#maybe if i scream enough fic ideas into the void

[bingbong21]

Me grappling with the fact Buddy Daddies may push me to write a SamaIchi fic: 

#hypnosis mic #samaichi #ヒプノシスマイク #ヒプマイク #writing #fanfiction #this is not me being upset at writing for it btw #this is me being upset my brain produces ideas like a fucking rabbit #maybe if i scream enough fic ideas into the void #the void will answer back

[dreamingnights]

Subtle games (part 1)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Author's note: this fic is based on the idea about Larissa and an innocent clumsy adorable Reader. English isn't my first language, so sorry for any mistakes! Enjoy, I hope you like it!!!

Warnings: none.

Y/N couldn't walk. The gray monsters were chasing her through the long passageways of Nevermore and her legs weren't moving fast enough to escape from their shadows. She could even feel the warm breath of the creatures at the nape of her neck just before she fell into an absolute void.

Her own screams woke her up but Y/N quickly realized that she was perfectly safe in her room's comfortable big bed. She had had another nightmare. When she calmed down she turned her head and tried to decipher with half-closed eyes the time her clock showed. Half past seven, she thought. Half past seven! She was going to be late for the staff meeting again. Y/N quickly sat up, cleaned herself up and put on her academy uniform at lightning speed. She left her room slamming the door and went down the stairs -two at a time- until she reached the small kitchen next to the meeting room, where she quickly made herself a strong coffee. At the precise moment when she was about to enter the adjoining room, where the weekly session was held, someone closed the door in front of her and the content of the coffee cup fell down due to the loud bang. When she saw the huge brown stain on her new shirt Y/N cursed outloud. However, she thought it was better to show up like that than to change clothes again, arrive embarrassingly late and make a fool of herself in front of her imposing boss. So, Y/N gathered all her courage and opened the heavy door to the office.

Nine serious faces stared at her from their seats. They were all the teachers of Nevermore, the school for outcasts. Y/N was the newest addition and she taught art and literature classes. She, like all of her students and mates, also had special powers. In her case, she was able to fleetingly give life to her own creations, something that could turn out to be her best dream and also her worst nightmare when her characters returned to their original inert state on the blank page of a book.

Nevermore's headmistress was Larissa Weems, a tall woman with platinum hair who wore a very elegant green suit. As usual she was the one who was in charge of the meeting.

- You're late again, Miss Y/L/N. -Larissa sighed. Later she looked at her stained uniform and drew an incredulous smile. -You have a curious sense of aesthetics. Anyway, take a seat.

- I'm sorry, Miss Weems. It will not happen again. -A blushed and hyperventilated Y/N sat next to Mr. Vlad, the fencing coach.

During the course of the meeting Y/N gradually regained her composure and then explained the challenges posed by the new semester at the academy. Y/N could even see an almost imperceptible smile forming on Larissa's lips as she listened to her attentively. Or maybe she was imagining it again, Y/N thought to herself. She had to get the diligent headmistress out of her mind once and for all because if she didn't her vivid imagination would play tricks on her again. Despite being aware that her crush on Larissa was almost certainly platonic and unrequited, she couldn't help but be enthralled when looking at her. Her incredible height, her silhouette, her cold eyes and her red smile haunted her every day like the monsters in her nightmares. And she couldn't escape from her either.

-Miss Y/L/N. What do you think? I'm very interested to know your opinion on this matter. -Larissa's soft voice brought Y/N out of her fantasies.

Wow, it's time to improvise again, Y/N reflected. She knew that they were still talking about the same topic and used her ingenuity to try to get out of the situation.

- You have a golden beak, Y/N. -Larissa praised her, showing off her perfect pearly teeth. -Your wisdom and inventiveness never cease to amaze me.

Hearing the compliment that came from Larissa's lips, Y/N couldn't help but blush and emit a sincere and wide smile at the same time. This reaction did not go unnoticed by the headmistress, who found it tremendously moving. Larissa suddenly looked at her companions and radically changed the subject. She couldn't be so unprofessional and show that deep down the young teacher Y/N Y/L/N was her little weakness.

After an hour of proposals and debates Larissa ended the meeting. Y/N was about to leave the room when she noticed the shadow of the tall woman closing over her.

- Y/N, could I speak to you in private? -Larissa asked politely as she tilted her head.

The young woman got lost in the woman's blue gaze and once again she had to rid those longing fantasies away from her mind. After all, it was a passing infatuation resulting from her dreamy nature.

When the two women were left alone in the large office, Larissa gently placed one of her long hands on Y/N's shoulder, who seemed to perceive a tender admiration in the headmistress' eyes. Suddenly, Y/N noticed a certain electric tension in the air and thought it was strange that her bodies were so close in such an empty room.

- I always appreciate your original point of view, Y/N. Thank you for helping me make this school a better place for the entire Nevermore family. -Larissa spoke those words lovingly as her hand rested on Y/N's shoulder. - And in case you didn't know, you are wearing your jacket backwards.

Y/N got a goofy smile etched on her face. How was it possible that she had not noticed this detail? She was sure Larissa thought she was a total mess.

Although for Y/N the day had only just begun.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #principal weems #gwendoline christie #wednesday

[ghouljams]

First off, I am in LOVE with your writing. Like managing to put all these characters into pretty drastically different worlds/situations AND keeping a consistent and accurate characterization is INSANELY impressive. Maybe it's just cause I'm bad at characterization myself but it's just so admirable. And all the darlings being their own characters makes it so much more fun cause it leads to actually interesting dynamics between them instead of just "Big man, small woman" or whatever lol.

Second off, I am on my knees begging for more price&price content. I love them and I want to see more of their dynamic SO BAD. Also I'd love to see the demon girlies interacting with each other. Like do they know each other from earlier? Does their partners rank affect how they interact with each other? Do they have their own ranking in the demon world? Also I want to know if Luck actually got in trouble with/because of demon Price. ALSO also, I just read the miracle thingy (sorry can't remember titles it's 2:28) with Luck and Gaz and an idea popped into my head of demon Price teaching Luck some basics in "Defending Your Man TM". (Also patiently waiting for when you feel like posting 1fae1 again cause I love them 💕)

Now I will bid you good night and ACTUALLY try to sleep cause I have work in the morning 😭.

There's no better compliment than to be told my characterization is good. I could scream over that. I am screaming over it. Thank you!! I'm gonna answer 2 of your questions and also write you some Price/Price fic.

Does their partners rank affect how they interact with each other? Yes, significantly. Price(demon) is serving the captain of the other demons' handlers, so she functions as their superior officer.

Do they have their own ranking in the demon world? Yes again! The demons ranks in hell translate directly to military ranks so it's easy for them to slot in to the human military. This doesn't always mean that their rank is functional in the hierarchy of the human military, but it gives context to their skills and ability levels. It's fortunate that Price(demon) has the highest rank out of the demons on base, but even if she didn't Price's(human) rank means the demons have to listen to her.

"So," Price starts, not looking up from the paperwork on his desk, "Gaz is toting a civvie around." You wince at the mountain of questions he isn't asking. You have your own paperwork you're sifting through. Clearance levels, transfer requests, a letter to Luck's previous superior, several more letters of justification for her station. Promises to keep her close and make sure she never distributes her gifts to anyone but Gaz. Luck's a smart cookie, but this is just... moronic.

"More like toting around an analyst," You grumble, "at least Luck got through basic before being relegated to desk duty." You scratch your head with a sigh, you need at least ten more justifications for Luck's station. Not that anyone can touch her with a contract already bound.

"Anything you need from me?" Price signs a form, sets it in the out box on his desk. You shake your head, there will be papers for him to sign of course, but currently you're on your own. You've been on the other side of this enough times, reading the letters other soldiers send down when a huge mistake is made, you know what to write. It's just the mountain of other problems this brings. Someone has to pay for this.

"Void my contract so I can shove this off on someone else?" You suggest.

"Not happening," You can hear the smile in Price's voice. Stupid, fond, man. You look up from your work to watch him staple a handful of papers together, picking up and setting down his cigar onto his ashtray as needed. You long pause of silence makes him look over at you, pausing his own work, "What?"

"Just thinking," You hum, "We're a good team."

"Agreed," He sets his cigar down, pushes back from his desk, and leans back in his chair. It's your favorite invitation, his hand settled on his thick thigh rubbing his military issue fatigues. You're quick to get up from the small couch in the corner of his office to take his hand's place. His arm wraps around your back, his hand grips your thigh to pull your legs over one arm of his desk chair. "Let's hear what you're thinking," The tone of his command is soft, but it's an order you can't help following.

"Would you ever take a position as a demon? Even if it meant serving under me?" You don't know, can't say for certain, what rank hell would offer him, but it wouldn't be far off to think he'd be working with you.

"Sweetheart I serve under you at least once a day, can't see how it'd be any different in hell." Price leans his elbow against your knee, his cheek against his fist. He raises his brows in amusement as you shake your head. He thinks he's clever.

"You're funny," You tell him. Price hums.

"You mind tellin' the boys that?" He turns back to his work, "Maybe they'll actually laugh at one of my jokes if they hear you're-"

"What? Threatening them?" You laugh.

"Wouldn't bloody hurt," He grumbles, and you laugh harder.

#cod x reader #demon!darlings au #oc: Price #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price #john price x oc #john price mw2 #Their relationship is so good I truly love them #I know this is an older ask but I have been thinking about it #the demons loosely know each other pre-141

[the-kr8tor]

Hii, this is my first time requesting, but I had a cute fluff idea I wanted to give.

I really wanna see hobie and Crowely having like some kind of truce. like for example, reader is busy with work or wtv, giving neither hobie nor crowely any attention, so they kinda join forces to get readers attention and its all cute and stuff. Yk just something light and sweet.

Hope you like this ❤️

Thank you for the request! Any request with the cats is a favourite of mine 🥰 hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF

The cats are based on this fic

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie watches you from the bedroom's doorway, hands on his hip, sighing deeply. You look up from your laptop propped on your knees, the blanket providing a thin barrier between your legs and the warmth of the computer. Your back aches from the position, the pillow you use to prop yourself up is not helping your posture, you hear your neck creak when you look at Hobie through tired eyes.

"You okay?" You say, throat scratchy.

"Am I okay? Love, you've been in the same position since I left, did you even take a break?"

Crowley appears behind Hobie's legs, meowing in agreement, he's been trying to get your attention since you sat down. But alas you need to finish this paper before midnight or your grade will tank. You've only taken a few five minute breaks for when you absolutely needed to, like when you need to feed the cats, go to the bathroom, and scream into the void, (aka your pillow)

Crumpet and Teacup gave up seeking your attention hours ago. Tea has never left your side though, curling herself next to your warm laptop. You can see a glimpse of Crumpet lounging in her cat condo through the open door.

Crowley has been an absolute menace, crawling over your laptop, making you guiltily move him away. He paws at you, meowing for a second of your attention. You give him quick pets, but that seemed to not be enough for him.

Now Crowley has an ally, Hobie tilts his head at you questioningly, Crowley copies his movements, making you raise your brow. Sometimes you think Crowley is actually a human trapped in a cat's body. His action makes you go back to your little conspiracy theory.

"Did he just copy you?" You ask, bewildered.

"You're avoiding the question," Hobie takes a few steps towards the foot of the bed, leaning with both hands over the soft mattress. Crowley does the same, swiftly jumping next to your covered feet. He meows loudly. "Your lips are bloody cracked!" Hobie squints his eyes, looking at your dry lips, you would've gotten flustered with his staring but his concern makes you look up at him apologetically.

Crowley looks at Hobie for a second before squinting his emerald eyes back to you. He clearly agrees with Hobie.

" 'm sorry, I did take breaks, promise! I just really need to finish this before the deadline, I'm only a few words behind the word count needed" you bat your eyes prettily at Hobie, his eyes soften, you slyly smile victoriously.

Crowley seems to notice Hobie falling for your tactic, he puts his paw over Hobie's hand, looking up at him. They have a silent conversation, you question reality, maybe you are severely dehydrated. Crowley has never initiated touch towards Hobie, he never even goes near him, always staring at him with narrowed eyes and an angry mewl.

You notice they're in a truce. Hobie nods his head at Crowley while the demon spawn looks back at you, adorable face looking down smugly. You look at them confused at what they're planning.

"You said you're only a few words behind, right?" You nod, fingers itching to type again, Hobie continues "it's only half past nine, you have enough time to complete it. C'mon stretch your legs for me" Hobie moves to your side, trying to flip away the blanket, but you stay glued to it. Teacup stretches next to you, ignoring the conversation before going back to sleep. Sometimes you wish you were a cat instead.

"I can't, I still have to proofread and edit it" you pout your lips "I'll stretch after" you cup his jaw, pressing a sweet kiss on his lips, Hobie completely melts at your touch. Crowley looks at him judgingly. If only cats could roll their eyes, Crowley would be rolling them right now.

"Fine" Hobie sighs, giving up "but you need to drink some water, yeah? I'll bring it to you" he stands up, Crowley stares at him, meowing softly, he swears that was a scoff. "Don't look at me like that, you would've fallen for it too"

You barely registered the interaction, your attention now back to your work, the words swirling around, typing up a storm.

Hobie brings you a glass, you quickly gulp it down, going back to work, sparing only a quick thanks to Hobie. The faster you finish it, the sooner you can get back to your boys.

Hobie lays down next to you a few minutes later, now in clean and comfy clothes. He doesn't want to bother you while you're focused so instead of cuddling, he sighs, bringing his long leg over yours, closing his eyes, waiting for sleep. Well if you can't beat them join them right?

Crowley has one last idea to get your attention. As you type away, you don't notice the black void walking between you and Hobie, he curls up next to his neck, purring loudly. He waits for you to notice.

Hobie savors the rare affection from Crowley, knowing that it's him right away through his familiar purring that he only hears when Crowley cuddles up next to you.

Hours later, You still haven't noticed them, hands almost cramping, you finish the final proofread and edit, sending it a few minutes before the deadline. You smile and stretch your aching back and arms, closing the laptop victoriously.

You look to your left, Teacup still asleep, spread out over your blanket, through the open door you see Crumpet take a stroll in your flat, you tilt your head at what she's doing up this late. You gesture for her to get in bed next to you, she happily trots up, jumping to your right, you follow her movements. She lies between you and Hobie, mirroring Tea's position.

You glance up at Hobie's sleeping face, the sight takes your breath away, Crowley sleeps peacefully next to Hobie's neck, curled around himself. Hobie's face is right on top of Crowley's fur, snuggling into him.

You clutch your chest at how adorable the scene is, you quietly take your phone from the nightstand, making sure the camera's shutter is on silent and the flash off. You must've taken a hundred pictures of them, you have a huge grin on your lips, eyes sparkling, finally they've warmed up to each other after months of them bickering (mostly on Crowley's part)

You sigh longingly wanting to be a part of their little cuddle pile. You realize you can, so you take your devices over to the side table, slowly and quietly sliding down to lay next to them, careful not to wake them. Looking at Hobie's face, you can't help but press a quick kiss on his forehead, wishing he has a good dream. You close your eyes, content.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #spider punk #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fluff #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #atsv x reader #fanfic #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x gn! reader #spider punk x you

[vibratingskull]

The heart has its reasons

It's my part of the art exchange with @germie2037 ! A sweet lil fic with Thrawn and his dear daughter ❤️

Thrawn & Daughter!reader

Thrawn is focused on his datapad, reading reports and accounts when he hears the front door opens, this could only be you  coming back from school. 

“Hello cssapusi, how was your-” 

He doesn’t even have time to finish his greeting you furiously climb the stairs and slam your bedroom door only to scream with all your might. You throw your school bag on your desk, throw your shoes in a random corner and fall face first on your bed, burying your head in your pillow to scream some more. As your scream dies down you hear a gentle knock on your door. 

“Cssapusi? Are you alright?” Thrawn asks. 

Your response is muffled by the pillow. 

“I enter.” He announces. 

You sigh as you hear your door open and the steps of your father entering your bedroom to approach your bed. You feel his warm hand gently caressing your shoulder and his melodious voice resonates in the room. 

“What is happening Cssapusi? Why are you upset?” He asks tenderly. 

Your snarl and raise your head rageously. 

“She was holding the hand of a boy!!!” 

And you bury back your head right away. 

“Who was holding the hand of a boy?” He insists gently. 

You turn your head to him frowning. Who could you be talking about but the one and only ! The one you always harp on days and nights!! HER! 

His mind flashes at the same second. 

“Oh... Her.” He nods comprehensively and sits down on the edge of your bed, “And how does that make you feel?” 

“How do you thing it makes me feel, dad?! I am heartbroken!! How dares she?!” 

You take two fistfulls of your pillow and screams in it, letting all of your rage go away, kicking your legs in the matress. Your father lets you express yourself, letting you calm down on your own terms, silently waiting for you to be disposed to talk. 

You let out another long sigh like a deflating balloon, tired to agitate yourself like that. 

“What am I going to become...?” You lament. 

“An accomplished adult.” 

“Without her, dad! What will I become without her?!” 

“You could remain friends.” He proposes. 

“And see her everyday make doe eyes to that idiot?! NEVER!” You decide. 

“Are you furious because she is with someone else or because she is with a boy?” He investigates. 

You hiss in response, greeting your teeth at the memory of the stupidly blissfull smile that idiot boy has on his face holding her hand... 

“Dad... How do you seduce a girl?” You finally ask at the end of your rope. 

“I have no idea, cssapusi.” He responds compassionate. 

You frown. 

“How did you seduced mom?” You insist. 

His gaze seems to fix the void, like he is seriously thinking. 

“I... Have no clue.” 

You raise your eyebrows high, incredulous. 

“You have no clue how you and mom ended up together?” 

“...I have none.” He sounds as flabbergasted as you are as if it just hit him, “She appeared in my life and never left my side from that day on.” 

“Dad... You’re so useless sometimes...” you lets him know. 

“I am sorry cssapusi. Heart matters are not really my strong suits.” 

You bury back your face in your pillow with a broken sob. 

“What will I do now? I can’t live without her...” 

“She didn’t die. She just found love.” He tries. 

“Yes, thank you, I noticed! That’s kind the problem here!” You groan. 

“You are so young cssapusi. Way too young to trouble yourself with heart matters.” He encourages you, “You will forget her.” 

“I don’t wanna!” 

Thrawn sighs lightly, comforting was never an easy thing for him, but he always tries for you. 

“Maybe she will forget him one day, maybe your relationship will grow into something else, or maybe you will simply remain good friends and that is also for the best, trust me.” 

“Friends is not enough!” You complain, spoiled. 

“You never have too much friends in life, I know it first hand. Cherish what you have with her right now, and let time operate.” He invites softly. 

“I’m not strong enough to let her go, dad...” 

“Of course you are. You will grow, mature and be able to look back with a warm heart on those childhood flings.” 

You breath through your nose, calming your beating heart slowly, listening to your dad trying to appease your wounds. 

“Do you truly love her?” He invastigates. 

“Yes!” You don’t even think about it, the response is obvious. 

It doesn’t matter that you are both gremlins of 12 years old, you are in love with her! 

“Then you will find the strenght to let her go.” He assures softly then you see pain quickly flash in his red shiny eyes “As I did...” 

You look into your dad’s eyes, silent, compassionate... 

“Are you sure?” You ask with a little voice, “It hurts really bad...” 

“I have full confidence you will my darling.” He smiles soflty, any pain vanished from his eyes to let place to a clear and assured gaze, “You are a strong girl, you will outgrow any pain and obstacle. And when you reach adulthood you will find someone for you, a nice woman that waited for you as much as you waited for her.” 

“Someone smart?” 

“Of course... And maybe it is why it did not work out with her.” 

“What do you mean dad?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“If she was not smart enough to realize what great person you are, maybe you two were not meant to be together.” He patiently explains. 

You pause, thinking about it for a moment. 

“You think?” You sniff pathetically. 

“I am convinced, cssapusi.” He caresses your shoulder tenderly, “You’ll find a smart and witty woman who can keep up with you and your day will be infenitely brighter.” 

You smile weakly, burying back the tears behind your eyes. 

“Thank you dad.” 

“You are welcome cheo Ch’eo k’eten. Are you feeling better?” 

“A bit.” You nod. 

You curl up, bringing your knees to your chest, trapping a plushie against you with a sad but also relieved sigh. 

And then... 

“Hold on!” You stick your tongue out, “Why should I took your advices seriously if you don’t know anything about those matters, huh?” 

And you see your father’s shoulders lowering dramatically in complete defeat, making you explode laughing. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

[soliloquent-stark]

roses of restraint by oliver ler marinkoski, originally posted on tumblr by @saucetell but i didn't want to hog their post with my delusions

writers, assemble! (or if someone were to draw the scene instead i would not be opposed)

i am calling out for all stevetony writers because i need this concept as a fic ASAP and i know i would never do it justice so if someone would please please please please put my beautiful perfect favourite middle aged man �� tony — in these intricate delicate gold rope restrains adorned with roses — i will sell you my soul

bonus points if it's handmade by tony, maybe based on a drawing steve made of him and he wants to make his fantasy come true so he spends hours in his lab recreating and designing and molding all this gold with his hands knowing full well that materials alone cost a couple hundred thousand dollars but it's all worth it

or perhaps it's actually steve who created it because he takes an interest in sculpting and ends up making all of these roses and before he even knows what he's doing he's suddenly got this whole rope of them that represents both roughness and beauty, masculinity and femininity, strength and vulnerability, constraint and obedience and he knows who is a manifestation of all those traits: tony

for this second idea, extra bonus points again if they're not even a thing romantically but somehow steve just goes and gifts it to him because he's unbashful and brave and earnest and thinks it would look nice on him

i am. feeling things. i need this. please

ps. i can totally also envision steve wearing it; my brain went to tony first but there's something about the metal being strong enough to maybe actually restrain steve (vibranium-gold alloy, perhaps? which would also be a meaningful representation of iron man and captain america coming together but i digress) and the gold would contrast his pale skin so nicely and bring out his unfairly blue eyes and his constantly flushed lips—

so yeah; either way works

maybe i will write it myself one day but most likely not but at least i got to scream this into the void and you can all have these vivid mental images now because they were worth sharing

#stevetony core #i beg #the aesthetic is divine #tony my beloved #stevie baby #stony #stevetony #stony meta

[myhandisfatemywordislaw]

what if Brian was Bertie? find out in this fanfiction..

credit to @dripping-void for the initial idea

claustrophobia is a running theme of this fic. I do not have claustrophobia so let me know if I portrayed it badly but I did my best

Bertie had always been a little claustrophobic. Before, it hadn’t been much of a problem; a slight tightening of his chest in a lift, a quickening of breath in a crowd, but usually he could avoid situations he knew would be stressful or push down his fear long enough to get through it. But now? Trapped in the endless twisting tunnels every second of every day, the oppressive, humid air thick with the stench of death choking him, the rough walls seeming to close around him, at every moment terrified they would collapse and he would be trapped, buried alive with no-one to help him, Bertie couldn’t tolerate it anymore. Being with Tim helped, but even he had to tackle Bertie to the ground and hold him tight as he struggled while the others helped cover them in lead in microwave attacks. Dimly Bertie knew that being cooked alive was a far worse fate, but no amount of reassurance from Tim could stave off the inevitable panic attacks as he was trapped in a space even more confined than usual, bodies pressed desperately against each other until Bertie wanted to scream. So yes, he knew it was stupid and dangerous as he clawed his way to the surface like an infected ant, distantly he knew he could die, probably would die for his moment of madness and desperation, but he couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t spend another moment trapped down there. When he finally crawled out onto the dusty surface, desperately gasping air and crying with relief, he was trapped inside a bulky spacesuit he’d stolen so he wouldn’t immediately die (he wasn’t completely stupid, after all) but he hardly cared. He was free.

When the shell detonated, blowing chunks of rock from the earth and kicking up a ferocious dust cloud, Bertie suddenly found himself soaring away into space, and he thought vaguely that it seemed appropriate, it seemed right. Parts of the suit melted against his skin, burning then freezing the skin beneath. The Moon grew smaller beneath him; the force of the powerful bombshell could easily overcome its weak gravity. As Bertie lost consciousness, he made peace with his death; he just wished he could say goodbye. I’m sorry, Tim, he thought, as darkness flooded his vision.

When Bertie awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was lying in a hard white bed, parts of his body covered in thick white gauze. He looked around; the thick, heavy metal door suggested vacuum sealing. Was he in a pressurised dome on the Moon? No, that was stupid, the Moon Kaiser controlled those. Where, then? The room gently thrummed with energy; an engine? Was this a spaceship? That seemed the most likely. Why was here? He’d only been on a spaceship once before, when he was deployed to the Moon. Maybe they were taking him home again? His heart jumped in his chest, and he barely dared to hope. But where was Tim? He didn’t want to go home without Tim.

The door opened with a hiss of air, and someone entered.

“Hello,” they said softly. “I’m Everett. What’s your name?”

“Bertie,” he whispered. He swallowed thickly, realising how dry his throat was. “Where…” his head throbbed as he trailed off, looking around.

“You’re on a spaceship, Bertie. I’m afraid we’re quite far from where we picked you up now. It looked like there was some kind of war, and we had to get out before the ship got damaged any more. We’re going to stop on a planet for supplies soon though. For now, you should probably get some rest.” They smiled warmly and Bertie nodded.

“Okay,” he replied quietly, feeling very small and very tired, and he quickly fell asleep again.

He awoke to the sound of distant panicked shouting.

“What do you mean the front thrusters won’t fire?”

“I mean they were damaged and you kept putting off the full ship review so we haven’t had time to find and fix it, and now they won’t fire at full power, so we can’t slow down!”

“Can’t we just pull away from the surface again then?”

“No, we’re too close and don’t have enough fuel. We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing any of us can do!”

“No, there has to be something! What if we spin the ship around and use the rear thrusters?”

“Not enough time, not enough time!”

“There must be something we can do!”

“We are doing everything we can!”

“We’re out of time!”

A violent impact jolted through the whole ship and the metal screamed as it twisted and failed, and Bertie’s head slammed into the metal wall of the ship, and he passed out. Again.

He awoke gradually. When he touched his head, his fingers came away covered in blood. He stood slowly, leaning heavily on the metal wall, his legs shaking, and made his way to the exit. As he crawled through the warped metal, he tried not to think about the tightness in his chest. Where was he? Was it a spaceship? When he fell, gasping for breath, into the open air, he saw that he had been right; a small spaceship, its front half crumpled in the small crater in which it lay.

“Who are you?” someone called. He turned to see them, a person standing several metres away and looking at him and the spaceship with a look of disgust.

“I… I don’t…” he started to respond.

“What’s your name?” the person continued harshly, stepping forward. He stumbled backwards slightly.

“I…” he hesitated. What was his name? Who was he? His head throbbed painfully when he tried to think. He thought his name might have started with a B. Had it been Bob? Billy, maybe? “…Brian?” he said uncertainly. It sounded unfamiliar in his mouth, he didn’t think that was quite right either, but it would have to do for now.

Brian, as he now called himself, became obsessed with figuring out how the ship he had arrived in worked and took it apart and put it back together over and over, then began to wonder how he could create something new with it. The others of this planet did not care for technology, but he couldn’t let go of this; it was all that remained of where he had come from.

When they threw him into the sky, it seemed right to him, it seemed natural, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying as his skin began to freeze. Hadn’t this happened before? A name dragged itself to the front of his mind. Tim. It wasn’t his name, he knew that, but it was important, he was sure of that. Who are you, Tim? he thought as he lost himself to the encroaching cold.

It took a while for Brian come to terms with his new self. He didn’t look like himself at all; his face had already been scarred when he reached the planet, and Carmilla had been forced to approximate what he looked like from frozen flesh already damaged beyond recognition, and he couldn’t see any of his own features in the mirror anymore. His heart all that was left of him, locked inside a metal prison, and whenever he thought about it too long he began to feel trapped and claustrophobic, until he wanted to tear out his heart, just so it could be free.

“We have to save him.” Brian said firmly, with no room for argument.

“What- why? Why do you care?” Jonny replied irritably.

“He could be- he could be fun. He’s very good with guns,” Brian cast around for what might interest Jonny enough to agree. “He’s- he kills people, that’s fun, isn’t it?” Brian was so glad he was in ends-justify-means, so he could tell himself that saving this life was worth it compared to the hypothetical life that might be lost as a result. How could he tell the others, how could he tell Jonny his real reason that he wanted, that he needed this man to live. Looking down at him, even with his eyes burnt out, Brian knew this was his Tim, he was sure of it. He couldn’t remember who he was or why he needed him to live so badly, but he knew it was important, more important to him than he could ever remember anything being.

When Tim awoke and joined the crew, Brian burned with the longing for his touch, and when Tim spoke it dredged up a distant memory of Tim holding him and whispering reassurances. But it was like Tim looked straight through him, seeing nothing but a stranger.

Tim was quietly stalking an octokitten to prank Jonny with when he heard small, hitched breaths from behind a door, like someone trying very hard not to be heard. Abandoning his task, he crept closer, and carefully opened the door. It was Brian, curled up on the floor and quietly crying.

Static filled Brian’s ears and his vision glitched and blurred as he desperately gasped for breath with an awful mechanical wheezing, his hands clutched over his heart, trapped inside the metal cage that was his body. He was trapped again and he didn’t know what to do this time, his existence a prison. Vaguely, he thought someone might be talking.

“-ian? Brian? Are you- are you okay?” Tim’s blurred face was filled with concern and his hand hovered near Brian’s face, unsure whether touching him would help. Brian made the decision for him, grabbing his hand and pressing it against his cheek as he sobbed.

“Brian, what’s wrong?”

“I- I- I’m scared- can you hold me? like- like before,” Brian responded jerkily through gasping breaths. With that, he buried his face in Tim’s neck.

“Like before?” What did that mean? Tim thought back over his time on the Aurora, he had barely even touched Brian, let alone hugged him. But- well- wasn’t there something familiar about him? Something about his mannerisms, the way he carried himself, the way he walked, the smile he seemed to save just for Tim. “Bertie?” he breathed, hardly daring to hope.

Bertie. Yes, that seemed right, like it had been on the tip of his tongue yet just out of reach for all these years. “Yes,” he whispered. Bertie raised his head and looked with tear-stained metal eyes into Tim’s own mechanical eyes. Tim wrapped his other arm around his head and pulled him closer and they kissed, metal colliding with flesh.

#if you noticed timeline inconsistencies shhh no you didn’t they’re the mechs they can move through time in whatever direction they want #it works trust me #not totally happy with the ending. but oh well #bertie #gunpowder tim #drumbot brian #briantim #timbertie #my fanfiction #fanfiction #the mechanisms #cringed so hard trying to proofread it. hopefully it reads as less cringe to you guys #dragon.txt

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 11 - Rebuild What's Broken

Summary: Joel busies himself until the gates of Jackson open in the final week of January.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

It wasn’t better this way, being apart, pretending like he didn’t want to cradle you against his chest while you slept and everything else that came with that feeling. He knew that now. But did you?

Chapter 10 || Series Masterlist

When did that clock get so fucking loud?

A halo of orange light circled the leather-bound journal Tommy had gifted Joel for Christmas on the old wooden table Joel called a workbench, pencil scratching against paper as he etched blueprint after blueprint until his hand and eyes ached from the strain. 

Through the winter, he’d turned the spare bedroom upstairs into a workshop, slowly filling in a small set of drawers with whatever bits and pieces of guitar hardware he could find. A music store a few miles away was raided after he and Tommy had cleared it of a few infected, a house up by the chalet was full of nails and screws, and he’d developed a good relationship with a guy up the road, Daryl, who traded him wood prepped for carving and sanding for half the haul of whatever Joel cut down and towed back. On top of patrols, Tommy had also roped him into the Great Jackson Renovation of 2035, which he was currently planning, touring every house and building to assess the repairs needed to keep it in good enough shape to last whatever the elements threw at them. 

“Thirty-six by…hundred and seventy-two…no that can’t be right…” he murmured to himself, the mug of coffee beside his right hand cold as a midnight dusting of snow floated through the air outside his window, “Seventy-two by a hundred-thirty-six.”

When he finally called it a night and slipped beneath the neatly tucked sheets of his bed the clock read 1:26 AM, the monsters of his dreams ready for their nightly feast. It was always the same now; Sarah was always the first to fall, her tiny body he could still remember the weight of in his arms crumpling to the ground, then Ellie who went down swinging, and finally you, with that forgiving smile and touch to his cheek. You always told him it was okay before you faded away, forgiving him in your final breath, and every day he woke with a scream.

“Ellie?” he called the following morning, gently rapping his knuckles on her front door, “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Okay!” she yelled from inside, “Be there in a sec!”

All he knew to do was work. Whether it was cooking new things, fixing the house, carving, building, fighting…anything that could keep his mind busy and unable to wander through the dangerous situations in his head. The restoration project had filled a large section of that void space, Tommy’s plan to keep him occupied working better than he’d like to admit. Maybe it kept some of the guilt he felt at bay. 

The two had been at odds in the days before you left. Joel was furious Tommy had approved it, though Tommy swore he had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t his call. You’d volunteered, and Maria had given the okay despite Tommy’s best attempts at keeping you here. There had never really been a good reason, only selfish ones. 

“Any sign of them yet?” Ellie asked as she sat at the small square table in the kitchen, a plate piled with eggs and toast in front of her.

“Not that I know of,” he replied with a sigh, walking right past the second empty plate set out for him and joining her, “Wanna help me today?”

“I’m on farming.”

“That a no?”

“Can you get me off farming?”

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”

With Ellie in tow, Joel met up with Tommy at the church, tape measure and ladders out as a remodel was planned. It felt like the old days, Tommy’s ideas too extravagant and Joel’s too practical, the pair meeting in the middle on a design that was feasible, functional, and appealing. Maria had stopped by to see their progress, smiling ear to ear at the rough sketches Tommy had done. 

“What about like, you know space right here. For dancing,” Ellie chimed in, waving her hands around, “And a little stage over there in case anyone wants to play guitar or…or sing something.”

That comment had Joel smiling a little, teaching Ellie how to play had been some of the better moments of the last few weeks. She’d been getting the hang of the strings of the guitar he’d gifted her in the fall, pride swelling in his chest at just the thought. Tommy and Maria agreed with her idea, talking with her about any other thoughts she had while Joel’s mind wandered into a realm of fantasy. Your fingers in his hair, his arm around your waist, he’d never dreamed of dancing before, he’d loathed the very idea of it. But after the sight of your forest eyes gazing up at him as you led him through the movements, the memory plagued him. 

You’d granted him a second chance in a light snowfall when you’d both stepped out for some air as the credits had begun to roll the night before you’d left. Tommy’s Christmas carols of choice were heard even from outside, and though you hadn’t said a word to him since his plea you come back to him, you’d smiled when he’d asked for a hand.

“Still got some of those bad memories to replace…” he’d said, and you hadn’t been able to refuse. 

There had been space between you still, but considerably less than the first time he’d found your hand in his. There were less toes smashed, too—still a few, but not enough that had his face burning in frustration. You’d left after that, patting his chest once with a simple “I’ll see you soon,” a gaping hole ripping open where your hand had been as you faded from view. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to see you off, he knew himself well enough, there was no way he’d have let you go without a fight. 

“Earth to Joel!” Tommy’s voice thundered, “Can we build that?”

“Build what?” Joel replied, the three pairs of eyes locked on him rolling in unison.

Thursday brought the weekly night out at the Bison. Tommy and Maria along with Indy still met like clockwork, Joel begrudgingly agreeing to go just to keep his brother off his ass. He’d only ever gone for you, to get you out and making friends, to acclimate, but after a few months it was for the chance you’d need to slip behind him, your hand grazing over his back, shoulder, or arm. It sent a shiver down his spine every single time, he missed the feeling. A beer gone warm sat in front of him as Tommy lost at darts again, too tipsy to see straight enough, Seth celebrating another easy-won victory against the one man in Jackson who had decent perks to wager. This time, Seth managed to weasel a few extra bottles of scotch for his own personal stash. 

“Miller,” Indy called out, her newly-established girlfriend Sophia on her heels, “What’s it been now? We’re going into week six?”

The two women took the seats in front of him, clearly this corner hadn’t been dark enough to hide him. 

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, gagging down a sip from his glass, “Somethin’ like that.”

“As if you don’t have the days numbered on your calendar.“

It had been seven weeks and three days, four weeks exactly since last contact with Eugene when the group landed in Nevada. The anticipated return home was already a week later than expected. It had been gnawing away at him. Not that he had any expectations for your return, just the thought of you back safely in the gates was enough for him right now. The rest he could grapple with later. 

“I know they’re late,” Indy finally admitted, quieter, more reserved, “And I know you’re as panicked as I am.”

The muscle of his jaw twitched as it tightened, “Yeah.”

“Think they’re okay?”

“How should I know?”

His answer should have been softer, more empathetic, maybe he should have lied, but it fired off with his temper. He didn’t want to talk about this. The moment he let his mind entertain the possibility you were gone would be the end of the waning control he had over himself. Once that broke, the path back to the man sitting at this table wasn’t one he could navigate without a guide. Indy understood, nodding and staying planted in her seat as if she somehow knew he couldn’t be alone, uncaring of the callous words he just spewed at her. He’d have to save the bludgeoning guilt over the fact he didn’t deserve the care he got from the people around him for later. 

As soon as an acceptable departure time hit, he was walking the dark streets alone back home, the old desk lamp on the workshop table flicking on as he opted for sanding the body of his next guitar over doing the sketches and measurements Tommy had asked for. It could wait. He was being too rough, too fast, he knew he’d have to redo all the work he was doing tomorrow, but still, he couldn’t calm his movements, the wood taking the brunt of his frustrations. The table shook beneath his hands, his teeth grit together as the dust began to burn his eyes, the clattering of the frame that rest beside the light causing his hands to drop everything as he moved to right it. 

It was the only photo of you he had, that anyone had. Tommy had taken it from Seth, no doubt for a price. The summer sun had been still filtering in through the bar’s windows, you were seated beside him at one of the small tables near the dart boards, the true focus of the snapshot Tommy and Eugene in a heated game. That wasn’t what he was looking at. It was you listening intently to whatever he was droning on about. He couldn’t even remember what it was he was telling you, it probably wasn’t interesting, but the way you looked at him told otherwise. He wanted to go back, pay more attention to you, he hadn’t caught it at the moment, but instead he was here alone with nothing but the heavy weight of regret on his shoulders.

Despite sleeping alone, he only pulled back the right side of the sheets, as he did every night, grabbing the book on the bedside table to distract him until his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. Except tonight, he couldn’t even concentrate on the page. Too much of the dam had weakened, at this point he was contemplating sleeping at all. It wouldn’t be worth it. He’d be up in two hours sweating and panting. 

“Joel!!!” He awoke with a jolt. “Joel!! Horses!! At the fucking gates!”

Ellie waited for him at the stoop, his jacket askew on his shoulders and your scarf around his neck as they took off towards the West gate. Tommy was already there, and Maria, Jesse and Seth as well as they awaited the group approaching. Joel’s stomach was tense, butterflies in a whirlwind; would you be happy to see him? Indifferent? He could handle either of those, but not disappointed. The time away likely worked against him, your own demons overtaking what little progress he’d made. It wasn’t better this way, being apart, pretending like he didn’t want to cradle you against his chest while you slept and everything else that came with that feeling. He knew that now. But did you?

In a sea of strange faces, he looked for the familiar. Eugene was there, chapped cheeks and wide eyes, Paulie too, who spotted Joel and quickly turned, and stranger after stranger marveling at the sights before them as he once had. The lights, the nostalgia of normalcy, it was captivating, but he didn’t care about them. 

“Joel,” Tommy called, Eugene pressed behind him, “Joel…”

“Where is she?” Joel asked, everything sinking, the butterflies dropping dead and heavy like shotgun casings, “Where the fuck is she?”

“Come over here.”

A gentle hand on his shoulder was roughly shoved off, ire rising as his face burned in rage.

“Tell me. Right now,” he demanded, “Right here.”

“She’s gone, Joel.”

Gone. 

“Ellie…” he mumbled, “Ellie, go with Maria…”

“What? No!” she argued, but Maria didn’t make him ask twice, wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulling her away, “Joel!”

His feet trudged across the pavement, the scraping of the rocks and dirt beneath his boots like nails on a chalkboard as he tried to remember how to breathe. He was underwater, his limbs slow as they dragged against the resistance, his lungs refusing air, the sight of your bow in his brother’s hands like a bullet to the chest.

“Christ…” he gasped, his vision tunneling, a snarl ripping free from his chest as he took off in a feral lunge and gripped the assumed perpetrator by the jacket, “What did you do?! What the hell did you do?!”

Paulie was quivering, his hands grasping Joel’s as he blabbered incoherently, Tommy and Eugene quickly following and failing to pull the irate Joel from his trance. When a fist was raised, Tommy was too slow, Joel’s knuckles connecting with a jaw that buckled beneath the force, the yelp of agony that followed only fuel for another blow. He didn’t even notice the crimson staining his skin when Tommy finally got enough of a lock around him to send him hurtling backward to the ground, his spine and head impacting hard enough to have him groaning as his eyes came back into focus. Eugene and Jesse were helping Paulie, Tommy standing in the middle as if he stood a chance if Joel tried to advance again, his eyes flicking between each of the two men.

“You stay down, Joel!” Tommy was yelling, muffled and far away, the ringing in Joel’s ears making the words only half audible, “Stay the hell down. I mean it.”

“Or what?” Joel threatened, delirious and bloodthirsty, “You were never any match for me, boy.”

“Stay down, Joel. Please. I’m asking.”

Once on his hands and knees, he could see the fear dripping into his little brother’s eyes, his body turning towards Joel as he readied to block the next attack, Eugene still trying to drag Paulie into the nearest building before Joel could recuperate. Your bag was sitting two arm’s lengths away, the bow you’d carried for years discarded on the ground as if his very will to live wasnt tethered to that curved piece of wood. 

Dragging himself to your belongings, Tommy followed with a shuffle, easing only when Joel rose to his knees and clutched your prized weapon to his chest with trembling fingers as he stood. As reality came crashing down, one of his hands covered his mouth as the shock set in, Tommy’s empathetic grip falling to his shoulder without resistance this time. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” Tommy whispered, “I know you—“

“Don’t,” Joel warned; not that fucking word, “I wanna know what happened. All of it.”

“I don’t think that’s—“

“I wasn’t askin’!”

With a reassuring pat to his back, Tommy went to find Eugene, leaving Joel in the darkness he was unsure he could ever wade out of. 

“I can’t do this,” he muttered under his breath, “I can’t do this again. I can’t do it again… Please God, I can’t.”

But he had to. Just like before, he had a reason to keep going. Tommy. Ellie. Maria. Giving up wasn’t an option. He could fight for them. He had to. 

“Joel,” Tommy sounded, “sit down.”

“What?” Joel snapped, finding not only Eugene with Tommy, but Paulie, too, “Why is he here?”

“Sit. Down. Joel. The second you get up, it’s over.”

Now he understood what a caged animal felt like. All this pent up anger, the tensing of every muscle, the empty, hollow feeling in his gut, it was all here. He wanted to pace, relieve some of the pressure, but he did as he was told for Tommy’s sake and no other, his fiery gaze set upon the group towering over him as they surrounded him. 

“She was sick,” Eugene began, “pneumonia. We were five days from destination, I told her to hang on, we were almost to the medicine. I promised I’d get her home. Burning with a fever, coughing, whimpering with aches, it was… One morning I woke up and she was gone, all her things left behind. We checked everywhere. I swear. All day we searched, yelling her name, checking for tracks. They stopped at a river.

“We went back to the house we were in that night, thinking maybe she’d find her way back. By morning, we were…overrun. Horde. We had to leave and we assume that…well, that they got her before we did.”

“Christ…” How was reality worse than the scenarios in his head? “She’s out there.”

“Joel, no,” Tommy reasoned, “Joel…”

“You said all was well! When you checked in on the radio!” His mind couldn’t land on a thought, he was recalling every detail he knew, looking for a reason, a cause, a sign… You had looked pale the last night he’d seen you, your head had been warm, but he’d thought nothing of it. You were sick…

“We didn’t…want you to go out looking…” Eugene admitted, Joel barely able to suppress his anger.

“She’s out there,” he was mumbling to himself again, “She needs…help.”

“Joel.” It was Tommy’s turn to try and talk him down. “Don’t do this. Joel! God damnit!”

He was already halfway out the door by the time he was fully on his feet, he needed a horse, a few weapons, a map… Food he could find, the clothes on his back would do. The stables were thirty feet away, his horse was itching for a long trip, had to be, it had been awhile. 

“Joel! Listen to me. For once in your god damn fuckin’ life. Listen to me!” Tommy was still talking, it was like the buzzing of a gnat. “You know how this ends! That the last way you want to see her!?”

The light would be gone from your eyes, he knew that. If he could find you, and he would. He’d take down everything in his path til he did. He imagined you scared and alone as you waited to turn, too afraid to walk back and get your gun to end it in favor of Eugene and Paulie, and he owed it to you to do what you weren’t able to. It was the one thing you always made him promise, to end it before the turn. And he couldn’t keep it. But he could end it before your face was overtaken, your skin turned into a putrid Petri dish, and your limbs seized and contorted. He could save you before it got worse. 

“You don’t need to do this,” Tommy eased, taking advantage of the pause in Joel’s pursuit as he contemplated the next steps.

“Are you comin’ or no?” Joel finally asked, not turning to face his brother, his voice flat and lifeless. 

“Joel…Don’t do this.”

“Are you comin’ or no?”

“Joel, we got families here—“

“She is your family!”

With those words he whipped around, chest heaving once again, eyes begging for anything to hold on to. Tommy’s hands provided the support he needed to let the levee finally break, his little brother that had been forced to grow up too fast despite Joel’s best attempts at preserving every last bit of innocence providing the net once again that could keep him from falling.

The fur of Tommy’s collar was soft on Joel’s face as his brother pulled him into his arms, Joel accepting the embrace away from prying eyes. It was a reminder that despite his loss, he wasn’t alone. It was a confirmation he desperately needed that terrified him all the same. 

“You have been there for everything,” Joel finally began as he pulled away, letting vulnerability slip through the cracks, “Rebecca. Ma. Sarah.”

And I need you now. 

“Okay, Joel,” Tommy finally conceded, “Alright. I’m with you. Okay? I’m with you. Go home. Pack a bag. Meet me in an hour at the stables.”

Was he cursed? The past year had been nothing but carnage and death. Tess, Sam, Henry, was this his penance for pulling Ellie out of that hospital? Being around him was a death wish. As he passed the cemetary within eye sight of his house, he paused. Should he leave now? Was bringing Tommy along just another risk? He could make it back to the stables in thirty with his machete, shotgun, and revovler in hand. Not that he knew where he was going, and he sighed as he realized Tommy had left him in the dark intentionally. 

Panicked footsteps followed the creaking of the hinges on his front door, Ellie’s body slamming into his hard enough to push the wind out of him. She was crying, her arms locked tight as she buried her face into his shoulder, his arms instinctually wrapping around her.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he soothed, leaning his chin on her head, “It’s alright.”

“Don’t go,” was all she whimpered in response, his shoulders slumping in defeat, there was no winning this, “I know you’re gonna go. Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“So you can die, too?!” Her small frame yanked free, shoving at his chest as her face twisted in a fresh wave of tears.

“I ain’t gonna die–”

“That’s what she said!! And she’s gone!”

An eerie silence followed, Ellie holding in her gasping breaths as her soaked green eyes pierced through him. The thought of you out there alone and scared was plaguing him, the chance that somehow you’d find a way to survive was low, but it wasn’t zero. It was fool’s hope, but he’d never been the smartest guy in the room anyhow. He needed something to keep his feet moving forward.

“I gotta bring her home, kiddo,” he finally resigned, “I’ll be back. I swear.”

Ellie's Journal - January 26, 2035

Art by @natendo-art

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #more than my father’s son

[lilspacewolfie]

You asked for headcanons and headcanons you shall receive (tho they are a bit chaotic)

So, there's this line in "After": He [Copia] felt like he was floating in dark waters with some great beast beneath him, making sure he didn’t sink too deep.

THIS LINE!!!

1) I love me a shapeshifter character and all the little different possibilities it entails

- a large beast with too many paws able to wrap itself around Copia

- a little rat keeping homeless Copia company

- a large gargoyle watching him from the rooftops and providing shelter from rain

- Lucifer accidentaly inspiring Cerberus or Jǫrmungandr or Quetzalcoatl or Hydra because someone saw him practicing shapeshifting

- maybe he turns into a harmless Cerberus every once in a while to play with various kids around the clergy and he tends to appear on days when there's broccoli or spinach for dinner so children can sneak him their meals

(In general I have a headcanon that Terzo was adored by the children arou d the Clergy and they, with the help of some adults and Primo and Secondo, made him the Cirice video, and then Terzo refused to have a professional one made)

- some flying form (flying snake à la chinese dragon? bird with multiple dark wings?) big enough to allow him to take Copia on a flight

- a rat again whenever he doesn't want to deal with Sister Imperator - he can hide under Copia's fancy hat (that I don't remember the name of) prompting clergy to make Ratatouille jokes

- if anyone ever threatens Copia the last thing they see is this blob of void so dark it seems to absorb light with too many limbs and teeth and eyea and wing and oh good god what even is that?! and Copia is well-aware of the blob behind him and knows better than to look at it, but to him it just radiates comfort

- in general some terrifying monster thingy (maybe for scaring evil sinners in hell) that would cause people to run away screaming and that actually scares Copia (he wasn't supposed to see it at all) and Terzo then feels super bad about it and tries to modify it to never frighten Copia again

Dammit I hit ask limit again...

Ahh anon you’re sort of of the ball with your thinking! I know my Lucifer can and does shapeshift, he’s been many people and things throughout his time but he does get tired from doing it.

Love the idea of Lucifer just spending a few years as various things. He’s tested humanity over the ages, observing and overseeing how humans have grown—all the ups and downs in their nature, the good bad and ugly of what it means to be human. He’s learned a lot from humanity, but that has its pros and cons!

He’s a bit more low-key and less obvious with his guidance of humans who need help as he wants to be as hands-off as possible. But you’re right about a few things that I won’t spoil! You’ll have to read 🫣😊

Once things are less clouded I’ll defo be able to flex my imagery muscles a bit more.

I also agree and headcanon that Terzo/Lucifer is great with kids! He understands their souls are young and feels he finds them to be more understanding than most adults. They’re very innocent and honest in their ways of thinking. I actually have a scene later in my fic (chapter 8) in which he interacts with the Siblings and kids!

As for the void blob… well… Heaven and Hell exist in my fic. And Lucifer does have a ‘true form’ so to speak 👀

I LOVED these! Thank you so much for sending them 🖤

#ask red #red speaks #I don’t know what else I can add tbh these are great! #thank you anon #devil terzo tag #papa emeritus iii #terzo #the band ghost #ghost #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #copiiia

[ohtobeleah]

Ok a scream into the void angst/fluff idea…Jake, the cocky asshole, Mr Adonis (I think that’s what he calls his dick) maybe his girlfriend gets sick with something, or (maybe angstier) she got sick and her ex bf dumped her cause of it..she’s scared to tell Jake cause she thinks he’ll leave her…

Now Jake isn’t stupid, he sees the bottles of pills in her apartment, but his mamma raised him well enough to not ask about it…but he still watches and tries to maybe guess why she has a pharmacy in her apartment (fanboy overhears a convo with javy and suggests “drug dealer” cause he’s a little shit) and maybe she forgets to take her medication one day or something..something happens and after the doctors/er/emergency meds etc..happen she tells Jake and is all “it’s ok if you don’t want to keep going, I get it” and Jake is A: no way in hell leaving her B: researches her illness…I have SO many thoughts about this -chronic illness anon 🧠

Ok but that one chronic illness 🧠 anon back with angst fluff and a sprinkle of panic/protective Jake x sick!Gf

Maybe the illness she has doesn’t have a cure or the treatment doesn’t have great results..something like that idk this is just word-vomit atm so she goes in for this test to see if there’s something that could help..the test has her attached to a bunch of machines, she can’t leave the room or have any privacy or anything…Jake is basically living in the room with her if he can, bringing her his button up pjs cause the machine wires won’t let her wear normal pjs, if they have to have a nurse or a camera or whatever always watching for the test, he makes sure to cover her up when she’s changing or going to the bathroom or what have you….

And to make it angstier (I know how you write Leah, I’ve read bruises and whumptober 😜)

Maybe he ends up holding her or cuddling on the couch and the doctor is like “you can’t hold her cause you’re messing up the wires/machines/idk…oh boy does he give the doctor an earful when he steps out of the room.

Another angsty idea, say the doctors were like “you’d only have to do it for two weeks” and then it’s “let’s try another week” and then she ends up staying there the whole month…Jake would be comforting her every time the doctors are “let’s just keep you there more” He also is the best post-test bf, his shirts, your favorite food, movies and cuddle or just cuddles…sex but only the next day cause our baby boy doesn’t want to break you. Even if it was a test and nothing actually happened,

(why do I feel like you might combine all these angsty ideas just to make us cry 😂)

-chronic illness anon🧠

Oh wow. I can’t believe this stayed in my inbox for as long as it did before I got around to reading it. Maybe I should use this for a Christmas inspo fic. 🥺

#pending Christmas one shot

[bingbong21]

Food for thought: If a member of the Party of Words in its infancy came to 14-year old Ichiro and offered him a job with similar pay as Stairway to Heaven, would he have taken it? 

My answer is yes because he’d do anything for Jiro and Saburo btw

#hypnosis mic #ichiro yamada #ヒプノシスマイク #ヒプマイク #maybe if i scream enough fic ideas into the void #the void will answer back

[kimerawrt]

DP Promp The chained ghost king

An idea of a fic i will probably not write, so here i am screaming it into the void

By right of contest danny can be king of the ghost zone but he refuses, the observants are very persistent, they want someone to bear the crown so the zone is in balance, between the two halfas that defeated pariah dark, phantom was the less likely to bring more chaos

After way too many refusal from danny the observants decide to take drastic measures, one day danny wakes up chained to the old throne of the king, his wrists and ankles had chains on them, the crown that was always too big for his head rest in his shoulders, the crown is chained to him and the throne

Danny panics and tries everything to escape, the chains let him move around but not much, he tries transforming to escape but doesnt matter in what form the chains remains and he is trapped, he struggles until he is too tired to move

Later the observants appear before him and tell him that he has to accept the crown and become king to be free of those chains, danny refuses as always and the observants just say that is just a matter of time for him to accept their deal and leave him alone

Everyday danny fights against the chains and everyday he fails, he pulls so hard for so long that the chains cut into his skin and the spikes of the crown dig into his face even drawing his ecto-blood, danny fights for days, then weeks and maybe years, time is impossible to tell in there, the throne heals him everytime he passes out, that makes danny try harder and gain more scars as time passes

Danny wonders if this is how pariah dark became the tyrant king, because he is not the king and has no plan to be anyone trying to summon the ghost king would not be able to summon him, danny can only hope for direct rescue before he goes crazy

-----------------------------------------

Now there are many possibilities:

+danny could go crazy for that torture, accepts the crown just so he can unleash his reign of terror worse than what dan could ever do

+danny never gets rescued, goes crazy but doesnt accept the crown and lives a miserable existence

+he gets rescued by his friends or enemies (human or ghost doesnt matter) and has a long recovery after that with a side of kicking observant ecto-butts

(crossover possibility)

+heroes have ghost problem and cause they cant summon ghost king they go to him for help and/or confront, they find kind in chains and rescue him

+villain tries to find ghost king to get power, they somehow get to danny and free him in exchange of power, danny is desperate enough to accept at that point

+someone in another dimension from danny tries to summon a guardian spirit/ghost because they need help, they can summon phantom but he still has the chains and knows if he goes back he will be chained to the throne again, desperate danny makes deal with summoner so he can stay free for longer and maybe find a way to break the chains in that new place

#Danny Phantom #ghost king danny #crossover #fic i will prob not write #anyone can use this

[thestalwartheart]

Okay, I'm writing the drone fic because you've all successfully managed to convince me it's a good idea. It turns out when you're unhinged about something and yell into the void about it, sometimes 100+ people yell back. And some of those people write things. It's beautiful and very motivating.

But I need help.

Because the fic has grown beyond me, and it strikes me that I've never worked this way before. I've never, essentially, crowdsourced the writing of a fic.

And it's hard because on one hand, I want to maintain enough creative control. This has been an idea lurking at the back of my mind for about a year, and it's very dear to me. I haven't got all the planning worked out, but I do have a general idea of the fic's direction.

But on the other hand, the short ficlets @kitten-kin and @ithinkthereforiamfandom have written are amazing, and I would like to honour that and honour them.

So - and maybe this will further confuse the issue, but what the hell - I'm asking for some advice on how YOU would like to see this thing unfold as a reader and a follower of this blog.

Do I put the fic out there one day and let everyone go ahead and remix the shit out of it? Let people sequels and write their own takes?

Do I put the plan out there and let writers have at it?

Do I do something else entirely?

I am but an overwhelmed writer trying to balance my need to please the little gremlin in my brain with the wonderful sense of community we've created here.

All responses welcome - replies, reblogs, asks, DMs, screaming at me on Slack. I will read it all.

#my fic

[giggly-squiggily]

Hi!! I've read about the limited requests, and I decided to try my luck and make a request myself 😅

I'd like to request a fic with Lee Ikuya and Lers Haru and Makoto from Free! Iwatobi Swim Club... maybe Ikuya is grumpier than usual about a practice that didn't go smoothly and the others cheer him up, or something like that

I hope I wasn't too late, but I won't mind if you don't choose my idea. You're a great writer and I'm sure you'll receive a ton of amazing requests ^_^

I can't wait to read your future works ❤️

YEEE THIS IS CUTE! :D I love Ikuya so much, and to bring in the boys for this fic- YESH! I can absolutely write this for you, friend!

Cloud 9 (Taglist peeps):

@myreygn @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13

Still too long.

That was the only thought going through Ikuya’s head as he glared down at the stop watch, his most recent time blinking at him mockingly. Behind him, others whooped and groaned as they gained their own times, some breaking personal records while others bowed in defeat.

No good. No good at all. He needed to get better-

“Ikuya. We’re heading out- ready to go?” Haru’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, startling him some. He had forgotten their teams were doing a group practice today. “We gotta stop by the swim school on the way back to pick up Makoto.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.” Ikuya shrugged as he began walking back to the pool, stopping when a hand grabbed his bicep. “Haru, let me go.”

“Ikuya- you’re doing it again.” Haru pointed out, voice firm. He didn’t need to turn around to feel the effects of the look he was getting. “Come on- we’re going home.”

“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m my own person!” Ikuya ripped his arm away with a glare of his own, wincing some at the surprised expression Haru wore. “Sorry- I just…I just need to give it one more go- just to see if I can meet my time. Then I’ll give up for the day.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“....okay.” Haru folded his arms, stepping back as Ikuya pulled down his goggles, reaching the diving board. “But only one attempt. Makoto’s waiting for us.”

~~~

One attempt ended up being two- then three, and before long Ikuya was gasping for air against the side of the pool, muscles burning and lungs screaming at him to give it a rest. He knew he needed to call it quits, but the damn number on the watch was still 20 seconds longer than he wanted. If he could only…

“Ehem.” Feet stood before him, then legs. Finally, Makoto’s pinched expression was before him. Wait- Makoto?

Oh…

Oh.

“Shit- god, I’m so sorry!” He scrambled to get out, slipping in his efforts to climb up the side of the pool. “Oh my god I can’t believe I did that-”

“Ikuya, calm down.” Makoto offered a hand, easing Ikuya out of the pool. Seconds later a towel was tossed around his shoulders, warm and smelling of chlorine. “It’s fine- Haru texted me that you guys were gonna be late so I drove over.”

“Oh…” Ikuya shrunk some in his towel, shame coloring his face as he dared a peek around the taller boy. Sure enough, Haru was where he left him, sitting against the wall watching. When their eyes met, he gave a short wave, making Ikuya’s stomach drop. Oh he screwed up big time. 

~~~

“I’m really sorry, guys.” Ikuya leaned against the backseat window as Makoto drove them home, Haru’s apartment coming into view within minutes. The entire ride was…tense. Makoto did his best to keep the conversation going, but Haru was determined to stay quiet and Ikuya was a mess of guilt, so it was more him filling the void with random events that went down with his kids and the people he ran into.

“And then Nao swung by- it was great seeing him again! Oh- we’re here.” The moment Makoto turned off the car, Haru was already out, leaving the two behind as he unlocked the front door.

“He’s pissed.” Ikuya sank. Makoto gave him a sympathetic look through the rearview mirror.

“It’s only because you made him worry. The last time you pushed yourself, we almost lost you.”

“I know- and I feel terrible about it. I just- I’m so far behind on everything I’m doing; I’m not making good numbers during practice, and it’s starting to affect me everywhere else. My grades are starting to slip and even Hiyomi’s worried about me. I figured if I could at least make my time today, then maybe everything else would follow suit?” He held his head, letting it rest against the front seat. “I’m really sorry, Makoto. I didn’t keep my promise.”

“It’s okay by me- I was planning on coming myself anyway. It’s Haru you should apologize to.” Makoto reached back, squeezing his hand. “Come on- let’s go in and try to make amends. I’ll tempt him with mackerel as you grovel for his forgiveness.”

“Okay. Thanks, Makoto.” Ikuya squeezed his hand back as they climbed out of the car, facing the apartment.

Grovel. Easy.

~~~

The second Ikuya came through the doors, arms latched around him, pulling him back until he was thrown into the nearest couch. “Whoa! What the hell- Haru!”

“You promised me only one attempt, and then you kept going.” He sounded pissed, real pissed. For a second Ikuya didn’t know what was gonna happen.

Then it came.

“AH! Aheahhahahhahahhahaha! H-Hahahhahru, wahhhahhait!” Ikuya let out a startled squeal when fingers attacked his ribs, pinching and prodding as they drew out the reluctant sound. “Whahhahhat theheheheh hehehehehhhell?! Mahahhahahakhoohoohohoto hehehehehelp mehehehehheehe!”

The taller boy blinked a few times at the sight, taken aback by Haru’s sudden ambush. Then he was smiling, laughing in his hands as Ikuya squeaked and thrashed against the couch. “Sorry, Ikuya. Maybe you should try what we talked about? That might help.”

“Trahhahahahitohohohohohr-ahheahhahahahaha not thehehehehhehehre!” Ikuya all but squealed when Haru dug his hands into his armpits, vibrating them in circles as the green haired boy kicked and laughed. “Pleahahhahhahahhse Hahahhahahru!”

“Breaking promises and calling Makoto a traitor? Who do you think you are?” Haru looked over his shoulder, something rare and playful in his expression as he nodded behind him. “Wanna help me instead?”

“Hmm….okay!” Within minutes Makoto had Ikuya’s foot in an armlock, digging into the socked sole.

The absolute scream Ikuya let out probably would have gotten them a noise complaint.

Worth it.

“HAHAHHHAHARU! MAHAHAHHAKOOHOHOHOHOTO! PLEAHHAHHASE I’M SHAHAHHARRY! I’M SHAHAHHHAHRRY! HAHEHAHAHAHHAHA!” Ikuya was on the verge of silence with Haru tracing his belly and Makoto tapping along his foot, cheeks flushed and eyes beginning to mist over. Upon seeing this, Haru tapped the other- signaling a break. Ikuya all but gasped when it came to an end, arms weakly curling around his belly as he blinked away mirthful tears. “Hahhaharu…Mahahhakoto…I’m sorry, rehehahally.”

“...I've already forgiven you, dork.” Haru poked his forehead, chuckling at the shocked look upon Ikuya’s face. “I get it- you want to get better. I'm all for it. But if you do that mess again, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Haru- you can’t even open a water bottle without help. How are you gonna- WHOA!” Makoto yelped when Haru lunged at him, sending them both tumbling to the carpeted floor. “Haru! Hahahhahahharu- hahahahhang ohooohohohn!”

Ikuya giggled softly against the couch cushions, resting his eyes as Haru and Makoto carried on with their game. It was such a relief they weren’t mad at him anymore.

“I’ll do better. I promise.” Ikuya whispered in the cushions, voice lost in the sounds of mirth around him.

Thanks for reading!

#free! #tickle #tickle fic #ikuya kirishima #haruka nanase #makoto tachibana #I didn't write this as a ship but like...👀 #kajrkjarjkaekjarkj #can be read either platonic or romantic #I had fun writing this one akjrekarjeajrkejkr

[superherotiger]

Just close your eyes (the sun is going down)  - Dadneto fic

 Hey, hey everyone! It's 4am and for some reason I decided it was a smart idea to spend 5 hours writing 2k of this whumpy, painful dadneto fic idea I had out of the blue, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it lol. And no, I'm not sorry for what I'm about to inflict on you all ;) Have a great day! -Superherotiger

(Title from the lyrics of "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift)

For @sunsetuniverse

AO3 LINK

~~~

Warnings: Government experimentation, kidnapping, implied/referenced torture, permanent injury

~~~

Time became meaningless in the dark.

Impossible to keep track of. Impossible to take hold of. The shadows consumed every waking moment- infected every thought until there was nothing left but a void of stolen time.

Peter didn’t know how long he had been imprisoned for.

It could have been months or years for all he knew. Everything blurred together after a while…

Sometimes, if he tried hard enough, he could remember those first few days -or was it weeks?- at the facility. Everything had been so bright then; sterile hallways bathed in white lights, and doctors in masked faces wielding sharp, shimmering tools. They would shove him to the ground when he started to struggle and activate the collar sitting heavily around his neck when he tried to escape. And when the electricity finally fled his body along with the last wisps of strength, they would drag him onto the examination table and start their work with no care for his tortured screams.

After a few rounds on that dreaded table Peter began to stop counting the days since he’d last seen his family. Stopped waiting for the moment his team burst through the cell doors and set him free from this hell hole, because it never came, and maybe it never would. Hope was too painful to hold when every passing second was spent clinging to his life, desperate to survive. He wanted to see his mom and his sisters, and his team and his friends and his father-

But he couldn’t hope. No- it hurt far too much to do that, and Peter couldn’t take anymore suffering.

So instead of waiting for a rescue that would never appear, he had mustered his courage -or maybe his stupidity- on the sixth week and tried to escape once more from the confines of the laboratory. The memories were fuzzy now, but amidst the chaos he somehow managed to claw his way out to one of the main corridors, only to freeze at the sight of trees and snow and beautiful blue skies peering back at him through a window.

It was the furthest Peter had ever gotten before.

It was also the last glimpse of the outside world that Peter got before they shocked him within an inch of his life and threw his near-dead corpse into solitary confinement.

The boy stirred awake to darkness, and in darkness they left him. No one came to drag him to the table again which was a small relief, but in their absence Peter was left to sit in his cold, barren cell with no company other than his own thoughts and the shadows as deep as the sea.

Maybe it was punishment for the shred of sunlight he dared to steal.

Maybe they were testing to see how long it took for him to go insane.

Because once the darkness had dug its claws into time, it chased after Peter’s tired mind and permeated every thought and feeling with its emptiness. Numbed the agony into nothingness and tore away the sorrow to fill it with despondence instead.

Soon, the abyss was all that was left to see- both inside and out.

Which was why, when the walls shook faintly and sirens began to blare in the distance, Peter didn’t notice- or maybe he just didn’t care. Thoughts of rescue or escape had long since fled his mind, and surrounded by an endless sea of shadows, Peter couldn’t find the energy to move from his bed on the cold steel floor.

Even when the symphony of hasty footfalls stopped right outside his cell, Peter didn’t turn from the wall he was facing.

And when the creak and hiss of the door opening echoed throughout the chamber, Peter didn’t open his eyes.

“Pietro?”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Peter felt his heart beat painfully against his ribcage again.

It couldn’t be…

No, it can’t. It’s a trick- another test. Just ignore it.

Go back to sleep…

Suddenly a hand -solid and strong and oh so warm- gripped onto his shoulder, causing the boy to stiffen in a flood of unaltered panic before that familiar voice soothed once more, “Oh Pietro.”

A dangerous ember of hope sparked to life in Peter’s chest, but cracking his eye open, he was unsurprised to find the darkness still stretching in every direction. What was surprising however was the firm grip that remained on his arm even through the shadows, and the sound of another person’s breathing and the scuff of their boots against the floor as they helped lift Peter up into a sitting position.

“It’s alright mein kind, I’ve got you,” rumbled the voice as another steady hand pressed against his cheek.

Peter leant into the touch almost instinctively, and like morning sunlight thawing out the frost, the boy was overcome with a wave of pure, shaky hope.

“Dad?”

The touch on his shoulder disappeared only to immediately join its companion against Peter’s face, cradling the curve of his jaw like he was something utterly precious, even if they couldn’t see each other. “My son,” Erik answered with pride and relief and so much damn love that Peter could do nothing but crumble into his father’s strong embrace. No amount of beatings or torture could ever overshadow the explosion of happiness Peter felt as Erik returned the hug with just as much -if not more- fervour, curling his fingers into Peter’s tattered shirt like he was afraid he might lose him at any second.

“I’m sorry we took so long,” Erik rushed to apologise when he noticed Peter’s shoulders hitching beneath his hands. “We searched everywhere, followed every lead and called in any favour we could- I swear to you I never gave up, Pietro.”

Burying his face further into the crook of his father’s neck, Peter breathed out a hysterical laugh and stammered “I-I know you wouldn’t- of course you didn’t... I just, uh- didn’t know if I could- or, or how to…”

“Shh,” Erik soothed when the words began to choke in Peter’s throat. “It’s alright son, don’t push yourself too far.”

“Okay… okay…” Peter said, his voice trailing into silence as he soaked in his father’s calming presence like a plant desperate for the rain.

From the steady beat of Erik’s heart beneath his ear to the faint scent of forest pine and rusted metal clinging to the man’s jacket, the only thing Peter could feel after an eternity of emptiness was complete safety. Not something a person usually said in the arms of a former terrorist, but for Peter, there was no where safer than his father’s powerful reach, or more comforting than his whispered assurances.

“Are you hurt?” Erik asked once Peter’s breathing had finally settled.

“Yeah- yeah I’m fine,” Peter lied shamelessly as he pulled back out of the embrace. God how he wished he could see his father’s no doubt sceptical frown right about now. “Nothing that can’t heal, anyway.”

“Good,” Erik said before lifting a hand off his son’s shoulder and causing the dreaded mutant collar to fall off with a satisfying snap of metal.

Senses that had long since been dormant rushed back to the speedster all at once, and he let out a grateful sigh as a part of his very being was restored back to him. “Thanks,” was all he could manage to say, though he hoped Erik understood the weight that hung in his voice.

“Hank will check you over once we reach the jet,” Erik assured as he moved to help Peter up to his feet. “And I know it’s difficult for you son, but no superspeed until he deems it safe for you to do so, understand?”

“Always out to ruin my fun, aren’t you?” Peter teased weakly, before pausing at the shadows that continued to smother his vision. “Not that I’d be able to run anywhere with this lighting anyway. Seriously, how did you even find your way in here with the power off?”

“The power?” Erik asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Well I assumed that’s how you broke in, and also why it’s still so God damn dark in here,” Peter scoffed. “If you developed night vision or something while I was gone, I’m gonna demand an upgrade on my genetics old man.”

He expected a chuckle for that one, or maybe even some playful banter in return. What he didn’t expect was for Erik’s grip to tighten on his shoulders and suddenly swing him around -presumably to face the man- as he said with a deathly stern tone, “Pietro, what do you see?”

“See?” Peter repeated, stunned and a little thrown off by the turn of conversation. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what do you see- right now. With your eyes.”

“I don’t know, nothing?” Peter answered with a shrug. “It’s too dark to see anything, really.”

The fingers digging fiercely into his arms would surely leave a bruise, but what concerned Peter more was the hitch in his father’s breath that then echoed into a deafening silence. Nothing good followed a silence like that, and with the shadows already shielding his father from view, the last thing Peter wanted was to lose his voice of comfort and security as well.

“…Dad?” Peter asked cautiously.

Snapping him out of whatever trance he had been lost to, Erik quickly released his death grip on Peter’s shoulders and drew in a shaky breath. A bolt of panic struck Peter’s chest at the loss of contact, searching desperately in a sea of darkness for where those comforting hands had fled to, only to flinch when he felt them settle over his jaw again with a tremble that hadn’t been present before.

“Pietro…” Erik’s voice wavered dangerously, causing Peter’s heart to clench. “I’m… oh God, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Without warning his father pulled him into another tight embrace, but instead of the security and confidence it had exuded before, now all Peter could feel was the shudder of his father’s shoulders and the rapid, stuttering beat of his heart beneath his own. Peter rushed through their conversation, desperate to find the source of the man’s panic. When that came up empty, he did it again, and again, and again until his mind was running as fast as it had before he was taken to this pit of suffering and agony.

Before the collar, and the doctors, and the table he despised.

Before the failed escapes, and electric shocks, and solitary confinement.

Before the darkness…

Peter’s stomach dropped.

“The lights…” Peter spoke, his voice barely a whisper against his father’s shoulder. “…They aren’t off, are they…?”

Gentle but trembling fingers weaved themselves into the strands of Peter’s hair, as if offering one final comfort.

“No, sohn,” Erik answered, guilt etched into every syllable. “They aren’t.”

If there was one thing the great and powerful Magneto was not, it was a liar.

So against every atom in his body screaming that it wasn’t possible, that there had to be another explanation, deep down Peter knew the truth.

The darkness had seeped in too far. It had tainted his vision, scarred his eyes. It had clung to Peter so fiercely that he would never be rid it again, and all those things he had fought so hard to stay alive for -his mother’s soothing smile, and the X-Men’s beaming grins, and his father’s calming eyes- were nothing but a memory now.

A faded photograph he could hold onto, but never see again…

Overcome with a new wave of grief, Peter leant further into his father’s desperate embrace and buried his tears into the collar of his worn jacket, all the while Erik pressed gentle reassurances across his son’s hairline.

“We will fix this, I promise,” Erik spoke, confidence woven through every word. “But no matter what happens, I love you, alright? Ich liebe dich so sehr…”

Allowing the words to soothe his turbulent mind, Peter closed his eyes and told himself that just this once, the darkness was his choice.

~~~

Tag list:

@joyful-soul-collector @lost-lunar-wolf @lbigreyhound13 @aixabi @zanderljones @milstrim @anarinette @sfabsha @appleschloss @sdottkrames @katthebookiestnerd

#dadneto #quickson #peter maximoff #erik lehnsherr #whump #magneto #speedyson #my writing #angst

[senseandaccountability]

hiiiiiii i come bearing asks:

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

I scramble together notes and inspiration and sometimes some theme and/or references I’d like to put in. This can be anything from pretty words (English is my second language so sometimes I remind myself of gorgeous words and deep-study them in a dictionary), chunks of poetry and various settings to pure characterisation notes. I have three reasons for writing fic. 

An embarrassing number of my stories originate from me disagreeing with other interpretations of the text and/or because I want to put into words what the subtext is SHOUTING at us (me). That’s the pompous academic in my brain - LOOK HERE AT ALL THE TEXTUAL EVIDENCE FOR MY INTERPRETATION LET ME SHOW YOU I AM RIGHT. My Cyberpunk fics for example, where I just used so many words to scream “this is not a Devoured by the Other narrative you are objectively wrong about that all of you listen up!”

A very strong feeling that something needs to be explored or fleshed out, because I like the thing but want MORE of it. 

Nobody else is writing this character/this pairing OR they’re not doing it the very specific way I want. Here I think my age shows. I don’t want to read about gorgeous, innocent people romancing other gorgeous (maybe less innocent) people, I want some grit, some ugliness, some maturity. I’m not 19, I don’t want to write about characters that are 19 and discover the world for the first time, I want to write about people re-discovering it or saying goodbye to it or trying to pick up the pieces of their own dreams.

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

Aside from the WIPs I’m posting, I’m nursing a handful of stories in my head that I want to write at some point. 

The fire in me now - about Rowan Tavish and Gale of Waterdeep and I just know that it’s kind of melancholic and mushy because they have soft weird intellectual man/prosaic tired secretly soft fighter woman dynamic, I guess? I really don't know but I'm low-key obsessed with how imperfect their relationship will be.

You are more than what you’ve lost, he tells her.

You are better than your worst mistakes, she tells him. 

Banalities to fill the void in the darkest, most lonely stretches of night, empty shells to be crammed full with meaning, with love. And maybe it’s not enough but it’s all they’ve got. 

27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

Best: Figuring out someone's voice and dynamic with other characters, piecing together that string of ideas to a whole. It’s extremely nice when it all comes together, and you read through it and go oh yeah, this is what I meant. 

Worst: Writing plot that isn’t immediately related to the characters. Ugh. I really just want to poke around in fictional people’s heads and whenever I get stuck, it’s because of plot reasons or because my fragmented character study bullshit isn’t making any sense unless I anchor it to some overarching structure that I have no energy to build. Sometimes I wish I was writing plays instead and could just insert minor notes about the setting. 

#my writing #writing #writing asks