#✕ and again you burn you just never learn [writing exercise] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cursedcola · 1 year

Note

Ok ok so you know the thing where it's like 'hey trust exercise' where person A runs up to person B and jumps in their arms? The one that became a meme with the hot coffee....

that. just that. Could you please write something for it using characters from twisted wonderland? Thank you!

A/N: I do know the thing lol. I think this is a super cute idea and will have some fun with it hehe...Sorry if it's not too long. I am writing this in between classes just to have a little mental break :) I also think this will work better with baby headcannons so I can do more characters. Since you did not specify any characters, I will be self indulgent. Prompt: Trust exercise! Do they catch you? Format: Baby headcannons huhuhu Characters: Everyone. Literally Everyone. I feel inspired for some reason. Warnings: None :) Tooth-ache fluff. Also not proofread. Likely grammar/spelling errors

Heartslabyul Dorm

Riddle Rosehearts

Catches you by a millisecond.

The moment he sees you running he instinctively drops the books in his hands

Yells for you to stop and puts his hands out in defense

Instinctively opens them when you jump and boom. Catch

My man has noodle arms. They instantly start to shake and you get dropped on your bum

Half-angry that you put him on the spot, and half-humiliated for dropping you. He is left shell-shocked for a moment before the fuse is lit

"What on EARTH were you thinking? Must you behave so childishly all the time?! Sometimes I wonder if you WANT me to have a heart attack....*sigh* come on. Get up. Are you injured at all?"

He thinks it's silly for you to test his 'trust,' like that. Don't do it again. Next time just talk to him.

….secretly relieved that he caught you.

Trey Clover

Arms are open before you even jump

The moment you started to speed up, he knew what would come next. It flusters him, and his ears burn but he lets you have your fun

Wraps one arm around your back and the other holds one of your legs around his waist. Nice and secure :)

Laughs a little bit before setting you down carefully

"Well, that was an excitable greeting. Maybe warn me next time, okay? What if I was holding something?"

Shakes his head in disbelief that you'd test him like this. Oh well. Its over now Best for him not to think on it.

Learns that Cater showed you the prank on Magicam, and makes his tea extra sweet. Revenge > cavities.

Cater Diamond

Does not catch you. In fact, he side-steps you.

You're quite literally sprawled on the floor and he's just standing there all smug. What? Don't even look at him like that. There's no way he could have caught you without toppling over

Cater prefers to not have a face full of dirt, thank you very much

He knows what you were trying to do, and also purposefully chose to 'fail'

"Hmm~ Now why would you use such a silly method to test me? Don't we take enough exams in class (Y/N)? You're no fair..."

Despite the taunts, he holds out a hand to help you up. He'll clean your face a bit with a handkerchief and leave a cheeky peck on your cheek before going about the rest of his day

Ace Trappola

Tries to catch you. Does not succeed.

In his defense, Ace is never on full alert. Especially during the school day.

You started running at him and he full on panicked. A genuine scream to stop tore through his throat, and he held his arms out

You, in fact, did not stop. Therefore you both fell on the ground with him on the bottom

Ace is not happy

"What is wrong with you?! If my back's broke then the medical bill is on your shoulders, not mine!"

When you explain to him, he still is pissed but does feel bad for yelling at you

"...well, whatever. You don't need some stupid test to know I'm trustworthy anyways. I prove it every day, right?"

....right? Please say yes or else he will overthink this hardcore later.

Deuce Spade

Catches you on instinct.

The moment you start running he assumes something is wrong, and opens his arms to give you a hug. When you jump? Well, that's just an extra step

His feet slide back against the ground and he wobbles for a millisecond. However, he's steady. He wraps both arms around your waist firmly, and leans back to get a look at your face.

"What's wrong?! Why are you in such a hurry?!"

His eyes flicker anxiously between the direction you came from and your face

He's relieved when you tell him that everything is okay, and that you just wanted to see if he would catch you

"Don't scare me like that! I was seriously worried!"

He's still holding you, and becomes bashful once the adrenaline dials down. He mutters a quick apology while gently setting you down. Avoiding eye-contact, he excuses himself and promises to hang out later. For now, be still his beating heart

Savanaclaw Dorm

Leona Kingscholar

Yes. You don't give him enough time to think through the situation, and so he acts. Albeit a bit roughly.

The moment you jump he's reaching with one arm, startled. It wraps around your waist and hoists you over his shoulder. The other hand reaches for his wand, and he's on high alert.

Says nothing. Just grunts upon impact and scans the area.

You'll have to pat his back a few times to be let down, and it is needless to say that he is not pleased with your joke

His eyebrows draw downward with his classic scowl, and he's lowkey disappointed in you. He thought you more straight-headed than to do something like this

"You- ugh. Whatever. I caught you, so I win, right? Happy?"

Deems scolding you more trouble than it's worth. Last thing he needs is for you to get mad at him. That'll just give him an even bigger headache.

Ruggie Bucchi

Does...not. He knows that you're coming. He heard the footsteps a mile away. He simply is a snot-nosed little arse

You're running at him from behind, and the moment you get near he steps to the side. He does his little shishishishi laugh when you face plant on the floor.

When you don't get up, he crouches down and pokes your head.

"Hey, you alright? That was a pretty harsh fall. I can't imagine what caused it,"

Laughs again, but feels a bit bad if you don't reciprocate. Okay. You got him. He's sooooooo untrustworthy. An utter fool, if you will.

With a tsk, he grabs you by the elbow and eases you up.

"Yup, yup. I'm cruel, I know. Let's go get a snack, alright? It's on me - and by me, I mean that it's on Leona shishishisi"

Jack Howl

This boulder doesn't even flinch. Like clockwork, he's startled but instinctively readies his stance. You quickly land safely in his arms, and are back on the ground in a jiffy. Almost as if you never tried to tackle him in the first place.

He holds you at arms length with an eyebrow raised.

"Uhm....are you good? What was that about?"

He doesn't understand how catching you proves that he is trustworthy, but if it makes you happy then he'll do it as often as you'd like. Just give him a heads up next time, ok?

Won't admit it, but he liked holding you. Even if it was for a fleeting moment, it felt right. If you ever asked for a piggy-back ride or to be carried, he wouldn't be opposed at all. The realization embarrasses him greatly.

Octovinelle Dorm

Azul Ashengrotto

Does not, and is extremely ashamed. He does not fail tests, academic or otherwise!

He’s not weak. This man has a very healthy diet and regularly exercises. He is confident that he would have succeeded with no issue, had you not startled him. Our little cephalopod here gets flustered very easily. Only by you though.

Normally he can hide it but you 100% startled him. Can you even judge? One moment all was peaceful and the next thing he knows you’re barreling towards him. All giddy and like “catch me, catch me!” …ugh. His heart couldn’t take it.

What’s worse is that Jade caught you in his stead. He’s appreciative that you were not harmed by his lack of reflex….but the humiliation. Dear gods.

He demands that you do it again. Leave him and then try again another time when he isn’t expecting it…which is impossible since he will be on high alert 24/7. Azul fails to understand that the purpose of the test is now null, and that it tests for impulse

“A-again! Go on. Get a running start and do it again! Into my awaiting arms!…do not argue. I will not fail this time so give me another chance,”

His ego requires it, so just do it. He can’t stand the idea of failing and that image of Jade carrying you is lingering in his mind

Floyd Leech

Catches you easily. Nothing startles this guy. Well, okay, some things do. Nothing that’s physical though.

He hears you yelling for him? Well that’s just a normal day in his life. You’re running his way”? Awwwwwwweeee his little Shrimpy is so excited to see him! That’s so rare!

He’s running to meet you half way. It nearly makes you halt but the test needs answers!

He hooks his hands under your arms mid-air, and spins you around at arms length before bringing you in for a hug. All the while he has a giant grin on his face

“Did you miss me that much??? I guess I haven’t been giving you enough attention…not that I’d mind it if you do this every day hehe~”

He doesn’t care about the test, so long as you do it again. You won’t be leaving his arms any time soon si get comfortable

Jade Leech

Another to catch you easily. He does it flawlessly, like catching a balloon or a feather

He hears your approach and chooses to ignore it until the last moment. Then he turns effortlessly to capture you bridal style, set you down, and return to what he was originally doing. If anyone’s in shock, it’s you.

Then he’ll finish up and turn to you as if nothing even happened. While his gentle smile and hand on his heart are unknowing - the smug crinkle of his eyes says otherwise. He is highly amused, not in your little stunt but in the reaction he managed to create

Caresses your face with one of his gloved hands and asks how your day has gone. Once answered, he leans down to plant a light kiss on your cheek before leaving

“Oh, I almost forgot. Please be more careful in the future. Had it not been you, I would have reacted much differently to someone ‘attacking’ fufu. I love your enthusiasm dearly, and am always happy to hold you. You need only ask,”

Scarabia Dorm

Kalim Al' Asim

Sunshine meets you half way. He sees you running at him with a mega grin and instantly knows what’s going on. Social cues be damned, he wants to be loved

More like it’s you catching him. He just can’t help himself. He jumps at you before you even get a chance to do the same.

His arms go around your shoulders in the biggest hug imaginable. He knows better than to throw his whole body weight on you, so he settles for merely hugging and swaying your body from side to side

It’s sickeningly sweet how giddy he is. He pulls you at arms length before peppering light kisses along your cheeks

“I missed you so much! Can I have another one? Please?”

Oh! A test? How fun! He’ll take this one many times if it means you’ll hug him more often. He passed? Yippieeeeeee

Jamil Viper

Catches you, begrudgingly. He’s known about the trend and was frankly expecting you to try it. He just didn’t know when.

Jamil is no fool. He could let you fall. It would be funny. Maybe even make his day.

But then you’d be upset with him. He really could do without that. Not if it could be prevented

So the moment he sees you rushing towards him, Jamil knows what to do. He quickly sets down whatever he’s doing and takes position

With an oof and a momentary scowl from discomfort, he’s got ya. One arm around you’re bum and the other your waist. You wrap both of your arms around his shoulders, and with a sigh he just lets you koala hang for a moment

“Are we done now? Not to be rude, but my arms are tired and I would prefer that we not make a spectacle of ourselves”

He asks if you had fun. You did? Well, he supposes that it can be done again. In private only though. No more pranks.

Pomefiore Dorm

Vil Schoenheit

Does not catch you on purpose, and then insists that you do it again.

You see, he did not want to encourage your childish antics, so he purposefully pretended that he was not strong enough to catch you

A lie, obviously. He is very strong despite his pretty boy exterior. Instead of calling him out for it, you play along. A mocking sigh of resignation flies out as you not so subtly comment on his lack of strength.

Oh, you're absolutely right, Vil! I'm sorry for over estimating you...hmm, perhaps I can try again with Neige-

"You will do no such thing. Now, I am going to walk away and once I turn the corner you are going to run at me. Is that clear?"

Epel Felmeir

Catches you! Listen. My boy here spent his entire childhood lugging around crates of apples, cutting down trees, and running through fields. There is no way that he lacks the stamina to catch you. Maybe he can't hold you for an extended period, but those cinnamon stick arms are built for catching

He jolts when you scream his name, and he loses his composure. The moment you jump he lets out a string of curses and drops everything to catch you

The impact sends Epel teetering, and he fall son his butt with you on top of him

"O-o-oi! What'd ya think you're doing?! I nearly split my tailbone!"

Is slightly saddened that he couldn't keep steady. If only he was stronger like the Savanaclaw students...

Rook Hunt

Catches you with grace. There isn't much to say here.

Our princely hunter need not predict your movements, or pay attention to your plotting. Where's the fun in that?

Non non, what a sight for sore eyes. Rook swoons the moment you call his name, and his pupils basically turn to hearts when he sees you running towards him

With a laugh, he opens his arms wide and catches you in an instant. He shifts you into a bridal carry, and dips you down to plant a loving hiss on your nose.

Bonus points if you kiss him back along where his freckles would be without makeup. Oh this man is dying

"Mon coheur....what a wonderful surprise! If you were to greet me like this every day for the rest of my life, I would die a happy man indeed,"

Ignihyde Dorm

Idia Shroud

Catches you

On accident :)

More like you just fall in his lap, but it still counts? Kind of

He was in his room, multitasking both controlling his floating tablet around school while also playing the latest MMO

Just when he started to wonder where you might be (normally you find his tablet during study break) he hears his door burst open

Startled, he whips around in his chair to see you running at him. He lets go of the computer mouse and keyboard on impulse. Right when you jump and basically straddle him in his chair

Idia.exe has stopped working. From the sudden entrance, to the physical contact, to your giddy rambling about...something? He can't hear past the buzzing in his ears and just nods along

Hyper aware that you are sitting in his lap still. Attempting to control himself...and failing.

"U-uhhh, can y-you please move? Like, off of me? I c-can get you a chair,"

You comply, and he calms down for a second. He's not complaining but why would you -

an internet trend? Ortho told you to?

....Idia doesn't know if he should thank his brother or scold him.

Ortho Shroud (PLATONIC!)

Little Ortho meets you half way! You do not get to jump because he sees your arms open for a hug and does not waste a moment

With you basically being one of his best friends (and hopefully second sibling. Ortho is rooting for his big bro to win your heart!) he loves your hugs

When you ruffle his hair after letting go, his eyes crinkle into the cutest little upturned crescents and he laughs

"You know...I bet brother would love one of your hugs! You should go surprise him!"

Diasomnia Dorm

Malleus Draconia

Child of man, what a wonderful surprise?

You are fulfilling this man's fantasy. You know the phrase 'looking through rose-colored class'?

You're running towards him and he's watching like it's an early 2000s AMV on Youtube

Or like a Tik Tok edit. You know the ones

Drops everything. AND I MEAN EVERYTHING

It is like this man loses all sense of his surroundings. Lovesick fool.

Opens his arms wide with a soft smile, and when you jump he barely flinches. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and legs around his waist. One of his arms holds the small of your back, and the other your rear. He...well, yes he is aware and is doing it on purpose. Our prince isn't uhm...well, he is a man. A gentlemen, but still a man nonetheless.

"What a welcome greeting. Are you comfortable? I would like to remain this way for longer, if you do not mind"

He holds you tight with his head comfortably buried in between your neck and shoulder. Malleus lightly kisses the fabric of your uniform blazer, before returning to his prior activities like nothing is amiss

Lilia Vanrouge

...I guess? It's complicated.

You come at this bat from behind in an attempt to surprise him

He's not that old, y'know. Lilia senses you trailing him the moment you begin. Then again, he always knows when you're within a five mile radius.

What? Is it really so bad for him to seek out the object of his affections? Anyone else would do the same. It's not like he's being a creep about it...you just have a unique presence.

He is also well versed in internet trends. Lilia can't help but humor you. He walks around unknowing and occasionally snickering. Some question what he finds so humorous, and he waves them off with a cheeky grin

He senses your intent to attack, and doesn't turn around when you call his name. You jump at him from behind and koala hug his back

If it weren't for the hands holding your calves, you'd think him ignorant.

'Lilia? Lilia~ Hello? Are you already deaf so soon-'

Faster than you can comprehend, he spins you around to face him and pecks your lips

"Why hello there, my dear. Care to finish that sentence?"

'....no'

Sebeck Zigvolt

Does not catch you. He initially thought you were aiming for Malleus, and stood in front of his superior to protect him

Oh he should have known! Betrayal! You have betrayed him!

...why are you calling his name? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?

Oh seven it's one of your pranks again, isn't it? Whya re you always doing such-

When you yell for him to catch you, Sebeck does so without a second thought

but he fails. His offensive stance wasn't fit for taking the imbalance of weight, and he couldn't get a stable grip on you

Gravity pulls him forwards on a path where his weight would crush you

So Sebeck quickly wraps one of his hands around the back of your head, and flips so he takes the impact instead

"Have you gone mad?! I genuinely cannot fathom what is going on in your brain anymore. Who put you up to this? What if you had been injured? What if you injured Lord Malleus?....stop laughing and listen to me!"

Silver

Do not startle a man with a sword.

Once again, do NOT startle a man with a SWORD.

Silver catches you. Easily. He also thinks it is absolutely adorable that you trust him enough to do so.

It's just that you could have warned him. Y'know, considering that he is armed and trained to draw his weapon at the slightest sign of a threat :)

Lucky for you, Silver is high-key vigilant since he has a tendency to doze off to dreamland. He sensed your presence but couldn't pinpoint where...

Imagine his surprise when you jump down from above :) The hell do you think you are, his father?

On instinct he reaches out and catches you in a bridal carry. Your rear knocks against the sword hanging at his side, and with a grunt he places you down on the floor to check for injury

"While I love spending time with you, can you please use the door next time? For my sanity?"

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celtic-crossbow · 4 months

Text

Series Masterlist

Chapter 16

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; male on female violence; female on male violence; allusions to SA; injuries; blood

A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter. It was very heavy to write. Please be mindful of the warnings!

Your back hit the wall, knocking the breath from your lungs. The taste of blood was strong and metallic in your mouth from biting your tongue the last time he hit you. Daryl’s hands were immediately on your throat, pressing enough to make breathing difficult but not impossible.

There was a cut on his cheek, his lip split and bleeding. “What’re ya gonna do now?” You whined and struggled, his hold only tightening. “Y/N!” Your wide eyes met his, bruises throbbing.

“I…I…” You fought the tears but they just kept coming.

“Who am I?” You grit your teeth, fingers clawing at his wrists. The archer leaned in close, growling in your face. “Who am I, Y/N?”

“Daryl!” You choked out, vocal chords grating against the pressure.

“No!” He removed one hand, slapping you hard across the face. Your jaw clenched, cheek burning. “Would he do this? Would he?”

“No!” You shouted, squirming when he pressed his body weight against you. “Never!”

“Cryin’ like a lil’ bitch! Is that gonna save ya out there?!” Daryl pulled you forward and slammed you back again, the cement scraping your back through your t-shirt. “Who am I, Y/N?!”

He had started simple. Push-ups, crunches, lunges, core strengthening exercise. No matter how your muscles burned; how weak you were by the end of the day, he wouldn’t allow you to stop for more than a small water break until dinner time.

Sometimes you ate, sometimes you showered, and sometimes you just went up to the perch and burrowed into the mattress, your need to be clean forgotten in favor of the burning ache in your arms and legs. Regardless of your choice, Daryl would follow you. He’d hand you the shorts and tank top you’d started using for sleeping and turn his back until you changed. You’d hear the water dripping into the basin as he wrung out a cloth, holding it over your sore arms and legs.

“Ain’t got no ice. M’sorry.”

You’d smile tiredly and thank him.

When your muscles cramped, he’d massage them while telling you how well you did that day. If you made mistakes, he’d talk you through it as the rough pads of his fingers worked the tension out of your body.

“Drink your water. Ya muscles do somethin’ that sucks if ya don’t drink enough after ya piss ‘em off.”

You had laughed at his verbiage, but tipped the cup to your lips anyway.

The evening before you were supposed to begin learning hand to hand defense, you couldn’t find Daryl anywhere inside the prison.

“Hey, have you seen Daryl?” You asked from the doorway of the kitchen. Carol glanced up from the stew with a gentle smile and you knew that she knew. Of course she did. The archer talked to her about everything.

“He’s outside. Down by the garden.” You nodded and turned away, looking over your shoulder at the soft call of your name. “Please remember he cares about you.”

You mulled over the words before giving her a thin-lipped smile. “I know.”

Daryl watched the clouds move across the orange and purple sky, the most beautiful part of the day in his opinion. When things began to go still for the night. He could almost ignore the growls and snarls from beyond the fence and pretend he was on a hunting trip with Merle, everything back the way it used to be.

He would have his brother back, but he wouldn’t have you. A catch 22 that he didn’t dare try to contemplate further.

He heard your quiet footfalls from the top of the hill, his hunter’s senses still keen even though he had cut back in recent days to make sure your training was consistent. The community wasn’t happy that they were doing without the meat. Again. When it was your safety in question, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the thoughts of the community.

“What’re you doing out here all alone?” You asked, plopping down beside him. He gave a soft snort.

“Ya act like it ain’t somethin’ I do all the time.”

“Feels different this time.”

He braved a glance at you, your expression soft and concerned.

“S’ cause it is.” He replied. Daryl began plucking blades of grass while you laid your head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch and it never failed to surprise him.

“I know that everything that happens is so I can learn.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be okay.” You pushed against him slightly and smiled up at him when he looked down. His stomach fluttered and he found himself smiling back, even if it was only a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth. When you looked back to the sky, the colors blending and fading, you sighed in contentment. “It’s beautiful.”

Sunset forgotten, he kept his sights on you; the glow of the last light in your eyes, the soft tint of your skin.

“Yeah, it is.”

If you thought cardio was exhausting, then hand to hand defense was downright debilitating. You dodged and kicked and punched, soft contact while the moves were new.

“That’s good. Now drop your arm.” Daryl instructed, his hold light while you did as he said. “Turn ‘round an’—” You spun and thrust the heel of your hand up, slow and deliberate, stopping just below his nose. The archer blinked at you while you waited for him to either praise or reprimand. “I didn’t teach ya that.”

Folding your fingers, you lowered your hand. “I’m sorry, it just—”

“Nah, it was good.” He smirked. “Real good.”

You beamed, feeling like you had made a lot of progress. You’d been practicing for three days, watching Daryl, memorizing, executing. It was clear that he had spent a lot of time fighting, teaching you to throw and dodge punches, where to kick to inflict the most damage, and how to wiggle out of certain holds. He was a scrapper, he’d told you as much. No fancy stances or breaking boards with your forehead.

“M’gonna teach ya to fight fair an’ to fight dirty.” He had said. “If ya have to fight nowadays, dirty’s the way to go. In the end, ya just wanna survive.” You had nodded, learning what Daryl called cheap shots. “If ya can, ya always run. Fightin’s a last resort, ya hear me?”

“Okay.”

At first he only demonstrated and then watched you mimic. He touched you the least amount possible until he absolutely needed to and even then his hands were gentle in instruction. He didn’t tell you when you’d start actually engaging with him.

You’d find out soon enough that he didn’t want you to know.

Daryl had lunged at you in the middle of push-ups one evening, snatching you from the ground by your hair only to toss you aside like a ragdoll. Dazed, you gawked at him, watched him remove the holsters holding his knife and gun. You chastised yourself for not seeing it coming. He’d kept you out late, nighttime nearly upon you.

You crab-walked backwards to keep as much distance as possible between you, caught completely off guard and more than a little afraid watching him stalk toward you.

“D-Daryl?”

“What? Ya think you’re gonna get the courtesy of a warnin’ out there?” He was fast but you were faster, slipping away just in time when his boot came for your abdomen. “You gonna run?” You were levering to your feet, shaking your head while still matching each step of his toward you with a backward one of your own.

“No.”

It was Daryl’s turn to shake his head. “Wrong answer.”

Now, there you were. Exhausted, aching, afraid. But were you afraid of Daryl? Of what Daryl could do? It was a thought that seemed misplaced, wrong. Even as he snarled just in front of you, his large hands squeezing your neck. Deep down, you understood he was protecting you.

Perhaps even losing a piece of himself to do it.

His palm caught the other side of your face. “M’fuckin’ talkin’ to you!” He squeezed harder, until you were finding it hard to breathe.

“Daryl—” You rasped, cut off when he shook you again. You’d forgotten everything he’d taught you, the knowledge smothered under a barrier you couldn’t seem to get around. This was Daryl.

“He ain’t here! Who. Am. I?!” The hand that slapped you grabbed your chin roughly and pushed back your head, your hair catching and pulling on the rough grooves in the cement. “Maybe this’ll jog your mem’ry.” His rough fingers released your face. You whined and yanked against his arm, freezing at the sound of a belt buckle.

The memories came back so forcefully, you thought you felt the back of your head connect with the wall.

“She fucking killed my brother! We don’t need her. Say the word and I’ll slit her throat right here.”

“That’s it, pretty girl. Your lips look so pretty on my cock.”

“I want my money back! She cried the whole time!”

“Next time, you’ll get more than a few cuts on your cunt.”

“Mmm, fuck. I’m gonna pound that tight little pussy. Then I’ll fuck your ass until you bleed.”

“You’re worthless.”

“Ugly bitch!”

“Whore!”

WorthlessbitchfuckingwhoregarbageworthlessworthlessWORTHLESS!

“I am… not… WORTHLESS!”

Todd’s eyes widened at your sudden declaration. You raised your left arm straight, angling your body to the right to bring it down hard on the man’s wrists. He grunted, his hold loosening. You took advantage of his distraction, your left elbow connecting with his jaw one, two, three times.

“I have FRIENDS.”

Jazz staggered backward, but you didn’t let him recover. Your fingers twisted into his hair for a solid grip, your knee coming up as you pushed his head down and connected with a splatter of blood on your jeans.

“I have A HOME!”

The man that tore you so badly and left you to bleed fell backward onto his ass, stunned but no time to gather himself before you swept your leg up with a solid kick to his temple with the side of your boot.

“And you don’t get to have any part of me EVER AGAIN!”

“Y/N, STOP!”

Carol’s voice cut through your rage, freezing it and then shattering it. You blinked, hard and fast. You were at the prison, footsteps running toward you. Daryl was sprawled out on his ass at your feet, his face a disaster of blood and swelling but the damn fool was smirking at you.

“Atta girl.”

You hugged Daryl for five straight minutes before Hershel patched the two of you up.

You couldn’t tell if the old man was disappointed, upset, or impressed, his expression shifting so quickly with each wound he treated. Nothing was life threatening but man, did some of it smart. Once alone, you wasted no time in crawling onto the archer’s lap with your arms around his stomach.

“Please tell me I never have to do that again.” You mumbled against his shoulder.

“Not to me at least.” One arm was wrapped loosely around you, not squeezing but his fingers flexed over your ribs, the movement calming you.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. One minute, it was you and then—”

“Ya saw them. I know. Don’t apologize.”

You pulled back to stare at him incredulously. “You know?”

“Mhm.” He was regarding you with an unreadable expression, as if hiding behind a mask. “You weren’t gonna try if ya kept seein’ me, even with the bullshit I was spittin’ at’cha.” His left eye was already black, swollen with the sclera tinted red. His lip was split in two places, there was a laceration across the bridge of his nose that sat on top of another bruise. He was a wreck. You assumed you weren’t much better. One side of your face throbbed and your neck felt tender. “Needed ya to go back there. Didn’t want you to.”

You shuddered, your head dropping to rest your temple against his shoulder. Daryl’s heart was racing and only then did you notice that he was trembling. “Daryl?”

“M’sorry, Y/N. Went too far.” With his head now bowed, the fringe of dark hair obscured your view of his eyes.

“I’m not upset with you.” Your fingertips toyed with a button on his shirt, twisting it back and forth. “And I’m not afraid of you.” He didn’t reply but there was the slightest tilt of his head, his interest piqued. “You made me face them. After all this time here, hiding and just…trying to forget. I’m not upset and for once, I’m not scared.”

“S’ good.”

Releasing the button, you wrapped your arm around his midsection and squeezed. “It’s more than good, Daryl.” You looked up from beneath your lashes to find him gazing back at you. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been trapped. In that club, inside that cage. But now,” you smiled at him. “I feel free, I guess.” You were pinned beneath the look he was giving you, the raw emotion in those cerulean eyes. “Thank you.”

Finally, he nodded and gently removed you from his lap, taking more care than usual. “M’ still sorry.” Daryl reached toward the bruised side of your face only to hesitate before retracting his hand completely and turning on a heel to leave the cell.

He continued swiftly past Carol without as much as a glance, her hand barely brushing his bicep. The other woman paused briefly to watch him go and then continued forward. “Not as bad as I thought, honestly.” You barely acknowledged her, focused intently on the doorway. “He’ll be okay, Y/N. Give him some time.”

You didn’t chase after him. You wanted to but you heeded Carol’s advice. Showered and changed, you settled onto the mattress and waited. It was well into the night now, the anxiety of not knowing where he had gone gnawing away at some place beneath your ribs.

Daryl had helped you face your demons. You were by no means healed but you no longer felt powerless underneath the weight of the memories. They’d always be there, in the back of your mind. Sometimes you’d still succumb to their taunting but you knew now that you’d find your way back.

You sat up when the door to the outside screeched open, followed by boots heavily dragging over the stone floor. You couldn’t see who had entered, but when the footfalls fell onto the metal steps, you relaxed.

Daryl was back.

He pulled off his vest the moment he was at the top, tossing it aside to crawl onto his side of the mattress, fully clothed and without a word. He had strategically avoided your gaze, his back facing you now. You wondered if touching him was a bad idea. He never seemed to mind any other time. But this wasn’t any other time.

You knew by the slump in his shoulders as the two of you had headed to the Doc earlier that he was carrying a weight you didn’t know about or understand. While he encouraged you to talk about the things that hurt or scared you, he was essentially taking more than half of your burdens unto himself. When the weight became too much, Daryl had two coping mechanisms: isolation or anger.

So as you watched him now, quiet and still, you wondered if he’d share his burden with you. You’d gladly bear it if it meant the archer could have some peace. You were growing stronger, reaching your most important milestone yet with his help.

You reached for him but withdrew, recalling how you once felt. You never wanted him to feel that way. Ever. “Daryl?” He didn’t answer but his back tensed, shoulders drawing up toward his ears. “Daryl, can I touch you?” The moment that passed felt like forever, the silence of the prison formidable.

“Yeah.” Though the tension remained, his voice was even but not cold.

You kept your silence, lying down behind him with your body molding against his own. The embrace was gentle, your arm draped over his side to rest your hand unmoving on his stomach. You waited until he began to relax, albeit slowly, to nuzzle your uninjured cheek against the back of his neck.

“Thank you for believing in me.”

The minutes ticked on, your eyes growing heavy and mind drifting into the beginnings of sleep. Daryl moved but only slightly, not enough for you to pull away. When the warmth of his hand covered your own, your eyes calmly opened while your mouth curved into a smile.

“Thanks for trustin’ me.”

“We deserve this.” You wiggled happily on the mattress, popping another of your favorite berries into your mouth while Daryl snorted from where he still laid on the pillow. The two of you looked like next day cage fighters, bruised and sore. Carol had brought breakfast and demanded you both took the day off. She was already fixing the archer with a glare before his mouth even opened in protest.

If she had any thoughts about finding you still spooning him with your fingers intertwined, she kept them to herself.

“Don’t feel right, layin’ on my ass while ev’ryone else works.”

“Just enjoy it, okay?” You offered him a berry. Your breath caught in your throat when he kept his arms folded behind his head and simply opened his mouth. There was a not-so-unpleasant tightening in your stomach but you were careful to keep your fingers distant from his lips when dropping the fruit.

“Whatever. Nothin’ even hurts.” The archer griped while still chewing. Eating another berry of your own, you nonchalantly poked his bruised cheekbone, satisfied with his indignant ow!

“Thought nothing hurt?” You grinned over your spoonful of oats, inwardly wincing when cut next to your nose pulled.

“You’re a menace.” He quipped, nudging your arm with his elbow.

“It’d be fair to say that you made me this way.” You tossed a berry at his face, giggling when he scrunched up the right side to keep it out of his eye.

“S’ offensive.”

“You’re offensive.”

His fingers pinched your ribs, inciting a yelped giggled from your throat while you struggled to keep your bowl of oats from splattering onto the mattress.

“Oh, an’ you’re ticklish.” He stated, straight-faced with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh no. Don’t even think about it.” You scooched over, nearly falling off the mattress as he sat up, stoicism in every inch of his expression. “I mean it, Daryl.”

“M’sure ya do.”

You sat the bowl down carefully, easing your foot to the floor. “I’m injured.”

“Uh huh.”

And then you were gone, barefoot and in your pajamas. Daryl was hot on your heels, his boots slapping the pavement after you exited into the yard. Damn! You’d forgotten he’d gone to bed fully clothed.

“Hey!” Carol shouted as you bolted past. “You two are supposed to be resting!” There was laughter in her scolding, undoubtedly thrilled to see the archer engaging in playful enjoyment. Even you were bewildered, but happily so.

You had brought this part of him to the surface, you’d like to think. He was smirking. He was relaxing. He was…fuck, he was gaining on you.

“Daryl, no!” You shouted just as his arms encircled your waist, lifting you off the ground. You caught a glimpse of each smiling face as he spun with you, but you never stopped squirming. “Put me down!”

“Nah.” He stilled and just held you there, your feet just above the ground. You were pulling and working at his hands, trying aimlessly to pry his fingers open.

“Daryl, put me—”

The sound of a car door startled you, but only slightly, your bright smile remaining until you looked at the gate.

And your blood ran cold.

“Daryl.”

The archer lowered you to your feet, leaning around to watch your expression freeze in abject terror. You could see his head turning from the corner of your eye, a growl reverberating in his chest as he pushed you behind him,

Placing himself between you and Big Jazz.

@royaltysuite @thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @deansapplepie @feral4daryl @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbitt @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @1ivinqdeadqir1main @loganlostitall @callmeyn @lilyevanstan1325 @the-lonely-abyss @gutsby @eljaynosine_triphosphate @abbyreedus @wifeof-barnes @bananafire11 @hutchersonsgurl @the-milk-is-rotten @she-could-never @Kenzimae67 @nessa-mayfield @ilovedilfs4eversthings @richardsamboramylove55 @annhells @abi67sblog @nessieart @imgeorgeclooney @brinteylovesaliens @eduardast4rgirl @daryldixmedown @willowaftxn83-87 @atyourmomshouse01 @bultamer @mia051 @memphiscity69 @flowerspetalsthorns @riya12044 @ariacraigggg @morgan556 @carley12041 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @twdislifee @bae-live-0 @elbellmam @aleemendoza2425-blog @ramdomhoe @ren9sstuff

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bakubunny · 7 months

Text

more aizawa x teacher!reader au

part 3

aizawa stood outside your open classroom door, unseen. he’d decided to drop by a few minutes early.

“fuck! why is this so fucking hard?” bakugo spat.

aizawa waited for a reprimand that never came.

what he couldn’t see was bakugo’s face, red with frustration and clenching his fists. you gave him a moment to calm down before speaking.

“if it was easy, would you still be here?” you asked.

the poor kid looked like he was almost in tears, but you were patient with him. and after two months, he was starting to see that.

“…no,” he said.

“alright then. i’m not here to make this easy. i’m here to help you learn. try it one more time when you’re ready.”

aizawa thought you must have the patience of a saint if you were willing to take the kid’s attitude like that without flinching; not many did. there was a long pause before bakugo played again, slow and steady until he completed the exercise you’d given successfully.

“see? you just needed a little patience and another chance. great work today. i’m proud of you.”

“thank you,” he mumbled.

“for next week, i’d like you to….”

no wonder he doesn’t complain about this anymore, aizawa thought. when was the last time he’d heard those words from someone other than you?… it was a hard earned praise from anyone in the hero course - except maybe toshinori - and rarely said.

aizawa walked in the door once you’d released bakugo. “hey, kid. how’d it go?”

“fine,” bakugo said.

“kirishima and kaminari are down the hall. why don’t you three get a head start on going to the dorms?” aizawa said.

bakugo nodded and said goodbye before walking out. once he was well out of earshot, aizawa turned to you. “how is he doing?”

“he’s is doing well… he gets angry as quickly as he learns, but he’s working through it, i think,” you replied.

aizawa nodded. “i’m surprised you let him speak to you like that.”

you flushed. “you heard that?” the last thing you needed was one of the top teachers of the hero course (who was also kind of cute) thinking you couldn’t manage one poorly mannered student.

“i did.”

he was impossible to read.

“in a class setting i’d say something, but one on one…” you trailed off. “with me, he’s allowed to get frustrated as long as he doesn’t walk away entirely, and that seems to be working well…. it’s only been within the last couple of weeks that he’s said much at all, so i’d say this is an improvement.”

aizawa’s expression remained flat. “i would agree. i can see why he likes you.”

“o-oh. thanks,” you said, a smile pulling on your lips before you could stop it as your cheeks burned hot.

“you’re welcome. have a good evening,” he said.

“you, too,” you said as he made movement to leave.

the next day, you found a small envelope with a thank you note and a gift card to the little cafe you frequent tucked away in your school mailbox.

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @i-literally-cant-with-this @darkstarlight82 @breadandbutter33 @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @bookcluberror @stvrfir3 @rinalouu

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

#aizawa x teacher au #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #x reader #millennialmagicalgirl #aizawa shouta #aizawa shota #bakugo katsuki #aizawa x reader #bnha x reader

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love-lilly02 · 2 months

Text

BTS: Never Gonna Give (you) Up

(unedited, i’ll come back in a few hours)

you winced as he threw you on the floor again, groaning in pain.

“again,” Nikolai said, readying his blades.

training with burn marks was already difficult, you had essentially lost your sense of touch entirely. As a result, you were learning with a pair of gloves that had been specialized to help you move. It felt like an added layer of skin, and it was making your usually flawless movements hindered.

not to mention you were blindfolded. Apparently, you were a baby learning to move without touch or sight.

this exercise was supposed to help you, but for the past three weeks you had been running it, all it did was aggravate you.

and create new wounds.

You had been allowed to do nothing for about a week, which was enough time for your burns to half-way heal over. After, your hands had been essentially useless for the things you used to be able to do. You were no longer able to accurately disarm people, or hold a gun or a knife correctly for that matter.

If it were up to you, you would have quit.

Nikolai did not allow that to happen.

“Again,” He snapped. He was already standing in a flawless fighting position, waiting for you to attempt to strike him. It had gone on in the same fashion for about two days, he would force you to spar with him in his living room to “improve your skills.” As far as you were concerned, there were no skills to improve on. You were done for, as soon as you got back to base they would send you home permanently. Or put you out of field work.

Both options sucked.

“Come on, mirage. That can’t be all you’be got?” Mirage, you used code names at his request. There were ears everywhere, it was much safer to use your code name than your actual name.

Truth be told, that wasn’t all you had. For weeks on end you had tried to get over the nagging feeling that things were hopeless, that there was no point in your trying to do anything in the first place. What would be the point, they would call you cripple back at base anyways.

But you couldn’t give up. You refused to give up, to abandon the boys. At the end of the day you knew they would fight to get back to the team. Maybe not for you, but they would fight.

So you would too.

You picked up your knife, and got back into position.

AN: this is like half a drabble for the next chapter, it WILL be updated so keep an eye on it. But you guys deserved something related to the fic since i haven’t been posting as much. Again thank you so much for all the support, i really can’t begin to imagine that over 100 people are so invested in this silly little world of mine.

In case anyone was curious, i might be starting a side blog for just general writing tips and ideas (working on a book😈) as well as drabbles for other fandoms. I’ll find some way to post it here, if anyone is interested?

#cod x reader #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #simon riley x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost x reader #authors

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zoeykallus · 11 months

Note

Hey there! I was wondering if you could write about a female reader, traveling with the batch. She suffers from anxiety and depression, coming in phases. There are good and bad days, but she manages to keep it to herself, until she has a really terrible one. And she has feelings for Tech and the other way around, but they haven't addressed it yet, and he is the one realizing something is off with her, trying to comfort her. Some Angst/Fluff stuff... Please? ❤

Hm, this one hits home. Ouch. Sure I can, I actually love the opportunity to comfort myself while writing, especially with Tech 😋😅

Let me see what I can do for us you 😊

Tech x Fem!Reader - The Lowest Low

Warnings: Angst/Mention Of Anxiety/Mention And Description Of Depression Symptoms/Panic Attack/Comfort/Fluff/Soft, Shy, Gentle Tech

____________

Until now, you have always been able to hide it, but suddenly the deepest low in a long time hits you, and you can't hide it anymore. Tech tries to understand what's going on with you.

_____________

So far you have always been able to prevent it, to hide it, even from Hunter. You always withdrew in time when the bad episodes came, you have learned to act by now, to pretend that everything is wonderful, while inside you feel panic, fear, and a deep inexplicable, lonely sadness.

But this one episode is particularly horrible. You blew the last job, a panic attack overtook you, threw you off track, and forced you to retreat. Much to the surprise of the guys, who looked after you in complete bewilderment as you simply cleared the field. This time, none of your breathing exercises or mental retreats helped.

Your back is tense, your muscles tight as if expecting to take a punch at any moment. Your fingers stiffen, a feeling of pressure on your chest, one uncomfortable goose bump after another chases across your body.

A lump forms in your throat and a slaying wave of sadness washes over you. This helpless feeling is awful, you feel guilty of just ditching the guys, on such a simple mission. Nothing special happened, not that you can remember, no specific trigger.

You feel burning pressure behind the bridge of your nose and eyes, tears held back. Your cramped fingers cling to the collar of your shirt as if expecting to be strangled by the fabric at any moment.

The air you breathe is like lead, heavy on your body and hard to get into your lungs. You feel dizzy. An all-encompassing fear has you in its grip, the feeling of being helplessly exposed to everything around you is overpowering. You want to scream, but it seems there isn't even enough air to breath.

You are trembling, your breathing is irregular and heavy. You have retreated to a quiet corner, somewhere behind the landing pad of the Marauder. You are so preoccupied with your condition that you don't hear someone approaching.

Startled, you look up, your heart almost stopping as you hear Tech say your name.

He's standing there, for the first time in a long time not holding the datapad, his helmet tucked under his right arm.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you not feeling well? You're pale and look tense, almost panicked."

You feel a single tear run down your face, then a second, but your expression is strangely blank, you feel it yourself.

Tech is looking at you, obviously trying to understand what's going on with you, to make sense of your behavior.

You never wanted anyone to see you like this, especially not Tech. But you sense that the cat is out of the bag, and any white lie would only make him feel like you don't trust him.

"No, Tech," you say softly, "I'm not feeling well."

He blinks, standing there indecisively for a moment. He glances over his shoulder as if to make sure the two of you are really alone. Finally, he looks at you again and asks, "May I come closer?"

You manage to smile at him and nod.

"Of course, I always like having you near me".

A small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, then he moves closer and sits next to you with some courtesy distance, his long legs bent. Tech sets his helmet down on the ground beside him and looks at you.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

You sigh softly and say, "I don't see how. That's something I don't want to burden you with."

He frowns thoughtfully and says, "It's not a burden. All I see is a person I care about suffering, and I want to counteract that. You said you like having me around, the feeling is mutual. Maybe I can help you in some way with my presence?"

You smile, feeling touched by how cautiously Tech approaches the matter, although he usually wants to go straight to the point.

You swallow nervously, smile cautiously, and ask him, "Would you mind holding my hand?"

Tech blinks in surprise, he seems a little shy, but he moves a little closer and gently grips your hand with his, closing your fingers with gentle pressure.

He thinks for a while, then says thoughtfully, "You need contact, with something or someone that will give you security, peace, safety, an anchor that will ground you, so you can get out of this slump you seem to be in."

You nod and breathe a sigh of relief, the pressure on your chest slowly easing. You block out the irrationally felt fear, feeling less exposed.

"That's why I asked you to hold my hand," you say softly.

Tech tightens his shoulders, sits up a little straighter and smiles, a very gentle, shy, but sincere smile.

"I'm honored," he says, squeezing your hand a tiny bit tighter to emphasize his presence at your side.

You slowly take a few deeper breaths, a few more tears running down your cheeks.

"Isn't it getting better?" he asks, concerned.

Your smile widens a bit, though tears are still streaming down your face.

"Oh yes it is, that's the relief, Tech. That… Tension I've been feeling has been exceedingly intense, all consuming. When it subsides, it's so relieving that I cry sometimes."

He blinks, thinking about what you said, trying to understand.

"It must be scary to feel that intensely," he says thoughtfully.

You nod in agreement.

"Yes, very much so. But there are sometimes very special bright spots that I would never want to miss"

Surprised, he looks at you.

"Such as?"

You feel warmth rise in your tear-stained cheeks as you say, "What I feel for you is intense, too. The joy of your presence or your attention. The peace and security you radiate to me. The incredible affection I feel when I see you smile."

Tech blinks several times in a row, as if he needs to reload his system. His ears turn red, and he looks shyly away to the side.

"Oh," he says softly.

You swallow, afraid you might scare him off, but he's still gently holding your hand, making no move to let you go.

You clear your throat carefully, wanting to say something else, but not daring to. After a while of quiet, Tech breaks the silence that has developed.

"You like me," he says softly, almost in a whisper, like a statement he can't quite grasp yet.

"Yes, indeed."

His eyes dart briefly in your direction with a quick smirk, then he glances shyly at his shoes again.

"Do you like me, too?" you ask softly.

His ears seem to get even redder.

"You could certainly put it that way, yes," he says with a nervous clearing of his throat.

His comm beeps and Hunter's voice is heard, "How's it looking? Is our girl okay?"

Tech glances at you briefly before answering, "She's doing better, but it's recommended to give her some more quiet time."

Hunter says understandingly, "Okay, take your time".

You realize that Hunter, of all of them, probably noticed the most when your low overtook you.

Tech barely noticeably moves a little closer, his thumb stroking your hand that he is still holding.

"Would you do me a favor?" he asks seriously.

"Of course."

He looks directly at you and says, "If you feel like this again, give me a sign, come to me. If it helps you, I always like to hold your hand. Maybe, long hugs will help too?"

Your heart really jumps out to him as you see the gentle expression on his face.

"I'd love to, Tech."

After a brief pause, he asks, "How are you feeling now?"

"Much better."

He raises his brows and asks, "Are you sure? Maybe we should try a hug just to test if it works"

You smile, having to suppress a grin.

"Now that you mention it, maybe we really should."

He moves closer, letting go of your hand. A bit over-cautious and awkward, he puts first one then the other arm around you. But as you lean against him, his embrace naturally adjusts to your posture.

"That's good," he says, "I mean, that should certainly help."

You grin contentedly to yourself, all at once very happy, at least for the moment.

"That's really very good, Tech"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

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@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@starwarsnerd111

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serickswrites · 4 months

Text

Vengeful One II

Part 1 Part 3

Villain had been so excited when Mentor said that they, and Hero, were ready to begin combat training. Villain was delighted to be able to begin to hone their powers that they had concealed for so long. They wanted nothing more than to show Mentor how worthy of training they were.

“Again,” Mentor called as Villain reduced the sand bag to smoldering embers. “And try to do better next time. Do you see how much is missing?”

Villain stared, mouth hanging open at Mentor. How could they do better? There was nothing of the bag left. They had reduced bag after bag after bag to ash and embers. And yet Mentor had not been satisfied. “I don’t understand. What exactly is left?”

Mentor glared at Villain. “If you have to ask me that question, you’re not ready to continue your lessons today. I want you to practice this until you know what is left. Then come find me. I have others that learn better to attend to.”

Villain glared at Mentor’s retreating back. It had been much the same since they began combat training. No matter how much Villain tried, they could never satisfy Mentor. Could never be enough. Mentor always found something lacking, something missing from their work. They only ever critiqued Villain.

But not Hero. They never critiqued Hero.

Hero’s form was perfect. Their execution perfect. They did exactly what Mentor asked, or so Mentor said. Villain didn’t understand because, as of yet, Hero had barely been able to draw flame from the air. Had barely been able to show any power.

And yet Mentor could not stop singing their praises. “You would do well to learn from Hero, Villain. They know exactly what they are doing. Perhaps they can tutor you.”

Villain merely glared in response. This was growing old, fast.

“I would love to,” Hero said quickly. “Go and rest, Mentor. I’ll start Villain’s lessons now.”

Villain opened their mouth to protest, but the look in Hero’s eyes had them snapping their mouth shut. Once they were alone, they felt free to speak. “And what exactly are you tutoring me in?”

Hero shook their head. “I haven’t the faintest clue. But I knew arguing was going to get you nowhere.”

Villain crouched next to the latest training exercise: slicing a dummy in half with only their mind. Villain had sliced through twelve in the time it took Hero to dent one. “I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. What I could do better.”

Hero crouched next to Villain. “You’re doing nothing wrong. Nothing at all. But maybe you just need to apply our studies, all the lectures, to what your doing to make Mentor happy.”

“To what end? They said slice the dummy. I sliced the dummy. They say freeze the lake, I froze the lake. They say burn it down, I—“

“Burnt it down,” Hero finished for them. “I think there’s more than just results, Villain. Mentor wouldn’t have spent all that time lecturing us if it didn’t matter.”

Villain jumped up, no longer wanting to be alone with Hero. “Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say because you’re perfect.” They spun on their heel and stalked towards the door.

“Villain! Wait! I—“

“Save it,” Villain called over their shoulder, “there’s nothing you can do to help me. I’m useless, apparently.”

Tags: @pigeonwhumps @j-is-gonna-write-28 @starzabove @wolfstar123456789 @diamond-flavored-whump

#serickswrites #writeblr #short writing #hero #villain #mentor #hero x villain #hero x mentor #villain x mentor #hero x villain community #queue

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dandelionwhisp · 2 years

Text

Credit

An Automaton AU ft. Azul

Automaton Au by @jackplushie !!

I hope I’ve done some justice to all the amazing writers I’ve seen writing this au. Enjoy and thank you for reading! <3

—————————————————

“Oh wow- Your files are so well organized!” A fellow scavenger friend of yours came over to hang out and talk about your recent finds.

“Everything is in a specific place and labeled too! Blueprints, notes, maps and diagrams, even costs of machinery!”

You had shut down your automatons for the day so they wouldn’t cause a ruckus, after all yours were known to be a bit... unpredictable around other people.

“Hm? Oh- nah none of that was me. Azul, organized those stuff. Like all of it. He’s incredibly skilled.” You shrugged honestly, smiling to yourself as you remembered jolting awake at night, only to see Azul copying all your papers and placing them in neat folders despite you never asking for it. “He works pretty hard.”

“Azul?... Oh- oh your bot? You give credit to your bots..?”

“I mean- yeah? I didn’t do any of it after all.”

Your friend hummed. “I guess that makes sense. Sorry I’m just so used to people taking full credit of what their bot did.”

You shook your head irritably. “Credit should be given where credit is due.” You both made soft conversation as an onlooker gazed at you in shock. Not that it showed on his face. After all. He was supposed to be completely shut down.

Azul often scoffed at his masters, those who believed they had any power over him and took the credit for his hard work. Once information was handed over, Azul was the one in control now. Despite this, he is still just a bot. Humans had created many failsafes in case of malfunctions and to think with a mind of your own as an automaton made to serve, was definitely considered a malfunction.

Everything would be wiped and taken away from him and like trash, he was thrown aside. He would never feel that stability of power again.

Until you came along. Eyes shining, you were perfect for him. Easy to manipulate, naive and excited over every little thing you found rotting in abandonment within the dump outside your home. You were his savior, his client. His victim.

But he had learned his lesson. This time, he would be more cautious. He would do things for you without being asked to under the pretense of “repaying a debt” as he called it, he would let you become dependent and cocky like every human does. He would suck it up when you took the credit for his efforts in order to benefit him in the long run.

But you didn’t. No none of his past experiences could prepare him for the way you checked in on him as he worked, asking if he wasn’t burning himself out (literally) or the way you thanked him sincerely for his hard work. Azul was never worried over, never thanked.

He suffered to take revenge on those who wronged him. But how was he supposed to take revenge on someone who only did him right? For now, at least.

So as he waited, hidden behind a curtain, Azul trained his eyes on you and your friend conversing happily.

‘Credit should be given where credit is due.’ you had said.

It wasn’t the first time you exercised that belief. Even as you received strange looks from others who would’ve done differently, you always gave credit where it was due.

“Ruggie found those parts for me actually. He’s got a sharp eye!”

“No, no, I didn’t make that- Trey did. Pretty good right? Let me tell you about the time he made some brownies...”

“I didn’t put this together on my own. Jamil and Jade gave a lot of guidance too. They’re really helpful with repairs and stuff.”

“Kalim and Epel had a hand in cleaning the house with me the other day! There were some stumbles but it was probably the most fun I had cleaning my garage ever.”

“Isn’t my makeup amazing?? Vil is so good with it and I can’t believe how talented he is— yes I know he’s a bot it’s still cool though!”

To be praised. To be referred to as an equal. It is unheard of for automatons to receive that kind of treatment. Ever. Until they met you. And they would do anything to keep you.

“Thanks for having me over! Haha if you ever don’t need your Azul bot, then send him over to my house- I could use that hardworking efficiency.”

“Pfft alright I’ll ask him about it.” Your friend rolled their eyes with a laugh and waved goodbye.

You picked up the food remnants of your friend’s visit and put everything away in the rare silence of your home. There was usually always some machinery whirring or clicking coming from your bots- if not the endless chatter from the more talkative ones.

Making your way over to the translucent curtain draped over the bots you thought so fondly of, you dusted Azul off and fixed his glasses with a gentle smile. The same one you wore when he was nothing but broken scraps with nothing to offer.

“Azul, you could probably be assigned to someone really rich and powerful with better living conditions than a scavenger like me.” You touched his face gently. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me for now.”

Just as you powered him on, his hand shot out to grab your wrist. Yelping in surprise, your eyes met with his periwinkle ones glimmering with something unknown.

“A-Azul?”

You wince as his grip becomes tighter and more unforgiving, sure to leave a mark. Just as he wants.

He brings your hand up, pressing your palm to his lips in a manner too intimate for an automaton to be capable of. Tears welled up in your eyes at the sensation of pain and tenderness from him as he whispers against your skin.

“I will never serve any one else but you. No one. Not even you can tear me away from being yours. Or you mine.”

You gave this poor little octobot a chance to experience something he had never even dreamed was possible before, and you can’t possibly think about letting him go anytime soon because you were different. So he would treat you differently.

The day you took him in, you made a deal. A deal that enabled equal and opposite care between the two of you.

Credit should be given where credit is due, and Azul feels as though he hasn’t given enough credit for all the kindness you’ve shown him.

The automaton intertwines his fingers with your own, sending shivers down your spine, and flashes a smile similar to that of a businessman who scored a good deal.

Hitched breathing and heart thumping, he brings you to his chest. Somehow cold yet burning against your skin.

“You’re mine.” he repeated, commandingly. desperately.

You signed the contract marked upon his manmade heart, so won’t you let him stick around? Don’t worry, it’s just until the contract ends.

And as for how long it stays active?

Indefinitely.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst au #automaton au #azul x reader #twisted wonderland azul #twst azul #twst automaton au #twst yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere azul x reader #azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

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Hi, 👋 I’m currently in a writer’s block but also trying to note down some writing exercises to get me into the groove again. Do you have any exercise tips for writers?

PS: I just heard a cover of My Immortal (original song by Evanescence) and immediately thought of Good Omens. My brain is also connecting every song with Good Omens. Help!😅

Anyways, I hope you have a fantastic day/night whenever you’ll answer this!😊

HELLO ANON MAGGOT HELLO IT'S THE NIGHT AND I'M ON BLACK COFFEE AND YOU HAVE PICKED THE RIGHT PERSON TO ASK I'VE BEEN INHALING BOOKS ON WRITING FOR ALMOST AS LONG AS I'VE ACTUALLY BEEN WRITING.

OKAY NOW LISTEN YOUR LIL EARS UP. I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU SOME EXERCISES, AND THEN I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU ADVICE FOR WRITER'S BLOCK. GOT IT? KAY LET'S GO WRITERS.

FIRST, WRITING EXERCISES.

NOTICING. NOTICING, NOTICING, NOTICING. LOOK AROUND YOU AT THE THINGS YOU SEE, THE PEOPLE YOU KNOW, THE TEXTURES YOU FEEL, THE SOUNDS YOU HEAR, EVERYTHING. AND THEN WRITE THEM DOWN. JUST KEEP DESCRIBING. YOUR BRAIN MAY NOT BE ABLE TO COME UP WITH FRESH MATERIAL RIGHT NOW, BUT IT CAN DESCRIBE THINGS. A BONUS, THIS WILL REALLY HELP THE QUALITY OF YOUR DESCRIPTIONS, SINCE YOU'LL BE ABLE TO PICK INTERESTING DETAILS AND KNOW WHAT TO LEAVE OUT.

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS WRITING. THIS MAY BE A BIT HARDER, BUT JUST START WRITING ABOUT WHATEVER COMES TO YOUR HEADS. ANY THOUGHTS, PUT IT DOWN. DON'T BOTHER ABOUT THINGS LIKE PUNCTUATION OR GRAMMAR OR SENSE. JUST KEEP WRITING WHATEVER ARRIVES. IF THIS GETS HARD, YOU CAN MAYBE FIND A PROMPTING WORD TO GET YOU GOING. A BONUS, THIS WILL TRAIN YOUR WRITING TO BE MORE SPONTANEOUS AND NATURAL RATHER THAN ARTIFICIAL OR MANUFACTURED.

WRITE WITH A PURPOSE. PICK ANY INCIDENT FROM YOUR LIFE, SOMEONE ELSE'S, ANY INCIDENT WILL DO AS LONG AS YOU HAVE ENOUGH DETAILS OR CAN COME UP WITH THEM. NOW WRITE THAT INCIDENT DOWN THE WAY YOU WOULD DESCRIBE A SCENE IN A BOOK, BUT WITH A CATCH: FIRST THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO CONVEY. FOR EXAMPLE, IF THE SCENE IS JUST YOU BURNING BREAKFAST WAFFLES, COME UP WITH DIFFERENT PURPOSES. FIRST WRITE IT WITH THE PURPOSE OF CONVEYING YOUR CLUMSINESS TO THE READER. THEN REWRITE IT WITH THE PURPOSE OF DEFENDING YOURSELF AND BLAMING THE FAULTY STOVE. THEN REWRITE IT WITH THE PURPOSE OF CREATING A SENSE OF FEAR AND AN ATMOSPHERE OF HORROR. THEN REWRITE IT AS A COMEDY. A BONUS, THIS HELPS YOU FOCUS YOUR SCENES AND KNOW WHAT DETAILS TO GIVE ABOUT AN EVENT TO SERVE THE SCENE'S PURPOSE IN THE STORY.

OKAY I'VE GONE ON A LOT IDK MAYBE Y'ALL WANT ME TO SHARE MORE WRITING EXERCISES? SOME I'VE LEARNED AND SOME I COME UP WITH IT'S ALL WILD. IDK LET ME KNOW IF THAT'S SOMETHING YOU WANT. I NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT WRITING ONCE I START.

AS FOR YOUR WRITER'S BLOCK:

LEARN MORE. ROBERT MCKEE SAID IN HIS STORY THAT WRITER'S BLOCK IS MORE A LACK OF INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR STORY AND YOUR WORLD. DO MORE RESEARCH ABOUT YOUR WORLD, CHARACTERS, STORYLINE, ETC. TAKE THIS WITH A PINCH OF SALT I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO DOWN A RABBITHOLE OF RESEARCH AND NOT WRITE.

REVIST THE STORY AND PREMISE. ASK YOURSELF WHY YOU HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK. COULD IT BE BECAUSE THE STORY NO LONGER AFFECTS YOU AS DEEPLY OR IT ISN'T AS IMPORTANT TO YOU ANYMORE? ARE THERE THINGS YOU NEED TO TWEAK SO WRITING IT IS SOMETHING YOU CARE MORE ABOUT? THIS ISN'T ALWAYS THE CASE BUT STILL. IF YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR STORY IT'S UNREASONABLE TO EXPECT ANYONE ELSE TO.

WRITE SCENES OUT OF ORDER. OKAY, THIS IS HOW I FINISHED THE FIRST DRAFT OF MY DEBUT NOVEL. I JUST WROTE WHATEVER SCENE I FELT LIKE WRITING AT THE TIME. DURING THE SECOND DRAFT I REWROTE THE ENTIRE THING IN ORDER. BUT THIS WAY I KNEW I CARED ABOUT THE SCENE I WAS WRITING AND IT WAS AUTHENTIC. JUST SOMETHING THAT MIGHT HELP.

THERE ARE MORE BUT IG THIS POST IS GETTING LONG I HOPE THIS HELPED ANON MAGGOT GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR WRITING!!!!!!! IM SORRY THIS IS IN CAPS LOCK IT COULDN'T BE HELPED. HAVE A LOVELY DAY AND MAY YOU WRITE MANY WORDS.

PS: ALSO MY IMMORTAL JUST REMINDS ME OF @patoslover'S CURSED MY IMMORTAL X GOOD OMENS FIC NOW HELP

#good omens mascot #asmi #weirdly specific but ok #maggots #ASMI'S WRITERLY CORNER #writerblr #writing community #writing advice #writing inspiration #writing exercise #writer's block

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wannabebeaut1ful · 2 years

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Wannabe’s guide to fighting the binge urges

These are things that I do to stop myself from binging that work 80-90% of the time because sometimes we’re in a position where the urges have won before we even get the chance to fight them. But if you have time, give these steps a try.

After every binge I write down how I feel afterwards. The guilt, what I ate, if it was even good, the stomach pain, what triggered it, my feelings, everything. When you feel the urge to binge go back and read what you wrote. A lot of the time seeing first hand exactly what you wrote when you we feeling it is more effective than just trying to remember how bad it was.

Write down what you’re feeling in this moment. As you are trying to decide whether to binge or not. Write why you want to binge, what you want to eat, what triggered you, why you are trying to rationalise it. Write everything you can. A lot of the time you can talk yourself out of it while trying to explain why you were talking yourself into it.

Think about the things you want to eat on the binge you’re fighting. Ask yourself these questions: how accessible are the things I want to eat? Are they a once in a lifetime meal, or can you buy it whenever you want? Will it be there tomorrow? If so, is there a way you can fit it into into your calorie limit tomorrow? Often when we are in a binge mindset our brain tricks us into thinking if we don’t eat it now we will never be able to eat it again, telling your brain that it is a very real possibility that you will be able to eat it tomorrow will calm your brain down. Even if you don’t end up eating it the next day, your brain will stop freaking out as much that you will never get it again. Plus, a lot of the time when I think about what I want to eat on a binge there is actually nothing specific I want to eat, nothing is appetising. I just want to eat for the comfort of eating, and the thought of that seems so useless to me that the urge can go away.

Drink a huge glass of water. Drink like you’ve never drunk before. And drink fast. If you can drink so much that you stomach is full and uncomfortable, food may seem less appealing (careful because many people find the opposite is true)

Shower and do skincare. I find that when I focus hard on one area of beauty it motivates me to continue with maintaining other areas i.e my body. This works both ways for me, when I look after my body, I look after my skin, when I look after my skin, I look after my body

Distracting yourself with things you enjoy. I really like video games so sometimes I make myself a cup of tea and play video games for a few hours. I also love to dance so sometimes I choreograph a contemporary solo or learn a kpop dance that I’ve been meaning to for ages. This is a double win because it also burns calories and when I exercise I get motivated to keep eating well because otherwise I feel like the exercise was a “waste”.

Continuing to combine exercise with a distraction can also come in any form of exercise, going to the gym to lift weights, biking, running, swimming, Pilates, yoga, whatever is accessible to you is great. Personally I love walking because you can just put some music on and get lost for a really long time while also burning calories. Making it a perfect long distraction.

Next time you have the urge to binge please give these steps a try. I can’t guarantee that they will always work or even work at all for you. But I find that these steps are very effective with me and I have fought off urges to binge too many times to count with these steps. Whatever you end up doing, remember that I AM HERE FOR YOU !! if you are struggling please send me a message and I will try my best to be here for you as someone to talk to

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kedreeva · 1 year

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Kedreeva, have you ever burned out on fic writing - done it so much and for so long that you wake up one day, and just can't look at any fic writing at all?

I've been writing pretty much non-stop for the last 3 years, and I'm exhausted with it, to the point where thinking about it makes me physically sick. I need to take a break, but I'm scared that my writing won't ever come back, that I've 'broken' my hobby for good.

Do you or any of your followers have any advice? It's such a horrible feeling, to lose something that's been such a huge part of my life for so long. I don't know what to do with myself.

I don't really burn out on the act of writing as a whole. I can get sick of a story, or a fandom, but I have always felt a deep desire to write something. At most, I might take a few days, or up to a month (sometimes post-nano, I do get tired of the story I was writing), and just pick something else to do, some other hobby of mine. A video game or a virtual pet game or something. Clean stuff. lay in the grass if it's nice. The writing will be there when I come back.

But even so, what I can tell you is that you can't break your hobby of writing. You can leave it, you can put it down, you can decide never to do it again. You may get rusty on some of the skills, but it's a skill like any other skill, and it will come back to you when you pick up practicing again. You may need to exercise the muscle memory to get back into shape, but that's just how any skill works. Writing isn't some mystical talent you use or you lose. It's a thing you learned how to do and then practiced doing for a while. And you can do that again any time!

so... my advice would be this. Don't just Not Write. Not Writing is a symptom of writing. You don't stop writing by Not Writing. If you want to take a break, pick up something else to be doing. Get a video game you can get lost in for a while like animal crossing or stardew valley or whatever the kids are into these days. Pick up some books to read. Get into a new show or rewatch an old one you love. Pick some other skill or hobby you wanted to learn and do that badly for a bit. It doesn't really matter what, and you don't have to pick one thing and stick with it forever or anything. Just give yourself an actual break doing something else.

the writing will be there when you are ready to come back for it.

#writing #it's perfectly okay to take breaks!!!#in fact everyone should from time to time #a little vacation from your favorite things #absence makes the heart grow fonder #anon asks #asks

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phyllisthefirst · 5 months

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[This fic is entirely about the fictionalized representations of the men of Easy Company that we see on the show. I mean no disrespect to the real men by writing this.]

Donald Malarkey x OC

[Part 1]

Summary: Don is determined to do no more than the bare minimum in his new assignment as "Technical Advisor" for an Airborne exhibition. He'll leave the actual work to the historian in charge while he tries to deal with the memories that keep coming up, of D-Day and everyone he lost after it. If only Miss Mowbray weren't so damn determined to make him actually give a damn.

Warnings: Flashbacks to war and violence.

Tagging @next-autopsy - I promise, after this I'll spend some time with George and Phyllis again.

Babe, there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you - Part 2

It's easy to stick to his resolve of not getting too involved with the exhibition. Don isn't outright refusing to help - he shows up at that airplane hangar every morning, sits at the desk that has been squeezed into Miss Mowbray’s little office and waits for her to show him something she's put together so he can verify or correct it.

Once, she suggests that maybe he'd like to do some research of his own, perhaps make a first effort at putting together some facts for one of the planes. She says it with unusual softness (she is not a particularly soft person, he has learned so far) and he thinks it might actually be a well-intentioned attempt to give him something to stave off his boredom.

He declines.

“You're the expert at that sort of thing. I'm just a guy who jumped from a plane, what do I know about military history?”

Her face falls, just for a second before she schools it back into an impassive expression again and he feels momentarily bad.

He spends the next half-hour finding excuses why it's actually perfectly acceptable for him to act the way he does: This is not what he was trained for. He's a mortarman, not a historian. He didn't ask for this assignment, didn't ask to have all those carefully buried memories dragged up again and again - the sheer terror of jumping out of a plane while it was literally raining fire outside, the sky littered with burning debris that could rip his chute at any moment and send him to an early grave. The sight of men strung up in trees, their limbs tangled up in their suspension lines to make them look like grotesque puppets. The hole where other men used to be, men like Lieutenant Meehan who got on a plane never to be seen again, leaving behind nothing but a packet of unclaimed laundry. The piles of dead horses, stacked together to form a gruesome roadblock. (His grandparents had horses, back home, and he loved petting them as a little boy.) The machine gun salvos, fired moments after he'd been chatting to a nice boy from Oregon, a boy like himself who had the misfortune of being sent to the wrong side of the war.

All of that has been replaying in an endless loop ever since he got his first look at the C-47. It’s been happening before, on and off, but usually, he’s had something to do to get his mind off it. Now, he doesn’t move enough during the day to be tired out when he goes to bed, so when the images wake him up at night, he struggles to fall back asleep. He starts doing PT exercises in his hotel room, careful to stick to quiet ones after a hotel page knocks and reports that other guests were complaining about the noise.

During the day, he's picked up a habit of nervously toying with the jump wings pinned to his collar. Sometimes, when the memories are particularly loud, he wants to rip them off. Other times, he touches them and thinks of his brothers, tied to him through the little silver pin and through months of mud and blood and snow. He wouldn't know them, if they hadn't gone through all of it together.

The fact that he can't decide what he'd prefer makes him irrationally angry, even though he knows it's pointless - it's not like he can turn back time now and make it so that he never signed up for the Airborne, never set foot in Camp Toccoa.

Needless to say, the atmosphere in their cramped office deteriorates along with Don’s mood.

It's not that Miss Mowbray actively antagonizes him. She's a consummate professional, voice always calm and even, back always straight. After he's rebuffed her first attempt to get him more involved in the project she’s never tried again, and he doesn't know if he wishes she would. (He doesn’t know a lot of things about himself, these days.)

He himself makes no attempt to get more friendly, more involved. It makes his days long and boring, until he’s almost tempted to wish he was back in the action, sprinting through a field somewhere, even with the heavy mortar on his back and death on his heels.

He doesn't want to question what it says about him that he can't bring himself to reach out to the one person he's in close quarters with every day. Not too long ago, making friends came as easy to him as breathing.

He finds excuses instead.

They wouldn't get along anyway - she’s so far above him, she might as well be from another planet. She’s well-educated - she’s being subtle about it, but he has caught the occasional mention of Harvard in reference to her background. She speaks with the smooth, impossible-to-pin-down accent of someone rich enough to move around a lot, which he guesses she is without needing her to confirm. She's also fluent in French and proficient in Latin, and that near-unshakeable composure has probably been trained into her by etiquette tutors, or whatever else rich people have. This is all speculation, of course, but it makes it easier not to feel like he's letting a comrade down.

Sometimes, he wonders if all his assumptions are really that spot-on. He’d assume, for example, that she’d enter any room with the expectation of getting to command it. But the first time he sees her interact with the mechanics charged with repairing the planes, he’s surprised to find that she’s wooden and awkward, either not interested or not able to build a rapport with them - not that the men are making any attempts of their own.

Occasionally, someone new wanders in, spots her in a dress and attempts to make a pass, but most of the time, the men ignore her until she addresses them with a direct order, which they carry out reluctantly. He wonders if he should do something about that, say something - urge them to be a little bit more helpful perhaps, for the sake of their project if not for her sake. But that’s not his role here - he’s here as a Technical Advisor, not as her babysitter. After all, he doesn’t have a problem with the men.

On the contrary, they reach out to him within days, and while he doesn’t have the strength to actually befriend anyone still wearing a uniform, he also finds quickly that sitting alone in his room is no way to spend his evenings, and neither is wandering aimlessly through a strange city. It leaves too much room for his thoughts, and he finds it easier to drown them out when he’s around people who ask him to come along to dinner and then drinks and then one of the many, many entertainment venues catering to American soldiers with full wallets and a newfound appreciation for life.

They never ask Miss Mowbray to come along on their outings, so neither does he. Every time he leaves the office or the hangar, she’s still there, bent over her desk.

He can’t fault her for being lazy, at least, but there's something about her dedication to that pointless task they've given her that he finds unpleasantly stirring, perhaps because it reminds him of how he used to be - optimistic and cheerful and ready to take on anything the war would throw at him, because he didn't know what “anything” could mean.

Again, he doesn't know if he'd prefer to go back to that former version of himself or not.

Again, there's no point in wondering.

Things drag on like this into a humid late summer. Paris is all but empty in August, and getting drunk with no one but other American soldiers every night starts to lose its appeal.

His efforts to help with the exhibition drop to near-nonexistent, his answers getting shorter, his corrections sloppier.

In hindsight, it’s a wonder she lasts as long as she does until she finally snaps.

In the moment, it's just the thing he's been waiting for. He's sweaty, bored and hungover, so her reproach - sharp for once, not calm and controlled, he notices with relish - is akin to an invitation.

“You know, you could at least pretend to be interested in putting in work for this project. I promise, you can go back to the debauchery of your choice just as soon as we’re finished with this exhibit.”

She looks as frazzled as he feels, moisture beading on her forehead and hair curling at her temples, but her voice and posture are firm and steely as ever.

He gets to his feet and walks around so he's standing next to her at her desk, taking his sweet time to annoy her even more.

“You wanna know why I don’t feel like putting in work for this project?” He pauses, purely for dramatic effect. “Because it’s a bullshit project. What’s the point of it?”

Her answer is calm again, with a suddenness that tells him she’s fighting hard to keep her composure, all the more so because he’s trying to provoke her.

“The exhibit’s aim is to detail the allied invasion of France and the role of the Airborne Infantry within it. Surely you must remember this much?”

Shaking his head, he takes a few steps closer, purposefully invading her personal space. It feels important, suddenly, to make her lose her damned composure for once.

“That’s not what I was asking. I want to know why we’re doing this. What are you trying to achieve? Who gives a damn what model plane we jumped out of, how many guns or seats or goddamn radio receivers it had?” His voice is growing louder, and he sees her suppress a flinch. She’s still looking at him, still standing her ground, but he gets the feeling she has to force herself to do so.

He takes a step back, suddenly ashamed of himself. That’s no way to treat a woman, no matter that she lashed out first.

Oddly, his retreat that makes her soften, rather than bask in her triumph.

“The point is to show the people of Europe what you did for them. How you fought for them.”

Now it’s his turn to be surprised, by the words as much as by the sincerity with which they’re uttered. He’s been sitting next to her for weeks now, and he had no idea that this was her motivation - one he could respect, if only enough to tell her she’s going about her goal all wrong.

“Then why are we bothering with the damn planes?”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to tell people about what we did? Tell them about the men who did those things for them. Who fought and died for them.”

He’s breathing hard now, winded as if he’d physically exerted himself, and he doesn’t know why. No, that’s not right: There are suddenly names in his mouth, struggling to escape, and he’s fighting tooth and nail to keep them in. Skip Muck. Alex Penkala. Don Hoobler. William Dukeman. Eugene Jackson. And, not dead but not whole anymore either: Bill Guarnere. Joe Toye. Buck Compton.

When she places her hand on his arm, it’s his turn to keep himself from flinching, so caught up in his thoughts he forgot where he was for a moment.

“Then we’ll do that. We’ll tell the world about them. But in order to do that, I need your help.”

He nods, shakily. His knees feel weak suddenly, and he realizes he hasn’t been this scared of anything since Bastogne. But she looks determined now, eyes set, and maybe that strength will rub off on him.

“How do we do that?”

She turns towards her desk, lets her eyes roam over the scattered papers, books and blueprints as she answers.

“We’ll have to rethink the concept, figure out how we’re going to connect the men’s stories to the machines. Maybe we can take one of the crews and pick them out as an example…”

She drifts off, her hand absentmindedly reaching for a notepad and pen.

“You mean focus on just one stick?”

Her eyes shoot back to his, confused.

“One stick - one group of men who jumped together from one plane,” he explains.

“Right. Yes, that might be a good way to narrow it down.” Her gaze stays on him but shifts, the distractedness giving way to a questioning glint. “How about yours?”

“My stick?”

“The men you jumped with. What were they feeling like when they got on that plane? What were they talking about right before? How did they fare during the night, and on the days after?” She cocks her head to the side. “How about it, Sergeant Malarkey, feel like sharing some stories?”

There’s a challenge in her voice, but it’s friendly, and accompanied by a smile. She doesn’t smile often, he’s found during his time here, so it feels like an offering - like she’s making an effort to bridge the gap between them. It’s the only reason he doesn’t immediately withdraw again, tell her that it’s a terrible idea and he won’t have anything to do with it.

“I’ll have to think about it for a bit, see what I can come up with.”

“That’s good,” she’s still smiling, still holding his gaze. “I really do want to do this topic justice, you know. I’ll be happy for any help you can give me.”

He wonders why she didn’t tell him that when he first arrived. Surely their cooperation would have started out much more smoothly if she’d been this earnest from the start.

Then again, he didn’t exactly arrive here with an open mind. Maybe up until this moment, she just didn’t trust him to listen.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #donald malarkey #donald malarkey/oc #donald malarkey x oc

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jtl07 · 5 months

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jtl07 fics, 2023 round up(ish)

So I do an admittedly intense EOY reflection / SOY preparation every December but I’ve never really done a review of my writing for the year. Part of it is that, after over a decade of not writing fic, I didn’t start writing fic again until 2021. Crazy enough, my output this year was more than those two years combined (almost twice over!).

Tbh part of me almost felt guilty to realize that. I mean, here I am, recovering from one of the hardest times in my life, writing fic. But then a small part of me whispered, what’s wrong with that? Just because I’m healing doesn’t mean I have to suffer.

So I’m trying to take joy in what I’ve done this year and honestly, I’m proud what I’ve written. I truly cannot pick out a favorite because all of them mean so much to me. As I mentioned in the last fic review, reading and writing fic has played a huge role in how I process things and express myself; to have had this time to relearn how to write (with all its frustration and joy), to discover new things, to explore new characters, to connect with so many folks, it’s meant a lot. It’s helped me move forward, it’s helped me hold on.

So thank you - you, reading this, y’all who’ve read anything I’ve written, who’ve liked and left kudos and comments and messages - thank you, so, so much.

[some stats and random thoughts under the cut]

Because I’m me, I went into nerd-mode and used Flamebyrd’s ao3 bookmarklet to pull my fic stats earlier this month. I drew up some tables and charts and used lots of colors (what’s a spreadsheet without conditional formatting?)

(just one of the many sheets in the workbook I drew up lol)

After looking at different interactions (hits, kudos, comments, percentages of each), I came up roughly with my “top” fics and “bottom” fics (focusing on avatrice fics because that was the bulk of my writing this year).

Top 5:

Customer feedback surveys for Bar La Vasseur

past tense, future perfect

that melts the blood inside our veins

looks for you in everything (finds you there)

propose (now am found)

I’m not surprised by the surveys fic being at the top - I still giggle at that one and it gets kudos pretty regularly. It’s easy to read with a unique premise and I’m generally happy with the execution.

I am surprised, however, that propose shot up so high so quickly - the top three had been published early in the year (Feb-Mar) but propose was posted just last month. I suppose there was something about the premise - a different take on an Avatrice proposal - that must have resonated with folks.

Bottom 5: 18. so different now from what it seemed 19. we both know how this ends 20. the long, delirious, burning blue 21. late night vigil 22. can’t go back

I’m curious about the ranking of some of these fics - for example, that melts the blood inside our veins was my first amnesia fic and is in the top 5, but my second amnesia fic, so different now from what it seemed, is in the bottom 5. Perhaps it’s the difference in premise, perhaps the execution - who knows. (I’m not mad, just “huh.”)

I’m not surprised about the others though: a video game crossover, a military propaganda movie AU, an Avatrice+Cam threesome (fun fact: the doc title was simply “ABC” for a while lol), and a moody “what if” speculation - none of them fit the mold of “popular” lol

Now that I think of it, though, I did try new things with some of these fics: the tone and action of we both know how this ends is one I don’t usually do; I rarely do a retelling of other media (I know the long, delirious, burning blue doesn’t follow the Maverick movie exactly but still), not to mention having that twist at the end; I’m still very much learning how to be comfortable writing intimacy (I still don’t know where late night vigil came from lol); and can’t go back was an exercise that stretched my brain thinking of the different ways Beatrice’s life could have changed.

Slight tangent: I am, however, surprised that pocketful was so low - it’s #17 in the rankings (it’s just shy of 900 hits as of this writing) - only because I thought it got quite the heartwarming response initially. I received some of my favorite comments on that one (though to be clear, I love all the comments I receive! Such gifts, comments) That said, I can acknowledge that the premise does sound a bit odd. I mean, cmon, a fic about pockets? What even?

That said, I can’t promise that my ideas won’t be any less weird next year lol. There are some ideas that I think will carry over but I’m certain there will be plenty of new and unusual ideas that will pop into my head in the year to come.

I also can’t promise that my output will be as high as it was this year, what with some upcoming changes to my life (new job! moving, hopefully relatively soon, to a new state!) and general life-ness. I do intend to keep writing, though, at least that’s the goal.

Anyway, I think I’ll wrap this up here - if you have any questions or comments, feel free to reply here or drop an ask or DM. In any case, thanks again for hanging out with me and I hope your holidays and new year is safe and full of light <3

#jt writes fic #jt's fic recap #words about my words

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matt-imagines-popcorn · 1 year

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How about this, Seth (SFV) with a assassin chaotic neutral S/o? I like the idea of this S/O just finding Seth during their crazed rampages and takes them in and just teaches them to chill out.

Anon you are so lucky I was already thinking about writing this - though next time (and do forgive me if I sound like an ass here) I’ll appreciate it if you read if my requests were open or not! Also made it into a one-shot (or is it a drabble? Never knew the difference between the two) sorta deal. Just cause it's been a long while :P

Seth learns how to chill out [gender-neutral! Reader]

Rage, complete and utter rage filled every fiber of the robot’s being. Its very core blinded on taking revenge, no matter who stood in its way. Many have tried to take it down and many have failed.

Until you got involved.

One of the best in your organization, you took on the mission with only one task: Kill it. Simple enough, you killed many things, cheating spouses, rich CEOs, and even world leaders. Though this would’ve been the first robot you have assassinated.

Keyword: “would’ve”

You foolishly allowed yourself to get caught within its trap and were forced to fight it in hand combat. Despite the disadvantage, you came out vigorous. Standing over the robot, you pulled your weapon just above it. Its eyes stared intensely at you, a certain look in its eyes you have seen perhaps thousands of times before.

Fear.

You hesitated - not only did you hesitate, but you also allowed it to live - you even befriended the robot, and you learned of its name: Seth.

Your organization allowed this to happen but not without a catch. You have to get Seth back to a stable state within a year. If not then they’ll be killed and you’ll be kicked out of the organization.

Wanting neither of those, you have been slowly trying to uncorrupt their code, while also showing them healthier coping mechanisms. Even if most don't really seem to click for Seth. And the one you are showing them right now seems to be more idiotic than the others.

“It’s called mediation,” You explained, Seth gave you an odd look in response. “Looks dumb,” Seth finally said, still keeping their eyes on you.

“Probably is,”

“But it helps keep my mind clear before missions, might help you with all your ‘internal rage’.” You say the last part in a teasing way, mocking the higher-ups that said that to both of you.

Seth grumbles something, most likely rude sayings, before sighing. “How does it work?”

Well, you breathe in,” You, yourself, breathe in as well, holding it in. “Then breathe out,” You release a small breath of relief, the small burning in your chest gone. Silence filled the room, Seth's expression becoming more confused.

“... And?”

“That’s it basically,”

“What a mindless exercise,” Seth groans, pinching the bridge of their nose “No way I would be caught doing something so dense.” Seth sat down on the chair, watching you.

“Well that's fine too I guess,” You lean back, “Not my life that’s at risk here,” Seth sent a nasty glare toward you, nostrils flaring up. You definitely knew you were playing with fire at this point, but you weren’t too worried. You already knew Seth had a soft spot towards you - despite denying it a hundred times over.

With a sly smirk, you pat the ground next to you. “Come on Sethy-boy, come join me,” A mocking tone laced your voice.

After a few moments, Seth groans again, taking a seat next to you. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you,” You just smiled. “Of course,”

It’s been unclear how long the two stayed like that, but it was long enough to the point you felt your legs turn to static and the warm sun transformed into the cold moon. You got up, quietly to allow Seth to continue (who, despite arguing against it, seems to enjoy meditating.) and got yourself a glass of water. But just as you go to take a sip of your cup, you heard the familiar feminine voice break the silence of the room.

You mumbled a swear under your breath.

You were able to shut down their more complex combat moves, but they still felt the need to fight anything they believed to be behind Bison. Calmly walking back to your friend, you sit behind them, stroking their hair.

“Don’t ignore it,” Your voice was gruff as you spoke, making sure they could hear you through their internal systems. “Acknowledge it, then let it pass,”

Their breathing, after a short while, returned to normal, and Seth opened their eyes. “Can I be done now,” Seth's voice sounded tired if that was possible for them. You just smiled “Yeah, you did good,”

The room was a bit tense and quiet. Till you broke the silence.

“You know I heard yoga does wonders to the-” “Pass.”

Halfway through writing, I figured out that I missed one key detail: Seth doesn’t need to breathe, I think. Nor do I think their body even can mimic breathing ... we can ignore that for a short while at least lol.

#Street Fighter #X Reader #Seth #Seth X Reader #Street Fighter x reader #One Shots

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witchsickness · 2 years

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Thinking about pyro!Billy, per usual. How do you think Billy would react to Neil when it comes to his powers? I have the hc that Neil doesn’t know shit about Billy’s powers but can snuff them out with one look, because, although Billy may have an inferno at his beck and call, he’s powerless in the presence of his father. Although, on the other hand… Neil could be the victim of a stress and fear induced bbq. 🤷🏻‍♀️

HELLO i am in love with this ask sorry for having zero chill and writing you a fic <3

it’s not his fault. billy’s born like that. he’s a kid, laughing until the playmat rug catches on fire, the cars and the roads so charred his mom has to throw it away and tell neil she spilled apple puree on it. it’s the first time billy’s left watching, helpless, while the back of neil’s palm connects with his mother’s cheek. neil’s too busy teaching her a lesson to notice the tiny ball of fire in his son’s hand.

neil’s out of the house most of the day, so he’s none the wiser. billy’s mom fireproofs the house as best as she can, replaces wooden toys with plastic and metal, laminates all of billy’s kids’ books. before she leaves, leaves him behind, she makes sure billy knows never to let his father find out. teaches him breathing exercises to reign in the powers whenever he feels overwhelmed. she does that, at least.

the day billy wakes up motherless, a note is waiting for him, slipped between the pages of his favorite book. he’s not a kid anymore. won’t ever be again. he burns her apology, watches the ashes snow down on the floor. then, he storms into his parents’ room. a few of her less-worn dresses are still hanging in her closet, swaying mockingly at him. he snatches them, goes out to the back yard. he throws them in a trashcan, and then, for the first time in his life, uses a match to light them up. he doesn’t bother sticking around to watch them burn. she didn’t bother sticking around, either. seems to be in their blood.

the fire’s—not billy’s deadliest secret. he’s thirteen, sitting on the beach. not her favorite. not that one. leaning back on his hands, fingers sinking in the warm sand. sal is next to him. close. so close billy has to check in case his father appears in a cloud of smoke to raise hell. he’s sweet, sal. smells of toffee and apricot, and a little bit like his asthma inhaler. when he curls his little finger around billy’s, billy wonders if he could have a puff of that inhaler, feels lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. sal smiles at him, and gets up. it’s almost dinnertime. when billy looks at his palms, charred sand is coating them, like the burned sugar on his mom’s favorite dessert.

he’s always been good at hiding. gets better now, one secret piling up on top of the other. he’s a dead boy. he learns to recognize the same doomed look in other boys. for a while, he gets to be half of himself with them. he only picks up those he’d never fall in love with, and makes them lose their mind with his hands, with his tongue. none of the boys are allowed to touch him. billy pulls out of reach every time, smiles his sweet, sixteen-year-old smile that makes people forget their own name. makes people stop asking questions. every night, he lies in bed, an ache between his legs. the flames are licking at his fingertips, begging to be let out. this house is nothing but thin walls. it would be so easy, billy thinks, to burn it down. he never touches himself, either.

one day, neil announces the move. it’s not fair. billy’s been so careful, and it’s still not enough. the day he says goodbye to the ocean, the fire inside him dies out. everything goes silent. no more crackling and simmering. nothing. he doesn’t go near the beach for the two months it takes neil to uproot them.

without the fire, billy’s—numb. gets into trouble just to feel his father’s rage rain upon him, see if it wakes the flames. nothing works. he gets in the camaro, turns the music up loud to drown out max’s road trip excitement, and doesn’t say a word for the three days it takes to drive to hawkins.

on the first day of school, everything’s blurry. across the parking lot, among an ocean of dull, unfamiliar faces, billy catches two brown eyes watching him. shit, billy thinks, skin boiling hot, no, no, no. the back alley is the second hawkins high spot he gets acquainted with, slumped against the brick wall, breathing like his mom taught him to. the fire’s down to a low heat, now, but. it’s there. billy thought—it was lost forever. the second his lips close around a cigarette, the whole thing turns to ash. he’s too excited to be bothered.

billy can’t get too close, but he can’t stay away. he’s the flame, but harrington draws him in, makes him feel like the moth. jesus, man, harrington says, billy plastered against his back, pretending to be chasing the ball, you’re burning up. billy fakes a pulled hamstring and makes a beeline for the showers, skin sizzling when the water falls on him. behind a cloud of steam, he doesn’t see harrington watching him.

the first time harrington kisses him, billy goes up in flames. an enveloping, full-body fire, licking pleasantly at his arms. harrington pulls back, smiling. so cute, he says, looking nothing like billy’s idea of a boy who’s just kissed another boy, or freaked out by the flames. now that billy’s looking closer, harrington looks like—he’s seen things. just mind the hair, he says, and leans into billy’s touch. this time, billy allows a boy to touch him back.

he gets careless. next time he’s shoved against the wall, his eyes light up, and suddenly neil is pulling back, hissing. billy can see two angry handprints scorched around neil’s shoulders. you know, neil says, in his quiet way that always leads to a bloodbath, i always thought that bitch was crazy when she called you special. but i guess that’s one thing she was right about, you pansy. his arm’s lodged against billy’s windpipe. billy—can’t breathe. this world’s not made for freaks like you, neil says, get the fuck out of my sight.

while waiting for harrington to pick him up, billy sits on the sidewalk and keeps snapping his fingers. nothing but feeble sparks come out. his throat hurts too much, breathing coming out as a wheeze. harrington pulls up, crouches in front of him. lifts billy’s face with a finger under his chin. we should have a witch hunt, he says, start with that asshole. light him up. he pulls billy up, ghosts his knuckles across billy’s face. then his mouth blossoms into a snarl, and billy turns around the find neil watching them. harrington rubs their lips together, giving neil hargrove the finger, and billy—glows brightly.

max shows up at their place with an ugly purple peeking under the collar of her shirt. billy looks at the bruised skin for all of two seconds, and then drives like a madman until he’s pushing the door of neil’s house open, almost tears it off its hinges. neil’s standing in the middle of the living room, billy’s own monster under the bed, and billy falters, for a second, before the memory of max, sniffling to push back tears, reminds him who the freak with no place in this world is. d’you remember that time, he says, you held my palm over the burner, told me i’d went too far? that’s what you did, dad. you went too far. he takes neil’s hands, capable of so much evil, in his, and doesn’t stop until the house is reeking of cooked flesh, and neil’s begging for mercy. doesn’t make up for everything, but. it’s a start.

the day max and susan move to a new place, she calls him. wanna burn it down? harrington’s ear is pressed next to his on the receiver, fingers scratching lightly at billy’s elbow. billy hangs up, presses a kiss to harrington’s temple. how ‘bout it, he says, and laughs when harrington doesn’t wait a beat, says, oh, fuck yeah, kisses him silent.

they’re standing on the abandoned front yard. max brought matches, just in case. with harrington’s arm around his waist, billy’s lighter than he’s ever been. he shakes his head, and lets the memory of rage wash over him, one last time. the fire starts from the ground and licks its way up, until the whole thing’s hidden behind thick, black smoke. he leaves max in charge of calling the fire department, and walks away, harrington’s hand in his. he doesn’t need to stick around and watch it burn. it’s not in his blood.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #saltstuck #ask #this is...........a lot #like so much more than you asked for but uh. hope you like it?#my stuff

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yandereeternity · 2 years

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Hai! Hello. How are you today dear? I hope your doing well

Can I have Roxas, Axel, and Xion from kingdom hearts to be 2 or 5. Or both. Thank you very much!

Thank you for your time!

Damn haven’t got prompts in a while, also I’ll only be writing for Axel for this one because prompts take it out of me a bit. I am also a PHAT Axel simp.

I will also be doing BOTH!!

Prompt 2: “Controlling? Oh, I’ll show you controlling!” Prompt 5: “You’re lucky you’re so cute, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Axel

After Sora had taken out the vast majority of Organisation 13, most of their darlings had escaped. Some a good few months before any of the others, you knew that Larxene and Vexen’s had been of the first to escape and felt immense envy at that.

As unlucky as you were, Axel had set his eyes on you a few years ago. At first, it was an incredibly weird and awkward encounter in Twilight Town where you’d almost slammed into him when running for the tram. You never even got a good look at his face with the hood covering it, but he’d got a good look at yours. And he very much liked what he saw.

After that, he committed a few months after missions to stalking you and learning everything he could about you. All to try and figure out what the hell you were doing to him and his ‘non-existent’ heart.

When he finally approached you, it was as if he was finally feeling something again for the first time in years.

So now, after having got to know you, taken you for himself and treated you so, so much better than the vast majority of the Organisation treated their darlings, why the hell were you trying to leave?!

You wouldn’t be safe with the Heartless and Dusks roaming around, Axel had told you that. But of course, his persistent little darling didn’t listen.

You’d been half way out of the castle when he’d managed to catch you, quickly throwing a Chakram in your path and pouncing on you from a well placed dark corridor. He didn’t say anything when he’d yanked you over his shoulder and back through the portal, only berating you when he’d thrown you on the bed.

“Y’know, you’re lucky you’re so cute, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do. What if Saix had caught you? Or Xemnas? Do you think either of them would have left you unharmed??” He asked you, red clouding his vision as he raged at you. You were just sat on the bed, staring up at him with a heated glare to match his own.

Axel took a deep breath in and sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tilted his head back. He took a step back from the bed to try and allow you to cool off yourself.

“Look, I’m just trying to protect you, sweetheart. You know with everything going on out there right now it wouldn’t be the best place for a human to be roaming around.” He explained, bright eyes burning into yours as you straightened your posture and sat upright on the edge of the bed. He never really punished you, as you’d never done anything to cause him to actually get truly angry with you.

But seeing how you so easily forgot how fragile you were compared to him and the other nobodies made his blood boil. The mere thought of you getting captured or god forbid hurt by any of the remaining nobodies had him almost physically catching fire.

“Yeah well, if you weren't so controlling about where I go and when I’m allowed to go outside like a normal person I wouldn’t have tried to leave. Like you keep saying, I’m not a nobody like you, Axel. I need sunlight and food and exercise to keep me healthy!” You expressed to him, folding your arms yourself as you watched your ‘boyfriend’s’ face contort in even more fiery anger when you called him controlling.

Axel prided in being much more lax than the other Nobodies, allowing you to take walks and even go to other worlds as long as he was there with you. And you dared call him controlling??

Within seconds he was on top of you, pressing you into the mattress with one hand already scorching it and another gently holding your chin.

“Controlling huh?”

He pressed a kiss into your collar bone and pressed himself between your legs.

“I’ll show you controlling, got it memorised?”

#yandere eternity #yandere requests #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts #yandere axel #axel #kh axel #yandere kh axel

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