with Jill, Chris and Leon, Carlos decided to not try and track down the person who had stabbed you. Jill promised they would dive into this case because it was possibly related to Umbrella, and Leon assured them he'd provide them with any information Hunnigan could get her hands on.

● After several months of staying at the safe house, you and Carlos finally moved to another place that you'd be able to call home again. He was still worried about letting you go out by yourself, but after spending a lot of time talking about it, he felt he couldn't just keep you imprisoned in your own house.

● Still, every time he is away from you for longer than half an hour, he cannot help but worry.

I'm sorry if it's too long. I couldn't stop typing. Hope whoever read this entire thing enjoyed it. ♡

#resident evil #carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira x you #headcanons #ravenrune writes #this is quite long

[grammarpedant]

A and L for the fic asks?

(ask meme here!)

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

Hm... it kind of depends on what we mean by favorite! I have three fics that I think of as my best, but that's not quite the same as the fic I think of as my favorite, which varies from day to day XD That doesn't really answer the question, though :P I think my favorite right now is Hostile One and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Prey which is one of my outsider POV fics, aka "let me write from the perspective of the character you would least expect to get a perspective"- in this case, the alien worm fauna from the opening scene of ASR. I still like this one a lot because I'm fond of the writing style I used for it, which is very... soundfeel. :D

L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

Man, Jay, you know how to pick hard ones!!

As you know, a lot of my fics (like the one about the combat override module, or the Human One fic, or the Combat SecUnit fic) tend to be very full of emotional turmoil, and often end with death or disaster.

But the one that actually made me cry multiple times in a mall cafe while trying to write it was the past is no forgotten promise, which is the fic about the ghosts of the Pressy reaffirming their values to their descendants, and also to Murderbot as it prepares to take their life-tender to rescue the refugees, pretty much exactly how they would've wanted it. It was inspired by RoundedLoaf's fic hope is no uncertain future, a hopepunk alternative to generational ship tragedies, about the centuries-long journey of the first people to settle on Preservation, which already made me need to have an emotion in private with how much it was about the whole community of people coming together to put in the work and each sacrifice a little so that no one person or group has to sacrifice everything. So you see where I was starting from there?

And then it was also inspired by the bit in Fugitive Telemetry when Murderbot was describing how cared for the Pressy was, how it was empty and that it should've been creepy but it wasn't, somehow, maybe because it knew where the people who had left this place had gone and why and that they were still ok, and when I read that I wanted to scream how can the ghosts of the past be frightening when they love and are loved!!! [seagull screaming emoji]. I wanted to write something about that exchange of love and labor between generations, past to present to the future of a community. Both the way that the long-gone first generation of Preservation did so much to live by loving principles and provide for future people they might not ever meet, and the way that the present citizens of Preservation love and honor and recognize what their predecessors did for them, and give forward to their own inheritors, my god it makes me want to cry right now.

Anyway, the themes of community, love, and legacy are deeply, deeply fucking important to me, and it was really fucking hard to write something that was this raw, this essentially honest about what I believed in. I'm honestly still not sure, some days, if I really actually expressed what I intended to. There's a lot of themes that I tried to pack in that I think could have benefited from me having more time to think and talk about and bounce around the ideas of, but since this was a gift exchange fic I was on a deadline, lmao. I want to write a spiritual sequel to this fic someday, one where, I think, I emphasize more that Murderbot does also have a place in Preservation culture, values, and society. Like sure, Councillor Ephrim and Senior Indah may have had their doubts about it, but MB has advocates in e.g. Ratthi, Pin-Lee, and Ayda Mensah herself. They are just as much sons and daughters of Preservation, and they have no such doubts.

(Hm, that might be the fic where the Pressy as an eldritch godlike being talks to MB while it's still recovering from getting its brain scrambled in ES.)

Oh wow lmao that was much more than i thought i'd write! you really Did pick a good question ^u^

#tocautiouslygo #verso answers #murderbot diaries #the murderbot diaries #murderbot #hi jay! [waves enthusiastically] thanks for the asks lol i always love hearing from you :chinhands:

[marley-manson]

Hannibal and will?

Thanks! It's been a little while since I've talked about Hannibal lol this was fun.

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them

Hannibal:

He went to jail for three years just on the off-chance Will might come visit someday, in an act explicitly paralleled to supplication before a god. So like, how completely ridiculouly gone he is for Will.

Will:

He falls in love with Hannibal not despite his (v sexualized) desire to murder him in season 2, but because of it. He knows himself best when he's with Hannibal because wanting to kill someone as evil as Hannibal allows him to accept his desire for violence and power. And then when it comes down to it he can't go through with killing him, because that feeling is why he fell for Hannibal.

least favorite thing about them

Hannibal:

He's perfect. I guess I'll say the moment he said the line, "what a cunning boy you are," because it ruined like every 3rd fanfic for me. Fuller why.

Will:

While the show came down on the free will side of things, I don't like the way it teased the implication that he could have been brainwashed by Hannibal, because like, it's hard to understand all the nuances of the show, it's oblique as hell, and a lot of people still take it as read that he was brainwashed to some extent, which sucks.

favorite line

Hannibal:

"No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend." He's literally letting Dolarhyde shoot him in that moment for no other reason than because Will arranged it. He's saying, if this is the end you want for us, fine, you can have it.

Will:

"Is your social worker in that horse?" This show is amazing.

brOTP

Hannibal:

Bedelia. I love that he's the Franklyn to Bedelia's Hannibal, I love that Bedelia manipulates him into attempting to kill Will because, as she (uh sort of) explains in season 3, she saw him as an injured bird and wanted to finish the job, I love that Bedelia walks away consequence free til the very end, I love how scathing she is to Will lmao and how judgemental she is towards Hannibal for being obsessed with Will... their dynamic is just great.

Will:

Bev, I guess, though I wasn't as into their friendship as a lot of fans were. She was a great grounded counterpoint to the pretentiousness lol and they had a good vibe together.

OTP

Hannigram ofc.

nOTP

Hannibal:

Clarice. Incidentally I absolutely adore Fuller for adapting the Mason plot with Will in Clarice's place, except when Hannibal rescues him instead of escaping with him so he can brainwash him like he did Clarice, he takes him home, tucks him into bed, and then walks into jail. THAT'S how you adapt a book, people. Make it gay, and make the scary manipulative serial killer love interest throw everything away for the protag.

Will:

Alana. Thank you for the double gay ending, show.

random headcanon

Hannibal:

He didn't want to kill Franklyn but kind of had to when he wouldn't leave. Also the fact that he tossed a coin before foiling Bella's suicide attempt says volumes about how he wanted to respect her wishes - it would've absolutely fucked him over with Jack if he just let her die in his office, or at the very least he would've missed a huge opportunity to keep Jack on his side.

Will:

Has a perfectly good, if distant, relationship with his father.

unpopular opinion

Hannibal:

He did not successfully manipulate Will in season 1. He tried, and he failed. The closest he got was Will non-fatally shooting Abel. What actually unleashed Will's inner killer was painting a target on his own back by killing Will's friends and inspiring him to want revenge.

Will:

He's not shy, he doesn’t connect with many people, but if he's socially awkward it's bc he doesn't give a fuck, not because he's nervous, and he's kind of an asshole. He's also the only person who ever snaps at Jack and he stuns his coworkers with his ballsineses when he does it, as soon as he wanted a marriage he went out and got one, and most of his ott weirdness in season 1 is due to the brain damage-y disease he has. He's a loner by choice.

song i associate with them

Hannibal:

Bryan Fuller mentioned this one as a Hannibal song once iirc and I love it so: Being Alive from Company.

Will:

Dismantle Me - The Distillers

favorite picture of them

Hannibal:

This incarceration montage is one of my favourite things in the show tbh. Though also shout out to Hannibal tearing up at the opera performance in Sorbet. Shit and also

Sorbet is so ridiculously good, man.

Will:

every single shot of Will being absolutely Done in Digestivo:

#hannibal #text post #marley on hannibal

[woodchoc-magnum]

I posted 7,876 times in 2021

938 posts created (12%)

6938 posts reblogged (88%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 7.4 posts.

I added 1,874 tags in 2021

#0 - 68 posts

#911 spoilers - 1198 posts

#buddie - 105 posts

#my fics - 100 posts

#9-1-1 - 78 posts

#911 fanfic - 74 posts

#author: woodchocMagnum - 69 posts

#my fic - 65 posts

#fic rec - 61 posts

#woodchocMagnum - 56 posts

Longest Tag: 108 characters

#and i know i should move past it but when i think of unpopular opinions it's the first that springs to mind!

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

This is the dumbest thing but when Buddie goes canon, all I want is a shot of them either getting ready for bed together or waking up in the morning - just the most domesticated shit imaginable where it’s all sweet and affectionate.

They are going to make each other so happy I swear to god

172 notes • Posted 2021-08-18 06:49:21 GMT

#4

Buck/Eddie, 20k, M Buck POV, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Getting Together

He doesn't want to go home.

He's bone tired; his head is throbbing and he's in desperate need of a hot shower and a long nap, but he doesn't want to go home.

Doesn't want to step over the threshold.

Doesn't want to set foot in the place that has never fully felt like home, even though it is… he's lived there for three years, after all.

But he still thinks of it as just a place to sleep.

He's torn inside, feeling like he should be elsewhere - feeling like something is missing, something is wrong, some part of him is incomplete and he's not really sure why. Everyone is safe and accounted for; everyone has gone home to their families… they've come through it again, and they're all fine.

But Buck's not fine.

He hasn't been fine for months. Maybe he's never been fine in his whole life.

Read on AO3

172 notes • Posted 2021-11-08 10:40:12 GMT

#3

People on Twitter are saying that your fic predicted the expendable line?? 👀

Yeah, apparently! I had totally forgotten about that.

It's in the first fic I ever wrote -> Don't Worry Baby (Everything Will Turn Out Alright)

This is the chapter

And this is the part:

"And you think I can't do this without you?" Eddie asks, but he's not angry, merely questioning, one eyebrow raised.

"No, I think you and I are a great team." Buck swallows hard. "If Bobby had been there, Chim would've been in the ambulance with Hen, and you would've been beside me. And it would've been worse, if you were there. If I take the hits, you get to go home to your kid."

"You make it seem like your life is meaningless," Eddie points out. "That it doesn't matter what happens to you."

"It doesn't. I don't care about me."

Suddenly Eddie is blinking back tears, and he looks furious. "I care about you," he whispers, swallowing reflexively. "Shut the fuck up if you think your life is meaningless. God, you make me so mad."

"Eddie—"

"That kid, that kid over there thinks you're a fucking superhero," he continues, choked up. "He talks about you all the time. His Buck, when is his Buck coming over, when are we going to see Buck, what's Buck doing today, how was Buck today, can Buck come and live with us – that kid, that kid—" and suddenly he's crying, both hands pressed to his face.

Buck just stares at him in shock.

"I'm his father, but you are the sun and the moon and all the stars," Eddie finally chokes out. "And he just lost his mom. He can't lose you too. You are not fucking expendable, Evan."

At the use of his name, Buck freezes. Eddie has never called him by his Christian name. Eddie is practically shaking with rage, tears streaming down his cheeks. Eddie, who is still grieving the loss of Shannon, who has had to put up with Buck's shit all year, has finally had enough.

192 notes • Posted 2021-05-30 23:53:48 GMT

#2

For all your anti-Ana fic needs...

let me roll it to you angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, jealousy (22k, 2/2, M)

In which Eddie starts dating Ana and Buck starts dating around; Eddie does not cope that well with change, Buck is oblivious and everyone else thinks they're a pair of idiots.

alone again tonight with you angst with a happy ending, pining, jealousy (37k, 3/3, M)

In which Eddie and Ana are dating, Buck is secretly in love with him, and Christopher isn't handling it well.

try to love me if you can angst with a happy ending, pining, jealousy (44k, 6/6, M)

In which Eddie is trying to date Ana and cling to Buck at the same time, and Ana is threatened by Buck's relationship with Eddie and Christopher. This fic picks up immediately after the Buck and Christopher scene in 4x08. the dream you wish will come true Christopher Diaz POV, getting together, mutual pining (30k, 3/3, M)

In which Christopher Diaz cannot understand why his father would want to date his former teacher when Evan Buckley is right there.

197 notes • Posted 2021-04-29 13:04:24 GMT

#1

Maybe Buck just fundamentally doesn't know what falling in love/being in love is like.

And he thinks this is it when it's fucking clearly not.

208 notes • Posted 2021-11-30 02:33:17 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[aureolusfirewrites]

Heres a fanfic I did forever ago on Quotev

https://quotev.com/story/13568065/Signing-off/1

Description: What if Azmuth never made it to Ben when the Incursions sent him off in that pod? Ben's final message to earth after the pod powers down

Signing Off

Static buzzed on the screen of the small tv inside the small rebel base that consisted of Rook, Gwen, Kevin, Max, and a few others. Once it cleared an image came through of a familiar galvan  who's expression was now filled with sadness. 

"Driba? What's going on you know this line is only for important news." Max said through the communication unit they had stolen back. "It is important... It's about Ben."

Rook shot out of his chair at his partner's name as did Gwendolyn and Kevin. 

He had practically given up any hope of seeing his friend ever again. Ben was just a human and that pod Max had sent him off in was so small...

The Incursions were still running rampid across Earth but any news of Ben would lift his spirits that he was sure of.

In retrospect he couldn't have been more wrong

They all gathered around the screen. Something was wrong Rook could feel it seeing the small alien refuse to look up at the camera. 

"What is this news you have?" He questioned not willing to sit in silence when a bombshell like that had been dropped.

"We uh... We intercepted a recording from an unknown source but after listening to it we learned that it was from Ben from that incursion pod he was sent off in."

Rook felt something burning in his chest like a mix of pride and happiness that the small human was alright but there was still a latent dread creeping in. 

"Well what're you waiting for let's hear it!" Max said proudly.

"You sure?" The question stunned him temporarily. Why wouldn't they want to hear a transmission from Ben?

"Just play the transmission." Kevin said solidly not having the patience to deal with the overcomplicatedness the galvan was coating in his words.

"Alright... Just don't shoot the messenger." Driba said. The comment would've scared Rook if he hadn't immediately focused in on the frequency now playing across the screen.

"Hey guys." A static coated but recognizable voice spoke through.

"I don't know when or If you'll get this but I hope you do-" it was Ben alright. Rook could tell from the voice even while it was overlayed in radio feedback. Something was wrong though Ben sounded off... His voice rang of acceptance, fear, sadness, and happiness all in once depressing ball. Ben hated sounding weak but how he sounded on this recording was exactly that. He sounded fragile and there were deep breaths in-between words as if he was unable to get enough air.

"G-Grandpa I kn-know you said that you sent me out in this thing so you would know I was alive but the way things are going I-I don't think that'll be true for much longer..." 

Rook felt like his heart had stopped and the fear on the faces of Ben's family members showed they felt the same.

"Th-the pod lost power a bit ago I -its getting cold. I I feel tired like more tired than I have in a long time. I don't know how much air is in this thing so I'll try and make this short. 

Grandpa you were my roll model Id never be the hero I was if it wasn't for you and I hope you don't blame yourself for this, Gwen keep working you're gonna be great one day even better then you are right now..." 

Th​​ere was a long sigh as Ben sucked in more air. 

"Levin I- Look after my cousin for me when I'm gone I'm glad that we got to be friends because you're the best a guy could ask for like a bother I never wanted but got stuck with. And Rook- Blonko. You're the best partner I ever could've had the chance to meet and I think I might've liked you as more than just friends... I'm sorry I never got to say that to your face."

Tears fell freely down Rook's face now coating the fur under his eyes.

The hero's voice gained a dangerously sleepy tone. 

"I don't think I've got a lot of time left... I love you all. I hope you don't have to hard of a time saving the universe. Protect Earth for me while I'm gone. I hope you can beat back the Incursions without my help... Keep being great heroes even while I'm not there. Maybe I'll see you all again someday but for right now... This is Ben Tennyson, signing out for the last time." 

There was a loud drawn out released breath and a clatter then silence for a few minutes before the signal was lost to static.

"No." He heard a faint whisper from Gwen. "No no no he- he has to be alright that message... we just got that message there might still be time if we're fast enough we can-" Driba cut her off "That message just reached our satellites but... scanners indicated that it was sent out almost two weeks ago..." 

There was a dreadful silence as what that meant settled over the group. 

Ben was dead. He died cold and alone unable to save his planet, and this sad little transmission was his final testimate.

And it had reached them two weeks to late.

Kevin had a look of pain on his face, Gwen had buried herself in Kevin's embrace balling her eyes out as her chest heaved, Max had his face buried in his hands mourning his grandson who had been rocketed off to his death by his orders, and Rook...

Rook felt numb.

Ben, dead, the words didn't seem to connect right in his mind. And the fact Ben had confessed to having liked him only shortly before letting out that last breath... It made the pain more unbearable then he could've ever imagined. 

After a very, very long silence Gwendolyn collected herself and spoke in a hoarse voice, raw from crying. "W-What do we do now." 

It was Rooks turn to break the silence now.

"I will tell you what we are going to do. We are going to defeat the Incursions and take back Earth. Then we are going to find and collect that pod and give Ben the send off he deserves. Are there any objections?" He practically growled. 

There weren't any and they all went back to work with a new plan on their heads

#rook blonko #ben 10 omniverse #ben 10 fanfiction #ben ten omniverse #ben tennyson #brooken

[netflxaddict]

Vandalism

Summary: You're a cop, he's the co-owner of a local locksmith shop. A sudden rash of break-ins keeps bringing you to his store.

Word count: 1,6K

Pairing: Wolfgang Bogdanow x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic so please be kind :') feedback is welcome!

You had arrived at the crime scene fifteen minutes after the call was made. It was early in the morning and the whole rest of the city was just slowly starting to wake up.

"You said nothing was taken," Vilmar stated as he flipped through his notebook to find an empty page. He was your overly protective middle-aged partner. Short, round and balding — the manifestation of every lazy cop of every comedy ever. He loved taking notes, even though the pad mostly consisted of random doodles he made during breaks.

The owner, a lanky 20-something named Felix Berner, nodded, "That's right, officer." He was standing behind the counter, carefully watching you both as you wandered around the shop.

"What do you think, Y/L/N?" Vilmar asked. You hadn't said a word since you had entered the building.

"Vandalism."

"Vandalism?"

"There have been a few similar cases in the neighborhood," you explained, "smashed windows, graffiti on the pavement, no signs of robbery…"

Suddenly the shattered door blew open, and a man stepped inside. He was about the same height as Felix but much sturdier. Short, dirty blonde hair, a stubble lining his strong, ridiculously well-defined jaw, and eyes of that beautifully common shade of blue.

Dressed in all-black, wearing that mysteriously grim yet compelling expression, he stirred up your interest. You watched as he walked towards the counter with firm, vigorous steps, and a smell of his musky cologne mixed with sweat and tobacco floated through your nose.

"Excuse me." Vilmar's voice yanked you out of your head and you cleared your throat, embarrassed. "Who are you?"

"This is Wolfgang," Felix introduced, "he's the co-owner of this shop but most importantly, my very best friend."

"So did they take anything?" Wolfgang asked, completely ignoring you and Vilmar, making you feel invisible.

"Nothing."

Wolfgang fell quiet for a second. He looked around, his brows slightly frowning.

"Vandals," he then said.

You twitched at the word and turned your gaze at him. "How can you tell?"

"The windows were smashed but nothing was taken? Probably just some bored kids looking to get in trouble," he said, playing with his car keys. Then he raised his head and your eyes were finally met with his downturned ones. "Seems quite obvious, don't you think, officer?"

You felt your cheeks redden. What was it about this sullen man that made you feel so shamefully desperate?

"We're sorry about your windows, but there isn't really anything we can do," Vilmar interrupted your thoughts once again.

"What about us? Is there anything we can do?"

"Surveillance camera," you and Wolfgang replied simultaneously.

You glanced at each other. He smiled.

"We'll get one," Felix said, "thank you."

Vilmar bobbed his head and stuffed his notepad to his pocket. "Let's go, Y/L/N."

You waited until he had returned to the car, and dug out your business card, something you had never done before. You handed it to Felix.

"If you see or hear anything suspicious, give me a call."

Even though you were dying to, you didn't turn to give Wolfgang one final look. He didn't need to know how crazy he had made you — especially since to him you had been just another bulle.

* * *

A week later you and Vilmar were sitting in the car parked outside your favorite coffee shop when his radio crackled. There had been another attack at Felix's shop.

"Time to see your boyfriend," Vilmar smiled as you started the car.

"Don't even," you huffed. Ever since he had found out you gave Felix your number, Vilmar hadn't shut up about it. Of course you had wanted to tell him that the number wasn't really so much for Felix as it was for Wolfgang, but what difference would it have made, really? No one had called and now you had to go back there looking like a fool.

This time, the door lock had been picked open but again, nothing was taken.

You were suspicious. It seemed unrealistic that the vandal — quite possibly a rebellious youngster as Wolfgang had suggested — would’ve gone through all that trouble just for the fun of it. Or that they would’ve even had the skills to do so. Something didn’t add up.

“I see you didn’t invest in those surveillance cameras like we suggested,” you said.

“Didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to come back.” Wolfgang shrugged.

He was sitting on the counter scrupulously examining every inch of your tensed up body, biting his lower lip. You couldn't tell if he was judging you or just admiring your figure. Whatever it was, it made you uneasy. Not uncomfortable or exposed — not in the bad sense anyway.

You swallowed hard. The things you would’ve done if this had been just another one of your wildest fantasies...

“So you think the perpetrator was the same as before?” Vilmar too sounded skeptical as he read from his notes from your previous visit. “'Some bored kids looking to get in trouble'?”

Wolfgang sighed and hopped off the desk. “That’s just my opinion. You’re the detectives here.”

“Well, without the surveillance footage we’re pretty much in the same situation than the last time,” you snorted, “but if the same person really is behind this, it’s very likely they’ll strike again.”

“Copy that, officer.”

You rolled your eyes. “Where’s your friend?”

“Damsel in distress,” he grinned. “Wanna leave him a message? He loves to hear from serious, sexy women."

The compliment caught you off guard. All this time you had thought he was making fun of you, and now he was calling you sexy? Or was that just something Felix had said? Or was it just another joke? You took a deep breath. The man really was impossible to read.

"You can tell him to give us a call if this happens again. He knows the number," you said, "and get the damn cameras. I wanna catch those brats."

* * *

When you hadn't heard from either Felix or Wolfgang for another week, you thought they'd finally been left alone. A part of you was disappointed. It wasn’t as if you'd been hoping for some miraculous happy ending, but nothing? You felt betrayed. 

Then, two and a half weeks after the first attack, a phone call came.

"Y/N," you answered.

"Is this the sexy cop?" It was Wolfgang. You felt your heart somersault in your chest.

"Was there another attack?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Come see for yourself." Then he hung up.

You stared at your phone, abashed. If any other person had been as mysterious, you would've just simply ignored them. You didn't have time for games. And more importantly, you didn't have the energy.

As you got in the car, you cursed the day you met Wolfgang Bogdanow.

You hadn't told him it was your day-off. Partly because you didn't think it was important, but mostly because you hadn't wanted him to stop you from coming. This could've been your only opportunity to show him this side of yourself; bold and sexy with a dress shorter than it had a right to be and heels higher than a cop should've been wearing — there was no way you were going to waste it.

Once you had arrived, you noticed the smashed door window. Weird, you thought, starting to wonder if the perpetrator really had been the same each time after all.

Feeling nonplussed, you walked inside, your heels clopping softly against the floor. Wolfgang was waiting for you by the door.

"Hello, officer," he said with a smirk. "That's one hell of a uniform."

You didn't want to let him know what his words really did to you, so you just looked around. You were alone.

"Let me guess, they didn't steal anything."

"You're right. But this time we caught him on tape."

"Did you recognize him?" You were surprised, to say the least. You had been waiting for some unexpected turn of events but apparently, the case was solved.

"Oh, I've known him for years."

"Mind if I see it?"

He shook his head and led you to the backroom. He sat down on the desk chair and logged in to the computer.

You leaned in — just to get a better look, you told yourself. He didn’t seem to mind so you let yourself relax. The overwhelming smell of cologne and cigarettes took over your brain like a disease, and you had to grab a hold of the desk for support.

"Here it is."

Wolfgang had rewound the tape to last night — to precisely 10.36 p.m., according to the time stamp on the bottom left corner. He pressed play.

A man in a black leather jacket approached the shop. Just outside the door he finally stopped, glanced quickly around and threw the brick in his hand through the window. You squinted your eyes, trying to memorize as many details as possible. He was blonde, average-height, robust. At least on his late 20s—

Suddenly the man turned his gaze directly to the camera. Your eyes widened. 

"I-I don't understand."

Wolfgang was staring straight at you from the computer screen with a wide grin on his face.

"Well, I had to do something to get your attention, didn't I?"

"So you... smashed the window to get my attention?"

"I thought you would've suspected something when the door was picked open, but when you didn't..."

You couldn't believe it. It was crazy. He was crazy. It was by far the stupidest, most ridiculous, sexy thing anyone had ever done for you.

"You know, I could arrest you for this," you finally said.

He looked up at you and, not missing a beat, replied, "Then cuff me, officer."

#wolfgang bogdanow #max riemelt #sense8 #wolfgang bogdanow x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader

[andiwanderer]

New Kid

Tony Stark x daughter!Reader

Overview: Frustrated by how Tony was treating the new kid, you felt like an outcast. After the outburst of your father, you finally told him your decision. Because no matter how hard you try to gain his attention, his sole focus was directed to this new kid, named Peter. Maybe parting ways from your father can finally make him notice you. a/n: i'm sorry for the poor written summary! please bear with me! XD

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fluff

MASTERLIST

a/n: my first fanfic post, please, pleeeassseee! bear with me✨

--

"Parker!"

"Hey Parker, look at this."

"That kid is doing his job. I commend that. And also he's my intern, so get yours."

"He said his name was quote on quote "Spiderman". You got that, Rhodey?"

"D'you think? You know you have a potential Pete,"

"That spiderling?"

"Peter, just contact Happy on that one, I'm on my way."

"Mr. Parker, the Avengers just wanted your safety. Courtesy of me, of course."

"Mr. Parker, Mr. Stark ask your presence in his office."

Y/N had enough. It was like 4 in the morning and she hasn't got her proper sleep. She reached for her pillow and pushed it to cover her entire face along with her ear. Now, silently hoping she can finally sleep.

She really had enough not just because of exhaustion. But because of the 'New Kid' from Queens, Peter Parker.

She can't have a full day without hearing that kid's name uttered by her father, Tony.

Not that she was jealous of him but she's getting there. She used to be her father's apple of the eye. She used to have that same praises and care from Stark, then this Sokovia Accords began to ruin it.

Y/N knew what's right from wrong, Tony taught her that. And being controlled by the government, it was as though not having the freedom to have your own insights expressed. You can't do that because you're their personal puppet, the only thing that is right for them is their own judgment.

So she joined the Captain's team and learned the knowledge that Barnes wasn't a killer and he was controlled by HYDRA, the organization that they've been chasing, and it was not him who killed the T'challa's father, T'chaka. He was framed.

The encounter in Germany happened, there entered the new mighty intern of Stark, Peter Benjamin Parker also known as Spiderman.

They seemed pretty close for her liking and from that moment on she knew something is about to change.

They went back to the compound after what happened, finally having a truce. Understanding each side, well a majority of them, but there are two certain people who are still not on speaking terms.

Here's the thing, Y/N, and Tony fought regarding the accords before parting ways. And both of them seemed to heightened their pride and refuse to apologize to each other. They still think that their own opinion is better than the other.

Living in one compound doesn't help, it's difficult to not cross paths when wandering around. The only advantage of this was finally they're having small talks.

"Mr. Stark, I just went to grab my bag."

"You go ahead on the lab, I'll just..." Tony's voice trailed off as they walk towards their destination.

Y/N's eyes peeled open. Why can I still hear their voices in my sleep?

She knows drowsiness already left her and this will take a toll on her later on.

Now that she's awake, might as well start her day. With that, she sat up and stretched her arms out with a yawn. Grabbed her phone and hoodie before making her way into the kitchen.

When she got there the lights turned on, it was motion-sensored. "Good morning, Ms. Stark."

"What's good in the morning," she murmured as she open the cupboard and reaches what she needed. "The sun hasn't even peaked yet."

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, miss?"

"More like woke by an annoying voice."

"I apologize for that, it seemed that I was the one who is guilty-"

"Geez FRIDAY, I was only kidding. Can't take a joke?"

"Your voice was monotone, it was hard to tell."

"Not a morning person..." she sat on one of the stools and continued stirring her cup of milk as she entertained herself by scrolling onto her phone.

"You're up too early." Bucky's voice filled the room slightly startling the lone girl in the kitchen. He removed himself from leaning against the frame of the doorway. Making his way to Y/N, he sat beside her.

Glancing up from her phone she met his gaze, "I could ask you the same question."

"Don't smart ass me, doll." he gave her a stern look. "I got back from the bathroom and you weren't on the bed."

That made Y/N's voice back down and instantly felt guilty. It's dawn and she's giving her man an early headache to nurse for the entire day.

So she wrapped her arm around his waist, hugging him, nuzzling her face on his chest. She felt him responding to the embrace, hugging her fragile body against him tighter.

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled through his chest.

He kissed the crown of her head while caressing the back of her head, "I'm sorry too. I was just worried... I thought you were gone."

"That won't happen. I'm a pain in your ass remember, it's not easy to get rid of me." she chuckled, taking in his warmth.

"Is there a problem? Did you have a nightmare, Hmm? You can tell me everything, I'll listen."

Bucky knew about her struggle seeing the two, namely the man of iron and the kid with the sticky web, having a bond like father and son. Every day he sees the look in her eyes, that hostile look that she gives the kid. If staring is deadly, Peter would've been cold meat. So this topic isn't new to him. And every day it reaches a different level.

"Not really..." she pulled herself from the hug, grab his hand into hers, and intertwined them. "Is it I or Peter and my father are so close right now, even mom can't break the two apart. If I didn't know them I might've assumed they're connected by blood."

"In my perspective, I don't really pay much attention to anyone except you."

His statement brought a smile to her face. "You're crazy."

Bucky leaned in until his lips are ghosting into hers, "Only crazy for you." leaving a peck on Y/N's slightly parted lips that made her cheeks burn. She lightly shook her head on his lame comebacks and partly to somehow ease her flustered face.

"But seriously, Buck. I-" she inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. Her next words came out as a whisper, "I'm jealous...I'll admit. I am now..." she finished her drink and went to the sink washing the things she used, Bucky still eyeing her waiting for her next words. "There's not much to tell, Peter was the son he never had. He was always enthusiastic about it when he talks to mom," pertaining to Pepper "I can't blame him..." when she was done, she turned, her hips leaning against the sink. "I don't want to think about it but I don't know, Buck. Sometimes I just want to d-"

"Disappear, disperse, die?" her head whipped to where the voice came from. Tony walked into the room, screwdriver in hand.

He was headed to his workspace when he heard her daughter talking, her voice was serious so he got curious and got sidetracked.

Tony's eyes shift from Y/N to Bucky, confusion was etched on his face. He can't read either of their expression so he made his own conclusion. "You're thinking about killing yourself?"

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at his statement. I was going to say disappear. Which also has the same meaning by the way. She was about to interject when Tony immediately cut her off, not wanting her to say anything. "Is that it?" He arched a brow at her, he was starting to get pissed. "Aren't you even grateful you're alive? Many people die every single day. It wasn't their choice, hell they'll do anything they can to be alive. And here you are having the opportunity to live thinking how to end your life? Why did that thing even cross your mind."

Bucky sensed Y/N's tense composure as her hand began to fidget her shirt in habit when she's nervous or scared, Bucky noticed it but Tony didn't, so he got between the two. "Tony..."

"Shut your mouth, metal man. We're in a conversation as you can see. Can you please-" the guy waved his hand dismissively, gesturing him to vanish, then turned to Y/N.

He pointed the screwdriver at her, "What happened to your smart mouth, young lady, did that also died?" firmness laced his voice, she can't even decipher if that man was still the father she grew up to. It was like this moment, he became a cold jerk father to her.

Not wanting to deal with his shit, she grabbed her phone at the counter, and without saying anything she walked out.

How did he even think I want to die? I had only said 'D-'! How that does make any sense. I can say dance or whatever d-verb I can apply to my sentence!

Almost stumble to the new arrival, Peter Parker. She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him before making a beeline to her room.

As to Bucky, he just stared at Stark who shook his head as he brought his free hand up to massage his temple.

Peter shot a question, "Mr. Stark, Mr. Barnes, what just happened?"

It was Barnes' turn to shake his head with amusement because of the two. Before Tony could utter a word, Bucky left and followed Y/N to her room.

***

"What the hell was that?" he angrily spat at Y/N as he left his suit.

"Tony-"

"Rogers this is between us so get lost."

Steve looked in Y/N's direction whose eyes were glued on the floor. He wants to get between them because there has been a misunderstanding and Tony had been declining to listen to the captain ever since the time they finished the mission. Turning off his earpiece and blasting off defeating them on getting to the compound first. He didn't want to be rude, Tony was right and he didn't want to meddle with them, afraid that he might get the topic even worse. But if anything goes wrong he'll step in no matter what. So he ushered the team to leave and go to the med bay to have their wounds treated.

"That doesn't mean it excludes you, Barnes."

That made Y/N lift her gaze, meeting his steel-blue eyes that were full of concern and love. She gently nodded at him, giving him the idea that she can handle it and Bucky did what she silently asked.

Tony paced around the room. "You are well aware of what you just did, correct? And you know that it was gonna put you in danger!"

I was just trying to save you. She wanted to say those words to him but witnessing how riled up he is right now, made her heart race. Yes, she's afraid of him whenever he's angry that's why she never gave him a reason to be angry at her. The first was with the accords, and the list might continue because of this.

"What were you even thinking! It doesn't mean that now you're a shield agent, you should put yourself on death's door! Or just because you're fulfilling your task of getting yourself killed. You're taking every mission as an opportunity!"

It's not like that... Tears are now falling freely on her face.

"I will talk to Fury about this. And Y/N," his eyes were cold when she gained the courage to look at him, "you're out of the team. Sooner or later SHEILD will kick you out too. Believe it or not, this is for your own good."

She stared at him in disbelief. This was her entire life, he can't take that away from her, for the first time she had the urge to argue but her father cut her before she can speak.

"If only you're as obedient as Parker this wouldn't happen."

That made her heartbreak into many pieces. It was like hearing her own father saying that if only Peter was his son.

Y/N eyes were now red and puffy. Cheeks and nose flustered because of her crying. The tears are making their way down her cheeks uncontrollably and seemed that it's not stopping any time soon. Biting her lips to stop the whimper from being heard. She averted her gaze to the ceiling to somehow stop the flow of her tears.

That's why she didn't see the reaction of her father upon seeing her in her state at the moment. Guilt was already eating him.

Assuming that their conversation was over, she turned her heel and took her to leave with low shoulders. Even though she wanted to be angry at him because of his statement, she can't. Tony Stark raised her well and disrespecting isn't one of those.

"I--" suddenly his voice died. Was really apologizing for that hard?--

"I'm leaving..." She said with a tiny voice.

What?

Y/N swallowed the lump on her throat before saying, "I'm going to fix my things, maybe I should give you some space. I don't like s-seeing you angry. I will join Bucky on their trip to Wakanda. This might give you some peace of mind. And don't worry, I won't kill myself, I'll let a natural death fall on me."

She waited for him to respond or anything but when he didn't she ran towards her room with only one thing in mind, He didn't even try to stop me.

Bruce who was headed to the med bay heard a little of their conversation--he didn't mean to eavesdrop--he approached Tony. "Was that really necessary?"

Tony who felt guilty answered, "She was having suicidal thoughts, what was I supposed to do!"

"Understand her! What the hell, Stark! You only made it worse!"

***

"What the--what are you doing here?" Y/N eyes widen when he saw her father who has the same expression as hers, and a red floating cape behind him.

"I'm the one who should ask you that, missy." he frowns at her. "It's dangerous here! How did you ev--you should've stayed at your house. You could have get yourself in danger!--you know what screw this--" Tony snarls at her clearly he cared for her well-being, however, Y/N didn't acknowledge it instead took it negatively.

"I can handle myself just fine, Stark." she rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, so it's Stark now. I didn't teach you how to disrespect, young-"

That's when Peter came swinging in and landed beside Tony. Y/N's eyes narrowed at their suit, how can she not recognize it. It's nanotech just like hers, and it was originally her idea by the way. Formulated when she was 12 years old, being fascinated by technology and all that stuff.

She felt insecure because of Peter... She was the daughter she didn't even know if creating a suit like that for her crossed her father's mind. She made her own damn suit, okay.

"I thought you were a spiderman, so why do you always follow him like a good little soldier? What are you a cat who's having fun and chasing his tail?"

"Y/N, mouth."

Peter became tense but quickly composed himself, ignoring Y/N's sarcastic statement, "Miss Y/N, I want to apologize-"

"Apologize? For what?"

Tony is sure, she can be stubborn as him. She's his daughter after all.

When the kid didn't reply she huffs, "See you don't even know what you're apologizing for. So if I were you just step back, I'm had to get Dr. Strange from that two-foot Squidward."

Squidward, huh. He can't help but remember what he had called the alien-like antagonist that they had been chasing. Turns out they gave him the same nickname. That's my daughter.

"Wait, you know his name?" Tony questioned, pertaining to the magician.

"Long story, years passed, things changed, many things happen but--whatever."

"We have a plan actually..." peter said meekly, completely intimidated by Y/N. He thought that Stark's definition of her was all too good to be true, cause he can prove it's all the opposite but maybe he just met her at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Oh yeah?" she arched a brow at them as she cocked her head at the side. "What is it?"

***

"I want to protect the stone."

"And I want you to thank me, now. Go ahead I'm listening."

"For what? Nearly blasting me to space?"

"Who just saved your magical ass?--Me."

"I seriously don't know how you fit your head into that helmet." Y/N bit her lower lip to prevent her chuckle from erupting. Cause Strange said was so true.

"-flying donut, billions and miles from Earth with no backup."

"I'm back up." Peter raised his hand.

"No, you're still away. The adults are talking"

"I'm sorry, I-I'm confused about the relationship here. What is he your ward?"

"No-"

"Stark's son," Y/N interject. She's bitter alright.

Strange lift his gaze from where she was sitting on the ceiling. Looking confused, "Your looks don't resemble."

"Exactly! cause I don't have a brother and I am nobody's daughter." her feet swaying back and forth as she answers and it echoes all around the ship.

"Please don't mind her that's not true. I'm Peter by the way."

"Dr. Strange."

"Oh you're using made-up names, I'm Spiderman then."

"Y/N can you please go down, you might get yourself hurt up there." Tony pleads.

"You said you two can handle it. I'll just stay here thank you for the concern, but no thank you."

She watches them on her spot, not really paying attention to what they're saying but she senses Strange and Stark's topic was serious.

Y/N was acting like a slightly drunk lady, that's what the others' observations were, but she wasn't. She's just sleepy and she acts cranky when she does. And she's missing her guy who at the moment might be pissed at her because of her sudden disappearance. Oh, Bucky... I could use a hug...

After their conversation, Tony approached Peter, and like what the highest person does to proclaim a knight, he does it with Peter along with the lines of 'You're an Avenger now.'

Letting the guy recover from his shock she calls him, the kid met her gaze. "I hold no grudge, really."

Parker was having second thoughts on her statement either it was a half-hearted claim or not, regardless he answered. "Thanks." giving her a shy smile and Y/N returning a tight-lipped smile.

***

"Mr. Stark, I don't want to go.. I don't want to."

Y/N stared at them as she sit on the ground, tired and weary. She doesn't need to ask them what it felt to disappear, she herself can feel it inside of her. That weird feeling seemed hard to explain.

Witnessing this moment in front of her shattered the little part of her heart left. That should be her in his father's arms, that should be her having that last moment with him before she disappear-but no. It's always Peter.

At that moment she felt numb, as a lone tear made its way down her cheek. She never thought that she'll welcome death open arms. Y/N is done, she knew that.

"Sorry..." was the last word Peter uttered before he turned into dust.

Good riddance.

The older Stark can't still register what happened so when he turned his head, his eyes looking for a certain someone. He was filled with dread when he didn't found her.

"Y/N?"

"He did it." Nebula stated pertaining to Thanos that his plan on wiping half of the planet has begun.

Now that it was all sinking into him, he can't help but blame himself for not doing his job in stopping that grape titan, and maybe if he wasn't an asshole enough to his daughter, maybe he still has her in his arms like when she was still a baby. He was a complete dick towards her. It was all coming back to him, all the times they had been together.

It broke his heart when he watched her ran to her room that day. He can't speak because his pride was fighting off his conscience. He didn't want to see her cry, and the idea that it was his fault for making her leave dreaded him. He tried to follow her to Wakanda but he was afraid she might ignore her, afraid of the instances that might happen if he does one wrong move. Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were his only contact on asking how Y/N has been and their answers were always the same.

Peter and Y/N were almost alike, maybe that's the reason why in doing so his relationship with her drifted.

If only he'd stopped Y/N from leaving maybe this wouldn't have happened. If only he didn't sign the accords maybe things didn't change the way they were...

If only...

a/n: i'm really sorry for the crappy plot..

#tony x reader #tony stark x reader #tony x daughter!reader #father #fanfic #avengers #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #winter solider x you #iron man x reader #steve rogers #avengers x reader #marvel angst #Fluff #infinity war #avengers endgame #Age of ultron #daughter #x reader #steve rodgers x reader #steve x reader #bruce banner #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x stark!reader

[aromanticautobot]

Uhh fanfic time? Just joined Tumblr today, trying out some stuff. This is a quick oneshot.

This takes place right after the events of Orion Pax, when Optimus returns with his memories. Angst and hurt, sad stuff. Optimus and Ratchet are lovers in this.

It wasn't difficult to tell when Ratchet was upset. He was very expressive, from his tone to the smallest of his movements. Optimus had known him for a very, very long time, and had learned how to determine his medic's mood simply by watching his servos move, or the swivel of his hips as he turned around, or the way he would set his jaw.

He could tell now that Ratchet was very upset.

Ratchet was not vocalizing his feelings, which caught Optimus off guard. He was very vocal about his emotions when he was with Optimus. Not now, however.

From his seat on a workbench, he watched Ratchet work. The base was quiet, it was late, they were the last two up. When he lovingly embraced his medic and invited him to their berth, Ratchet had brushed it off harshly and ignored his further presence.

This was strange.

Ratchet had been overjoyed when he came home, his memories in tact, finally safe and with his friends and family. Everyone had welcomed him back so happily, and he was so spellbound by the warmth, he had failed to notice how Ratchet's mood seemed to decline as the night progressed. By the time everyone had retreated to their berths, Ratchet had become quiet and bitter.

Optimus, his elbows resting on his knees, and his servos supporting his chin, observed Ratchet closely. His shoulders were tense- stressed. His servos were unsteady and shaky- pained. His digits pounded at the keyboard harder than necessary- angry.

After his analyzation, Optimus concluded that Ratchet was conflicted and hurt.

Now was the time to approach him.

He rose slowly, the bench creaking as his weight left it. Ratchet's unsteady typing didn't falter. Venting quietly, he strode over to his medic, moving to stand beside him at the monitor. He sensed a tremor in Ratchet's tense plating. He reached out to soothe it, to stroke and massage those tense shoulders, but Ratchet moved away from him and uttered a stern, "No, Optimus."

His first attempt rejected, Optimus hesitated a moment to rethink his follow up. "Ratchet, will you please speak to me?" He asked in a quiet, gentle voice, as if he were addressing an aggressive stallion that could charge him any moment. Ratchet's servos stilled on the keyboard, but his optics still didn't meet Optimus'. "Please? I know you are. . . Upset." He inwardly cringed. He had made another mistake.

"Did the Wisdom of the Primes tell you that? Did the Matrix tell you that I was upset, or was it your keen librarian instincts?" Ratchet snapped.

His second attempt was also a failure. Optimus stopped himself from sighing out loud. "I didn't mean-"

"No no, please, continue to analyze me. How upset am I? Am I angry?" The rise in his voice made Optimus glance at the door warily- he didn't want any of the others to wake and investigate. Still, Ratchet didn't meet his optics.

"I didn't mean to assume, though I do believe my assumption- my speculation is accurate. You are not pleased with me. Will you please tell me why?" Optimus' voice stayed quiet still.

Ratchet didn't answer him, only stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

"I speculate," Optimus watched him closely, "That I have hurt you in some way, and that you are angry with me."

There was a pause.

"Ratchet, please." He closed his optics and inhaled. "This has been hard for me, Ratchet. I am afraid of what may have happened while I was on the Nemesis. I am afraid of what will follow." His tanks churned at the thought. "I feel that I've lost a part of me." He waited through a silence, basking in it, drowning in the heavy atmosphere. He had thought that maybe opening up to Ratchet would be the answer, but evidently-

"You feel that you've lost a part of you." Ratchet's voice brought him to open his optics. He was surprised with what he found.

All of the angry energy that had practically been rolling off of Ratchet's frame was gone. Instead, he sagged, looking weak and sad. Optimus' spark froze when he saw the tears rolling down Ratchet's cheeks.

A joyless laugh left Ratchet. "You were really going to leave me. You didn't have a second thought about it, did you?" He looked at Optimus, his tear streaked face burning a hole through his Prime. "You aren't the only one who lost a part of himself."

Optimus stared at him, absolutely clueless. That seemed to aggravate Ratchet.

The medic turned to fully face him, his fury replenished. "You really have no recollection? You have no idea what this is about?"

"Ratchet, I-"

"No, I don't want to hear it!" A fresh round of tears made it down Ratchet's cheeks, and he turned away to pace back and forth, not unlike a caged tiger. "Optimus, you went to Unicron, FULLY BELIEVING that you wouldn't be returning home. You gave the keycard to Jack because of it. You KNEW that something bad would happen to you, you KNEW that you wouldn't be coming back."

Optimus stood, silent and helpless, listening. Everything Ratchet had said thus far was true. What was his point?

"You knew all of this. . . And you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me that it would've been the last time we ever spoke. We are fragging LOVERS, Optimus, and you couldn't even spare me a 'goodbye'. A 'I love you and I'm sorry that I have to do this.' You were going to leave me without saying ANYTHING to me. You were going to walk out and give your life for Earth and I would never have known until it was too late." Ratchet was sobbing now, covering his mouth to stifle the sounds, his pacing halted. "I was going to lose you. You didn't even think to tell me that I'd never see you again. Why? Was I. . ." He lowered his servos to look into Optimus' optics, his face wet, his frame trembling. "Was I not important enough?"

Optimus took a step towards him and he flinched away. "Ratchet. . ." He whispered, spark aching. He wanted to grab his medic and hold him so badly, he shook with the effort of holding back.

"I love you more than anything, I'd do anything for you," Ratchet choked through sobs, "You didn't. . . You don't love me enough to say goodbye before leaving me forever?"

Optimus tried again to approach him, and Ratchet turned on his heel, fleeing to the hallway. The sound of his door closing and locking echoed through Optimus' helm, like a bell, a powerful sound that sent a pang of hurt straight to his spark.

I hope you enjoyed? I'm TheEnchantedQuill on AO3, check my work out!

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