#ali writes

[wishfuldivine]

The 141 kissing Gaz's nose every time he cringes at something?

John can't contain it much. Gaz looks absolutely fucking adorable when his sergeant cringes at a movie that is so cliché for his liking. The captain leans forward and pecks his cute nose.

Johnny does anything to make him cringe. Even goes as far as eating with his mouth open, the Scot knows how much he despises it. The sergeant laughs and coos, planting a kiss to his cute nose.

Simon is more subtle. He says the most cringe dad jokes ever, and the sergeant just STARES while cringing to no end. The lieutenant chuckles and presses his lips onto his cute nose.

#kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #pricegaz #soapgaz #ghostgaz #call of duty #cod #fluff #gaz x everyone #have a cute picture as reference! #my baby is the cutest #ali writes

[sdv-farmer-ali]

anyone who's parents ran their own business or even had a labour job knows that as a child you will be subjected to helping them out. my siblings and i certainly had to.

so for instance i fully believe that abigail is forced to run pierre's sometimes. running the cash register, helping stock shelves, etc.

that sebastian helps robin out with transporting the materials used to construct buildings. and definitely helped repair them and whatnot.

so in regards to sebastian having to help his mum and his excursions in the mines, hes absolutely hiding a bit of muscle. like hes lean and toned but not noticably y'know.

and the first time that the farmer sees that in play they are gobsmacked. and maybe fall a little bit in love with him.

#stardew valley #stardew sebastian #sdv abigail #sdv farmer #ali rambles #ali writes

[ali-annals]

Valentine's Special ~ Jasonette

#dcxmlb #ali writes #jasonette #mgi cw 24 #Social media au

[abyssal-ali]

Project #68 [Operation Concupiscence] - 4 (Final)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ao3 Masterlist | Day 4: I can hear you moaning in your sleep and it's unbearable

Rating: M (Here comes the smut!) WC: 1.8k

TW: Demon AU, Demon Smut (e.g. wings & horns & tails; all the fun stuff)

Damian woke up much the same way he had the day before: Raven’s leg wrapped around his, his arms wrapped around her, purple-black hair tucked under his chin, morning wood pressing against her warmth.

With a silent groan, he rolled his head back onto his pillow. How was he going to approach this situation?

Cautiously shifting his hips revealed another exciting morning discovery: his tail had appeared and was twined around Raven’s ankles.

He carefully extricated his fifth limb and retracted it without disturbing his sleeping girlfriend (!), feeling rather accomplished.

That feeling was immediately dashed by horniness as she moaned, rubbing herself against his leg, her breasts brushing his arm.

He stiffened, restraining the impulse to return the action.

Raven’s nails dug into his back, her mouth dropping open. Her lashes fluttered.

Damian stayed frozen, unsure if he should help her out or simply stay where he was.

“Damian,” she repeated, a frown crossing her brow.

Unbidden, his thigh flexed upon hearing his name exit her mouth in such a sensuous manner.

Gradually, her violet eyes opened.

He was pleased to see she didn’t freeze like she had the day before. Instead, a small smirk crossed her lips. “Want a hand with that?”

“Hm?”

She huffed a laugh, moving back a small amount and nodding down to- oh, that problem.

“Only if you finally let me know what you sound like when you say my name like you mean it, Roth,” he murmured. “You were moaning my name in your dreams. It was unbearable.”

“Deal. But first…can I use your washroom? Morning breath,” she winced.

“Right. Yeah. Door on the left of my closet.”

Raven slipped off his bed, wiggling her hips with a sly smile as she went.

He took the opportunity to empty the pitcher of water he had on his nightstand and swirl a draught of breath freshener around his mouth before she returned.

Damian huffed, flopping back onto his pillows. Raven was his girlfriend. They’d slept together, in the literal sense. Could today get any better?

The answer was yes, it could.

Raven emerged from his washroom shyly, halfway to his bed before his brain restarted and confirmed that yes, his eyes were indeed taking in the glory that was his girlfriend’s nude body.

“Holy-”

He reached for her, relishing in the feel of the soft skin of her waist under his hands before he kissed her, lifting her up to straddle his lap.

~~~

Raven pulled back from the kiss, thoroughly seduced. “I thought I felt something this morning…around my ankle.”

A hint of colour swept across her boyfriend (!!!)’s cheeks. “That was my tail.”

Her eyes brightened. “You have a tail? I didn’t know that.”

“I usually keep it retracted or glamoured. No need for a potential weakness to get out.”

She hummed in understanding, threading her fingers through his soft locks as he kissed down her neck. The hums turned to moans as he catalogued which spots she responded best to.

“Do you want to know a secret,” she panted as he took her nipple in his mouth.

“Mmm,” he replied, swirling his tongue most distractingly around the nub.

Taking that as an affirmative, she continued. “I always thought tailed demons were extra sexy.”

Damian pulled away. “Why?” She traced each defined set of muscles. Azarath, he was such a beautiful creature. “Just imagine what you could do with a tail, al Ghul. They’re flexible, sensitive, delicate,” she licked up his chest. “Strong like an arm, to hold someone down. Limber like rope, to tie someone up. The possibilities are many.”

Damian’s fingers trailed teasingly up her inner thigh. “You make a substantial argument, Roth.”

She smiled, pleased, as his fingers found her core. “I know.”

Her head dropped back as he began rubbing small circles around her clit.

She reached down, feeling for the waistband of Damian’s sweats. Dipping her hand beneath, she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking in time to the pulses firing through her body.

He groaned, leaning forward to circle her nipple with his tongue. “You’re going to kill me, Roth.”

“You’ll be fine,” she panted, stretching around his finger. “Right there-”

Damian added another finger, immediately focusing on the spot she needed him. 

“Don’t stop.”

He kissed up her neck, biting at her pulse. “Come for me, Raven.”

With a strangled cry, she clamped down around his fingers, sparks whiting out her vision.

When she came down from her high, Damian had kicked his sweats off and was stroking himself slowly, staring at her with an awed look in his eye. He leaned forward, capturing her lips with his. “You’re so beautiful.”

Cupping his face with her hands, she returned him bite for bite, lick for lick, kiss for kiss. Slowly rolling until he was hovering over her, something at the edges of her vision caught her attention. 

She pulled away, finding his tail flicking from side to side nervously.

It looked like any other demon’s tail she’d seen: about half the length of his body; slightly tapering from base to tip, which was the typical rounded spade shape; a greenish tint to the skin covering it, the colour associated with the al Ghuls.

Unconsciously licking her lips, she tore her gaze from it back to her boyfriend. “You have a very nice tail.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want me to even the score?”

He tilted his head in silent acquiescing question.

Raven shifted to her natural demon form, her pale skin turning a slightly darker grey shade, her nubby horns and second pair of eyes emerging, and her wings spreading. 

Damian matched her horns with his own pair, the shiny green and gold mottled material hardly longer than her hand.

“Your horns are pretty. It’s a shame you stay in your human form all the time.”

“So are yours,” Damian traced the curve of her wings, the light touch ruffling her feathers and sending a shiver of pleasure through her. “I always counted it a win when I could rile you enough that your eyes emerged.”

Lightly slapping his shoulder, she playfully scolded him.

His tail seized her wrist, and she fell silent, both pairs of eyes darkening.

“You like when I restrain you?” Damian rasped.

She nodded, fang poking her lip as she watched him move down her body until he reached the apex of her thighs, dropping kisses as he went.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he demanded, before opening his mouth and feasting on her dripping core.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, she focused on meeting his emerald gaze, small moans and whimpers escaping her bitten lips. He slid two fingers in, crooking them just right, and her hands flew to stabilize herself on his horns.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she growled. “Yes, Damian, there!”

His tail slapped at her breasts, the light sting reminding her to open her eyes.

He added a third finger, the stretch combined with his patient licking sending her over the edge for the second time.

Her shaking thighs loosened, freeing him from her clutches, and she leaned back against the pillows. His long tongue sensuously licked the remains of her pleasure off his face, his wink warming her core again.

Getting to her knees, Raven reached for his deliciously tempting length, hard and leaking precum. She opened her mouth, sucking at the head, running her tongue along the vein on the underside, fitting it as far down her throat as she could. 

Damian muttered curses and praises as he gathered her hair in his hand, gently holding it back from her face. 

Bracing her hands on his unfairly muscular thighs, she relaxed her throat, angling her jaw to take him even further. She only managed a couple bobs before he pulled out. 

“Want to be inside you.”

With a flap of her wings, he was on his back and she was straddling him, running her core up and down his length.

“Stop teasing, Raven,” he growled, hands gripping her hips tight enough to leave a mark.

With a nip at his collarbone, she slid slowly onto him, relishing the stretch he provided. 

“You’re so wet and hot,” he grunted, thrusting his hips up to meet her stroke for stroke.

“You feel so good,” she agreed, lifting one hand to play with her nipple.

Damian’s thumb brushed over her other nipple, freeing her hand to creep up his chest and rest at the base of his neck.

His eyes flew up from where they met to meet her eyes.

“Too much?” she rasped.

“No.” His other hand slid up between her breasts to return the favour. “You?”

She shook her head, clenching even harder as she rode him, causing a pained hiss.

“Please tell me you’re close.”

“After the first two? Yeah,” she sighed, plucking her nipple in time to the waves of pleasure building in her body.

She dragged her nails teasingly down Damian’s chest until she reached their joined bodies and began rubbing small, tight circles around her clit. The tip of his tail nudged her fingers away, taking over her pleasure.

Damian’s thrusts became harder; she shifted her hips so he would hit her sweet spot.

The building tension snapped and she came with a cry of his name, his climax following hers as he moaned her name.

Raven bonelessly slumped onto his chest, arms around his neck. “I don’t think I know my name.”

A breathless chuckle sounded in her ear. “I only know it because I don’t know anything else. Raven,” he kissed behind her ear. “Raven.” Her jaw. “Raven.” The edge of her mouth. “Raven,” he said tenderly, tucking her sweaty hair behind her ear. 

She stared adoringly down at him. “Damian.” She kissed him sweetly, stroking the planes of his cheek and jaw with her thumb. “I’m glad you’re my boyfriend.”

~~~

They showered together, enjoying the excuse to touch each other romantically, washing each other’s hair and lathering up their bodies. It may have been a bit more sensual than it strictly needed to be, but Raven put her foot down on another round; she was sore and hungry, and the aftermath would not be pretty.

Slipping into her jeans and sweater, she patted her flyaway hairs down and made sure she didn’t give off the air of “my rival-slash-best-friend and I are dating and sleeping together now and boy is it good” before she left his washroom and headed to the dining hall.

Damian was in his usual seat, but the secret smile and wink he gave her as she passed him made butterflies start fluttering in her stomach.

~~~

Professor Zatara called the pairs up to hand in their reports. Raven handed him their roll of parchment, but he called her back for a moment. 

“You and al Ghul got along okay?”

She nodded. “More than okay–we’re dating now.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She headed back to her seat, smiling back at Damian.

Zachary Zatara prepared to collect his winnings from the rest of the staff. He hadn’t overtly made them confront their feelings, therefore he had no reason to be disqualified from the Roth-al Ghul dating speculation pot. No one could prove that he’d spelled the cauldrons to partner up certain students, anyways. 

Well pleased with his scheming, he settled in his chair to grade his parchments.

*A/N: As with all smut please be aware that it is fictional and should not always be reproduced irl. (I'm saying that Demon physiology allows for them to choose whether or not they wish to be pregnant, negating the need for protection of some sort.) Damian and Raven were only giving the illusion of choking each other but if doing so irl please be very careful with it.

#damirae sauce week 2023 #damirae #demonbirds #ali writes #fic #damirae smut

[sapphire11]

all the words you didn't mean for me to hear

Part 1 of 'Secret Messages' a Break up era Tarlos fic

Hey Everyone! I have decided to release this fic in 'mini' parts here on tumblr before releasing the whole thing on ao3. (mostly because I need some encouragement and validation despite not feeling ready to publish it yet there and you all have always been supportive) Think of this as a little gift for being wonderful followers/mutuals 💛

Tagging a couple of you who I know have been waiting for this fic, sorry if I miss you (let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic or my Tarlos fics) @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader

Carlos holds the plastic bag of personal effects tightly in his fist. His fingers are going stiff with how hard he’s been holding on to it since the nurse handed it to him after he signed all the required papers for being TK’s emergency contact. The shock of hearing that TK never took Carlos off his contact form has his mind whirling while his body remains frozen. 

“Did you know he kept me on as his contact?” Carlos turns towards Nancy with a raised brow. 

She shakes her head slowly, “I wouldn’t have needed to call you if I knew. The hospital would have. Doesn’t surprise me though.” 

He hums softly in reply, pulling out TK’s wallet from the bag and shoving it in his coat pocket, his phone follows, and then Carlos is pulling out his silver chain with the 252 medallion. It’s wrong to see it hanging loosely from his fingers, unattached to the person it belongs to. Since Carlos met TK he has seen the chain peeking out from underneath clothes, dangling from his unclothed chest, landing on Carlos’ own chest as they make love. He’s equated this item with TK for so long that holding it now is the most tangible reminder of just how bad this situation is.

It is also strange to be holding an essential piece of TK so long after their break up. He runs his thumb over the engraved pendant for a second before raising his arm and slipping the chain around his neck. As he settles it under his shirt the cold medal sits heavy against his heart. 

The chain is a constant reminder of all the things he’s lost and what he still stands to lose if TK doesn’t win his current life or death battle. Still the anger and irritation at being called to TK’s side after so many months of radio silence simmers just below the surface. Only kept at bay by the growing worry and sense of dread he feels the more he learns about TK’s situation. Hearing Nancy and Tommy recount resuscitating TK in the field was excruciating, and he almost tells them that he doesn’t need to know the details. Except this is TK, and he’s never stopped wanting to know every little thing about the other man. Even in the frustrating months that TK has forced them to be apart. 

Carlos sits in between Nancy and Tommy watching the hands on the clock opposite them tick steadily by. Every second feels like a blessing, every minute a curse. Finally, a nurse comes out to let him know that they need to perform some more tests and that visitors will be restricted for at least the next couple of hours. With a pointed look at all three of them still in uniform she urges them to go home, change clothes, grab what they’ll need if someone wants to stay the night. When she mentions staying the night she looks right at Carlos and he has to actively work not to flinch. He doesn’t have that right anymore, he shouldn’t have any rights. But TK kept him on as an emergency contact and no one can get ahold of Owen, so Carlos isn’t going anywhere. 

Which includes home. Thankfully Mitchell happily brings him his bag from his locker at the station and exchanges it for the keys to his patrol unit. He’ll have to find a way back to the station for his Camaro at some point, but that’s tomorrow’s problem, or maybe even the day after tomorrow. His favorite ED nurse lets him into the staff locker room for a quick shower and change into his civilian clothes. Feeling refreshed, but anxious to get back up to TK, Carlos quickly begins stuffing his uniform into his duffel bag until a thud catches his attention. 

Realizing TK’s phone has fallen face first onto the hard floor he lets out a soft curse followed by a silent plea that it’s not broken. He picks up the phone hitting the on button on the side. Breathing a sigh of relief as the screen flickers to life and no cracks appear. Just before he can shove it back into the safety of his pocket, a notification catches his attention. He knows he shouldn’t; he has no right, but he can’t deny his curiosity as to why TK is using an app to record messages when Carlos knows he never used to. He hesitates, then tries to guess what TK would have changed his password to after their break up. After two failed attempts he considers calling it fate that he can’t guess it, but on a whim he decides to try the old familiar code - 36320.

His heart does a funny flop in his chest, he swallows hard imagining of TK thinking about him every time he typed in Carlos’ unit number to unlock his phone. The home screen comes up and Carlos is able to click on the notification for the message. 

1 unsaved message - would you like to play and save now?

A solid minute debate follows. He really should just turn the phone off, but it’s possible the message could be lost then and he has no way of knowing if it’s important. It’s really not his place to listen to it though and he considers finding Nancy and asking her to listen to it instead, In the end fate decides for him as the phone flashes the warning for low battery and he has no choice, but to click yes, before the phone turns off on its own.

TK’s voice floats down the line and  finds Carlos’ breath catches in his throat. He holds it, not wanting the slightest sound to disrupt what might be his last chance at hearing the love of his life.  

Hey. This weather is crazy. I didn’t know it could get like this in Texas. You never told me it could get like this in Texas, always just making fun of me for hoarding hoodies. I’m really going to enjoy my hoodie today. 

Carlos listens to the message, taking in the easy going rhythm of TK’s voice. It seems like he’s talking to an old friend. Sharing an inside joke. Except if Carlos didn’t know better he’d say it was their inside joke, because he was forever teasing TK about his love of sweatshirts. While secretly hoping he’d be able to steal one from his side of the closet without TK noticing. In fact his brain had betrayed him with that very thought this morning upon waking up to the cold before he remembered that their closet existed no more. 

But I’m at work so I’ll keep this short. I’m sure it’s all hands on deck today and I just wanted to say, stay safe. Okay? 

The way TK’s voice has gone soft, quiet around the plea, a question raising at the end. It makes Carlos’ heart clench to hear TK directing those words, that tone, to anyone else. For someone else to be granted the parts of TK that were once saved for Carlos alone. It makes him wonder if he should even be here at all or if there is someone else out there that they need to call. Surely Nancy would know though. She’s not cruel, she would never call Carlos here if she knew that TK was seeing someone else. 

That's all. I know it’s a lame message, but I needed to say it. 

There are a lot of things that I need to say, but none of them are appropriate for a recording, so please just stay safe so that I hopefully get the chance sometime soon. Okay.

*alarm blares in the background* -Shit 

Bye Carlos.

Carlos’ heart freezes, stutters, then starts again at a rabbit pace. He has to have heard wrong right? There is no way that TK would be recording a message for Carlos nearly three months after their breakup. Carlos’ mind is just trying to protect itself. He can’t possibly have heard TK say his name. The phone beeps and he pulls it away from his ear to see the notification asking him if he’d like to save the message. Slamming his finger down on the ‘yes’ button and hitting play again with just as much veracity. Before he can even bring the phone back to his ear it beeps and the screen fades to black. 

It takes a physical effort not to hurl the damn thing into a wall, but instead he digs around for the power cord he carries in his bag before grabbing all his things and hurrying out to find an outlet. He finds himself back in the ICU waiting room, outlets conveniently lining the walls behind all the visitor chairs. It makes sense since this seems to be a place of perpetual waiting. Carlos ducks his head to avoid the look TK’s nurse shoots him as she steps back into the nurses’ station.  

He settles in, with the phone connected to the charging cord and watches as the little battery meter moves, up and down. A quick glance towards TK’s room reveals closed doors and pulled curtains, not allowing even the smallest glimpse of what might be occurring on the other side. Nervous anticipation of what waits for him on TK’s phone causes him to tap his foot against the ground anxiously, wringing his hands together. Finally after what feels like an appropriate amount of time has passed for the phone to be charged enough to turn on, he pushes the button. It is torture waiting as the screen lights up and cycles through the starting features and all the while TK’s voice echoes in his ears, ‘Bye, Carlos’, ringing until he well and truly believes it was a trick of his mind. 

Typing in the password is as disconcerting as the last time, and for the first time since the break up, and the long interminable months of silence, Carlos lets himself imagine a world in which TK missed him just as much as he missed TK. He lets himself imagine that his foolish pining wasn’t as unrequited as he always thought. Those thoughts only bring him more grief at the time that they’ve lost. Wasted really. 

As the phone finishes turning on he pauses to look at TK’s background. It’s a picture of Buttercup. Cute, but generic, not even some silly moment, and as much as TK loves that dog it feels kind of stale. By now he knows he’s stalling as he hesitates before clicking into the recorded messages app, closing it just as quickly. It was easy to tell himself last time that he was just trying to make sure TK didn’t lose whatever message he was trying to store. Now though, he is making a choice to dig into TK’s private world, somewhere that Carlos hasn’t had a place in for a long time. 

The desire to hear TK’s voice again, and to confirm or deny that he is indeed losing what little grip on reality he has, wins out. He opens the app. What he sees nearly makes him drop the phone. 

There is a single folder labeled with his name. The words For Carlos shining like a spotlight. 

With a shaking finger he opens the folder and for a long moment just stares at the screen, not able to comprehend what he’s seeing. His thumb rests absently against the surface of the phone before he shifts it to scroll back through the saved messages. There seems to be a lot, and when he hits the end, he scrolls slowly back, counting as he goes, all the way up to nineteen. 

The most recent one, the one he listened to earlier, is dated today, and suddenly he just has to know when TK started this. When he hits the end again, the date, October 26th, 2021, screams at him. That was only a week after TK left. Only two days after Carlos’ last failed attempt to contact him and communicate. Anger twists his stomach into knots thinking about how TK could somehow put into words a message for him, but he couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and send him a text.

His fingers curl around the phone, knuckles turning white as he bows his head and tries to take a few steadying breaths. It’s not working nearly as well as he’d like as all of the emotions he has long thought he worked through in the three months since the break up come roaring right back to the surface. Prominent among them is anger. Anger at TK for running away so easily. Anger at himself for trying to give someone everything he had. Anger at the fire that started the downward spiral of the most important relationship Carlos has ever had. Anger is easy to hold on to. Sure it burns bright and the pain is sharp, but it also drowns out the fear and uncertainty that has clung to him like a cloak since Nancy’s words that ‘it wasn’t good’.

The thing about the fire of anger is that it doesn’t last long and it leaves damage behind. As the heat of the anger burns away, the ambient noises of the ICU fill in the raw gaps left open. The squeak of a nurse's shoes as she strides purposefully towards a room, the screech of a heart monitor echoing as a door is opened, the stifled crying of a loved one as they sink into a chair down the hall. All of them serve as a reminder of why he is here and why he needs to listen to those messages; he needs to know before it’s too late. He needs the truth and if he can’t get it directly from the man himself, then the messages he’s left, clearly intended for Carlos, are going to have to suffice.

Carlos hesitates one last time as he decides which order to listen to the messages in. In the end he realizes they’ll probably make the most sense chronologically, even if his heart is screaming at him about reliving his worst nightmare. He has to shake off the thought that the break up was his worst nightmare until a few hours ago when he saw TK lying lifeless in his hospital bed, a shell of himself. 

Opening the message dated for October 26th, and hitting the play button, TK’s voice echoes into the space of the ICU. With a jolt he pauses the recording. Suddenly aware that he doesn’t want anyone else to hear these. He wants, no needs, to keep TK’s private words and thoughts safely tucked away in his heart. It takes him a long minute to dig his headphones out of his bag and his foot is anxiously bouncing against the floor by the time he does. Needing to do something, to move, he stands up as he slips them in, only to be stopped short by the cord still connecting the phone to the wall. With a resigned sigh, he sinks back into the chair, shifting in an attempt to get more comfortable and shake off the strange feelings surfacing. 

Scrolling to the beginning of the message again, TK’s voice suddenly washes over him.

“Hey Carlos, it’s TK. 

Damn, this is weird. But my therapist keeps insisting that I can’t keep bottling everything up inside and since I hate writing, and you’ve seen my handwriting, well I guess this is the next best thing. 

The words are hesitant, the joke obviously forced. Carlos cringes at the mention of the therapist that TK had stopped seeing sometime. His brain catches on that thought and he pauses the recording as he tries to remember exactly when TK stopped seeing his therapist. He remembers an offhand remark or two about it before the fire. He is sure that TK went at least a couple of times while they were living with Owen though. In fact he distinctly remembers TK asking him if he’d like to go with. Mentioning how it might help to talk about everything that happened. 

Carlos had vehemently opposed the idea. He was fine. He didn’t need to talk about his feelings. It was great that it seemed to help TK, but it just wasn’t Carlos’ thing. Trying not to dwell on the what ifs of that situation he hits play again. 

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say though. We never really got that far since I kind of shot her down every time she’s tried to suggest this. Everything’s still kinda a mess in my head too honestly. I’ve started therapy again, which I guess you probably already realized. My dad insisted. He could tell I’m not really doing well. I’m slipping, the world is grey again.

Shit. His head falls into his hands as he hears confirmation of one of his worries during their break up. 

Shit. No that’s not on you by the way. Crap I never want you to feel like you’re responsible for my decisions or feelings, because you’re not. They’re mine. But I’m not, well I’m not okay. Shit. I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this. Any of this. You never did. I’m just gonna ….”

The message cuts out and he sits there for a long moment, head cradles in his palms, tears building behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly to clear them, desperate to keep a hold on his emotions for as long as possible. When he thinks he’s okay, he plays the message again. Listening to the way TK’s words waver, the tremor that is clear in his voice. 

Something Carlos learned early on is that when TK gets talking, he has a way of just spitting out whatever words come to his brain first. Over time, Carlos had been able to pick out what words were most important by the inflection in TK’s voice. A pause before something that he was unsure of, a tremble when he was struggling to keep hold of his emotions, a quiet laugh that was more self-deprecating than actually happy.

He hears it all now. 

A pause before telling Carlos the world is grey, and Carlos is wondering if TK was remembering the first time he told him that too.

The tremble in TK’s voice as he tells Carlos that he isn’t responsible for TK’s decisions or feelings. As if that would make Carlos feel even an inch better that TK was clearly suffering. In this moment he wishes he had tried harder, hadn’t given up as quickly, forced TK to stop and talk, done anything really besides let his pride and anger drive him to giving up. 

Still the worst part of subtle undertones that make up TK Strand’s particular style of communication is the quiet laugh, more a breath of regret and self-loathing that he hears when TK tells him Carlos didn’t deserve ‘any of this’. That is the knife to his heart. Because he knows TK well enough to read between the lines. At that moment he was referring to himself. TK was fully convinced that he didn’t deserve Carlos and that he never had. 

After listening to the message three times he lets the silence engulf him. It’s been a long time since he truly reflected on his own feelings from the beginning of their break up. Mostly he remembers believing that TK would come back, until he didn’t. When that realization hit, he let the anger overcome the hurt in order to cope with his truth that TK must not want to be with him. Over time anger burned those feelings into TK just simply not loving him. 

He’s a little ashamed now to hear that TK was actively taking steps to better himself while Carlos really just pushed it all into a box and pretended there was nothing to fix. He wishes TK could see from his perspective how good that makes him, how beautiful it is to keep fighting even when it’d be easier to just give up. 

The longer he sits on the uncomfortable hospital chair, the more all of his emotions are mixing into one big mess inside his head. He is still angry. He thinks he deserves that right. After all, TK could have called him, could have texted him, could have sent him that frickin’ message when he made it. Any of those options would have been better in Carlos’ mind than the continued radio silence that lasted for nearly three months. 

He also feels guilty. After they yelled and TK walked out Carlos couldn’t understand what TK was so upset about. However, over time he begrudgingly came to admit, if only to himself, that making such a big decision on TK’s behalf wasn’t the best thing he’s ever done. If he is honest with himself, he was also way too proud to ever reach out to TK and say that to him.

As Carlos lifts his head and looks to the ceiling, stretching stiff muscles in his neck, all those emotions give way for grief. Grief for the relationship that they had both let go of. Grief for the pain that they had both suffered. Grief for the future that was more uncertain for them now than yesterday. His head thunks back against the wall behind him and he closes his eyes. TK’s voice still echoes in his ears, but suddenly he needs more. 

He lifts the phone until he can see the screen and notes the date of the next message, October 28th. The familiar burn of anger returns that TK could have had so much to say to him then, but couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and actually say it to him. There is nothing he can do now except hit play and hope to find some answers. 

“I talked to Doctor Matterson. She told me that it’s okay to start smaller with these messages. That I don’t have to get into my emotions about what happened right away. That explaining them out loud isn’t necessarily important for this. We’re of course still working on that. But she said for this I should just talk without pressure.

Carlos scoffs, TK avoiding difficult situations is not necessarily anything new, but he had thought they were past the stage of their relationship where he was the difficult situation. Thought that was left somewhere in the ashes of their old house. Although, maybe it was really the stability of their relationship that burned that day. 

So, hi. It’s Thursday.  

Despite himself, he laughs, TK has never sounded this awkward before. Always so self assured, confident. Except he realizes with a start that’s not always true. The times TK opened up and really let himself be exposed there was always a hesitancy that seemed so uncharacteristic of TK.

Cap, Nancy and I are still working at Paragon. It’s nice to be able to stay together. Especially with the rest of the 126 split up and with them not having room for more paramedics. Plus the pay is still good. 

God damn pay. He never cared about the money. 

I’m going to keep living with dad for a while. Save some money. See if I can’t fix my mistakes before. — Ha I don’t know what I was going to say before. They’ve already cost me everything. 

Anyways. I hope you’re doing well. Bye.

The familiar feeling of exasperation over TK’s single minded focus on what Carlos didn’t consider an issue. He wants to take TK’s shoulders and shake some sense into him. He wants the chance to tell him it was never about the money. He also wishes TK had given Carlos the chance to show him that his mistakes didn't have to cost him anything. 

Now both their mistakes may have cost them the most important thing. 

Time.  

Without wasting any more time he hits play on the next message dated October 30th. Nothing plays for a long minute and he actually lifts his head from where it’s still resting against the wall to check and make sure the message is indeed playing. It is and it’s almost thirty seconds in with nothing yet. Almost convinced that this was an accidental recording he goes to fast forward just as TK’s voice starts. 

Hey Carlos. So I don’t really have anything to tell you. I’m on the tail-end of my forty-eight hours off before we start a twenty-four hour shift tomorrow. 

The soft, breathy quality of TK’s voice betrays his exhaustion even through a message and Carlos would swear that TK was just coming off of a forty-eight hour not the other way around. Carlos hasn’t slept well since the break up himself. He’s just about gotten used to the way his bed still feels too big and how there are too many pillows for one person. He’ll never get used to the way the mattress, just this side too soft for Carlos' own preferences, engulfs him every time he lays down. He’d bought it on a whim, needing something to sleep on, believing that TK would come back, and remembering the way his lovingly, annoyable boyfriend complained about how hard Carlos’ old firm mattress was. 

Lost in his thoughts he misses most of the message until his brain picks up on the change in tone, so much self-loathing coating every word. 

I don’t really know. But I think you deserve that at least. I think I'm just too scared to have you confirm that it's over, that you're done dealing with my bullshit. Anyways. 

He sits for a full minute before realizing that he’s reached the end of the message. Wondering what he missed, because certainly that can’t be all TK had to say, he hits play again. Waiting through the deafening silence for TK’s voice. 

Hey Carlos. So I don’t really have anything to tell you. I’m on the tail-end of my forty-eight hours off before we start a twenty-four hour shift tomorrow. I’m lonely. It’s weird there are still three of us at dad’s house, but Mateo’s been working longer hours. Dad’s been busy trying to save the 126 and even when he’s here, he isn’t really here. He makes an effort for me, but I can tell he is struggling.

Anyway, all that to say that I really just miss you.

I almost called you yesterday, until I realized I had no idea what I’d say. And I’m also not sure I’m ready for your anger. Justified or not. I really wish I was brave enough, because I think I’ve finally realized that I’m not really angry about the loft and that I could probably talk instead of running. Maybe…. I don’t really know. But I think you deserve that at least. I think I'm just too scared to have you confirm that it's over, that you're done dealing with my bullshit. Anyways. 

The silence at the end catches him off guard again. There are too many thoughts floating through his head from what TK says for him to pick one to focus on. It’s a cycle through thoughts about Owen being an absentee parent, again, TK being lonely, but refusing to reach out, and fear being the root of a lot of their problems. 

As he’s mulling over that thought he spots the nurse from earlier making her way over to him. He pulls out his headphones and stands just as she reaches him.

“The doctor is done with tests for now if you’d like to go sit with him.” 

He wrings his hands around TK’s phone, “Yes- yes, I’d like that.” Somehow he manages to get the words out and the nurse smiles softly at him before placing a gentle hand on his elbow to guide him into TK’s room. The sight that greets him almost brings him to his knees. Despite having caught a few glimpses of TK across the hall before, being up close is a different experience entirely. 

The ventilator is the dominating feature of the room, taking up physical space and creating an echoing sound that drowns out everything else. “I’ll be back to check on him in a bit.” The nurse says from somewhere over his shoulder as he remains motionless just inside the doorway. It takes several agonizing moments before he has control of himself enough to make it to one of the chairs positioned next to TK’s bedside. Sinking into the uncomfortable seat just far enough away to be considered ‘distant’, he takes in TK’s features. His face is slack, skin a sunken, sallow, colorless mask. 

The urge to touch runs along his arm to his fingertips and his hand briefly lifts before dropping heavily with the knowledge that he doesn’t have the right to touch without asking anymore. It hurts his heart, knowing how tactile a person TK is, and how much comfort touch usually brings him, but he can’t break that last barrier of trust that exists. Instead he settles back into the chair, leaning away slightly from TK and pulling out his headphones again. The app is still open when he taps the screen awake and his finger hovers over the next message for a long moment. When he finally is able to press the button again he wishes he hadn’t.

Hey babe … shit. Let me just …. *background noises, buttons being pressed rustling … *

Hey Carlos.

Carlos can’t slam the pause button fast enough as he shoots out of his chair and moves to pace along the wall as far away from the body in the bed as he can. Hearing the accidental slip up of TK’s voice calling him the well worn nickname that Carlos secretly loved is too much to bear as the man he loves lies nearly lifeless in his hospital bed. Because yes, Carlos still loves TK, just as much as the day he walked away and listening to this message here and now feels a little too much like an omen that he’ll never hear the real thing again. It feels like all he’ll ever have are these recorded words and the sound of TK’s voice, slightly distorted floating into his ears. 

It is a reminder that there is a real possibility that he will never hear that voice, light with teasing, whispering in his ear. Or that voice muffled with sleep as they wake up together and greet another day as the team they always said they were. Or that voice thick with emotion as TK tells him how much he loves him, because TK took every opportunity to make sure he knew his love. Hell he’d even take that voice yelling in anger again if it meant TK standing whole and alive in front of him. It’s all too much and he can’t even look at TK as he rushes out of the room nearly bowling Nancy over as she enters.

“Whoa bud, everything okay?” Nancy stops him with her hands on his shoulders as she peeks around him to take in TK’s form on the bed. When she focuses her gaze back on him he’s been able to school his features back into what he thinks resembles a controlled mask of professionalism. Feeling tucked away, hidden in the deepest parts of himself. Nancy tilts her head as she takes him in, “give me a second with him.” She gestures behind him and he takes advantage of her letting go of his shoulder to step out of the embrace. A small nod in acknowledgement of her words is all he can offer her and without the slightest glance back into the room he slides past.

He’s back on the same chair as before, knee bouncing frantically when Captain Vega enters the ICU. Her gaze is drawn first to the room that TK’s in, but she quickly turns towards him and makes her way over. It’s like a shock to his system as he stands, awkwardly accepting the hug she offers. No words are exchanged, as they settled back into their seats. Nancy joins them a minute later, hand immediately resting on his thigh as she settles on his side opposite Captain Vega.

“Has the doctor been by with an update?” 

There’s a moment’s pause before Carlos realizes with a start that the question was directed at him. If asked he couldn’t even say who it came from, so he glances up, and then back and forth. 

“No,” he offers quietly. 

No more questions are asked. They just sit there silently, shifting every few moments, flexing arms, stretching legs, occasionally giving touches of support, comfort. He barely registers any of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his mother’s voice screams at him for abandoning his manners. He should ask them something. Provide them comfort. These are two of the most important people in TK’s life. Two people that he knows highly regard TK, call him their friend, and here he is just an ex, without a claim in the world to the man dying in that bed and he can’t pull himself out of it long enough to say or do anything at all. 

Thankfully they’re not kept waiting long before a doctor is approaching them. Carlos watches her approach and holds his breath. He’s good at reading people, has to be for his job, and all he sees now is regret and compassion. This is a person ready to give condolences that he doesn’t want to hear.

#ali writes #secret messages #tarlos break up era fic #tarlos #tarlos fanfic #tk strand #carlos reyes #3x03 #canon level medical angst #911 lone star #911 ls fic

[sneezydarliing]

My piece for the 2023 snalintines exchange for @selfindulgentsuffering ! Hope you enjoy, and a huge thanks to everyone in the server for putting this together. 

Starve a cold, feed a fever

word count; 1,584

It begins the night before. 

The second Alhaitham opens his eyes he's thrown forward, sent into a coughing fit so harsh that he knows smothering his mouth with the blanket won't do anything against alerting his probably still-awake roomate. By the time he’s able to catch his breath, His door is already being opened, and he’s greeted with Kaveh rushing towards him, a worried expression on his face.  

“Love? You okay?” His roomate holds out a cup of water, and as Alhaitham takes it silently he can’t help but recognize the sweater hanging loosely off of the other’s frame. He eyes it, then returns his gaze to Kaveh, who huffs. “It was all I could find, okay? Jeez, come in here all worried and all you can do is be grumpy.” He walks out, continuing to mumble to himself about “being ungrateful” and how he’ll never come check on him again even though they both know better. 

The silence is welcomed. Alhaitham can feel an uncomfortable pressure beginning to build in his skull, and sweat prickles the back of his neck even though he feels fine temperature-wise. But surely it’s nothing. Sumeru’s grand scribe does not get sick. He returns to sleep with this thought in mind, brushing off what is easily a half hour of tossing and turning, occasionally muffling more coughs into his blankets. 

It gets worse in the morning. This discomfort has switched to a painful throbbing, and every move sends his head spinning. He essentially stumbles into the main room, where his roommate is currently making himself breakfast, humming idly along to some song that must have been on the radio. He was still wearing his shirt. The sound of Alhaitham’s fumbling brings him back to earth, and he looks up with an irritated expression, squabble not forgotten. 

“You look great this morning.” His tone is heavy with sarcasm, and Al Haitham scowls. “And you probably slept better than me. Your tossing and turning kept me up-” “hHI-Chht!” Kaveh freezes, interrupted from his angry rambling. “Archons bless you.” The saying is an unconscious habit, coming out of his mouth before he can even think of it. As Al-haithan sniffles wetly, he stops and looks at him a little closer. 

“Are you sick?” The frown on Alhaitham’s face deepens. He storms to the coffee table, grabbing his set of keys, and quickly slips on his shoes. He’s almost out the door before Kaveh gets an actual response in the form of a gravely “No.” He gets the ingredients for soup out anyway, huffing to himself. 

       As Alhaitham walks to the Akademiya, part of him regrets leaving at all. Every noise sends a jolt of pain through his head, his throat has begun to feel like gravel, and the first sneeze seemed to have set off some sort of chain reaction, because now he can't go five minutes without another one. There is no other way to put it, he was miserable. 

   It must have shown. Younger students looked at him with mingled concern and curiosity, and he heard whispers about how people should "try to leave him alone today." By the time he got to his office, he was exhausted. 

   Work ticks by at an excruciatingly slow rate, yet he can barely get anything done. It takes easily 5 times of reading anything for it to cut through the fogginess of his brain, and he finds himself spending more time with his head against the desk to help soothe his headache than doing anything else. Every conversation he tries to have ends in a coughing fit, and at some point people stop coming in at all. The rumor of the Grand Scribe's illness must have spread. 

Eventually, he decides to go into the library. Nothing will get done regardless, so he might as well pass the time somehow. Browsing the shelfs, searching for one of the few titles he had yet to read, left him putting how awful he felt to the back of his mind for a moment, able to focus on the moment, at least until the sneezing returned. 

Perhaps it was the dust. Many of the books had lived more than double his lifetime, and the careful tending of them could only do so much. Either way, it was exhausting. He flips a page. "hI’tsCHht-uh! nGt!." Wipes the irritated tears from his eyes, tries to continue, but the cycle seems persistent on repeating. 

"hiDt-CHt!" a stranger offers a blessing. Others glare. He still can't find himself absorbing anything on the page, and it's too hot in the room even though everyone else in there is bundled up. He swallows, trying not to wince at the pain. 6 more hours until he can leave. 

At some point, he returns to his office in a haze. The lack of staring eyes brings him some comfort, but he's reminded more of the work that needs to be done. The papers pile up on his desk, and it seems he can barely go any time without somebody bringing in more. Until somebody hesitates. 

They avert their eyes, fidgeting nervously. Alhaitham resists the urge to tell them to spit it out so he can go back to resting his head on the table. Finally, they speak.  "Are you feeling alright, sir?" He bites back a snappy response. 

"I'm fine." He croaks out, voice sounding much worse than he remembers. The sudden intake of air sends him muffling coughs into his sleeve as the younger student stands awkwardly, clearly unconvinced. 

"Uhm, maybe it'd be best to head home?" Their tone is sheepish and well meaning, but Alhaitham still wants to point out the mounds of work that needs to get done. He resorts to glaring. The student doesn't budge. "Who sent you here?" He asks, running his hands down his face, somehow even more exhausted. 

"Kaveh did. He said not to leave until you go home, sir." He sighs deeper than he knew he was able to. He silently weighs his options. No work will get done either way at this rate, and returning home does sound nice. Maybe he'll let Kaveh win. Just this once. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll leave." The student smiles, clearly satisfied. "I hope you feel better soon, sir." The words are lost to Alhaitham, though, as he suddenly finds himself gasping, head tilted. 

"nGt! hiDt-SHhih! "Archons bless you!" He can't help but groan a little as he stands, the world spinning around him, and he's left gripping the table for support. The walk home continues in the same fashion, stumbling around at a snail's pace until he's unlocking the door, met with the back of his roommate's head in the kitchen. 

"tSCHh’uh!" He sighs, pawing at his nose. Kaveh jumps slightly, apparently startled out of some focus. "You're home early." He comments as he turns to face him, revealing a cutting board strewn with vegetables. Bastard, Alhaitham thinks. But he decides to play along. 

"I got sent home." He explains half heartedly, flopping onto the couch. "Well, no wonder. You look awful." Alhaitham can't muster up anything to say in retort, so he just brings up a hand to block the light from his eyes. He can almost feel Kaveh's disapproving look. 

"Go rest in your room. I'll bring you some medicine." Alhaitham doesn’t bother to respond. His nose itches. "What hurts? I can call the doctor over to check you out." He shakes his head. Falling asleep here sounds pleasant enough, but Kaveh will surely shoo him out. "C'mon, go to your own room. It'll be more comfortable.. I can't drag you myself." 

"hI’tsCHhi!" Kaveh sighs. "Archons bless you. Need a tissue?" He shakes his head, sniffling. He can hear his roomate huff in exasperation as he approaches, and is suddenly hauled to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but he freezes at the hand on his forehead. He finds himself lost in Kaveh's expression, the way his frown deepens into an almost-pout, like it does when he's stuck on work. 

"You have a fever." Alhaitham hums again. He's led by his arm to his own bedroom, barely noticing as Kaveh removes his ear pieces, too focused on the way he hums, the way he runs a hand through his hair as he searches for something- pajamas, probably. Alhaitham sneezes again, and Kaveh blesses him again. Eventually, he seems to find what he's looking for, handing Al Haitham clothes. He just takes them, not even having the energy to change. 

Kaveh makes a noise of agitation, but Alhaitham feels as he carefully undresses him. "It's no wonder you're ill, sleeping in these thin clothes all the time." He can't help but feel a bit bad, so he sloppily gets to work on his pants, putting the new clothes on himself. He looks up once he's done, and Kaveh gives him a satisfied look that quickly switches to sternness. 

"I'm gonna go buy some medicine, so don't you dare move." He nods, punctuated by a quiet sniffle. He hardly notices when his roomate leaves, leaning his head against the cold wall for comfort. And, once Kaveh returns, it is to that very sight, Alhaitham snoring quietly, mouth slightly agape. He resists the urge to laugh as he sets the bottle of medicine on the desk by the bed, moving his bangs to give him a gentle kiss. "Feel better, darling." He says as he closes the door, despite knowing Alhaitham won't hear it. He can't bring himself to mind. 

#snz stuff #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #sneeze #sneeze stuff #snz #gen/shin #ali writes #sneezing #have this in queue which ive never done before i really hope it works

[fricklefracklefloof]

Chapters: 1/8 Fandom: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Kuwei Yul-Bo, Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck Characters: Kuwei Yul-Bo, Bo Yul-Bayur, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker, Nina Zenik, Inej Ghafa, Matthias Helvar Additional Tags: canon character death (bo yul-bayur), started as crack but then it got kinda deep, i promise it's funny though once we get through the kuwei angst, Grieving, Food, excessive slander of fjerdan (swedish) food, im so sorry to the swedish ppl who have to read this. so sorry to one of my artists who is swedish, and whoever else has pickled herring in their culture, Imprisonment, Canon Compliant, jeswei is canon compliant as well which means its unrequited im so sorry jeswei truthers, gay pining, what happens when you let a gay fifteen year old keep a diary, a lot of time spent on boats, excessive use of strikethrough, because kuwei is really obsessed with keeping up appearances, he wants this diary to be published because hes super coool and famous, im sorry to the other person in the soc tag who has a fic with a dork diaries title right now, i promise i didn't copy you, we just thought it was funny sobbing emoji, hope ur doing well Summary:

Everyone’s heard Kaz Brekker’s story. Everyone’s heard Wylan Van Eck’s story. But has anyone heard the story of the coolest smartest most interesting Crow of them all?

Delve into the exclusive life of the greatest most attractive most sought-after person in Ketterdam with never-before-seen journals of his harrowing adventures with the Dregs. Shocking drama ensues, including… Kuwei and Jesper… Kiss???!!?!!?!?!?!! Everyone wants to look like Kuwei Yul-Bo!!!!! Find! Out! Here!

my fic for the @grishaversebigbang 2023!!! it took a while but it’s finally here hahhahah. i had a silly time writing it. i hope you enjoy it a lot.

you can look at the wonderful art that my artists made here:

@soupdreamer’s piece

@kuwei-yul-arson’s piece

they both did a fantastic job capturing the energy of this fic, i can’t thank them enough 😭 it all turned out so good

this fic was also beta read by @jinxingsouls and @logastellusaur, thank you wybie and alex!!!!

#gvbb23 #gvbbfic23 #gang 6 #six of crows #grishaverse #six of crows fanfic #kuwei yul bo #jesper fahey #jeswei #ali writes

[torturedpoetsdpmt]

As seeds of spring grow and bloom We sit and talk up in your room Even though you just met me I'm painting you from memory

Like water flowing to the sea My love for you runs downstream

The summer sun illuminates The kindness I see in your face I lay with you in fields of grass Time stands still as hours pass

Bonfires burning by the lake My love for you is set ablaze

Autumn turns the branches red You pull at threads inside my head Unraveling the worst in me You ask me who I want to be

The air turns crisp and I can breathe My love for you is clarity

Winter snow falls on my tongue As I taste who I’ll become You wrap me up in arms so warm That we could weather any storm

Leaves come and go on other trees My love for you is evergreen

#ali writes #wrote this today and wanted to share #gonna try and share more of my writing if you guys are interested! #my music

[chaosbisexual]

expiration dates.

I am not built for love, for romance.

Happiness doesn’t suit a writer the same way misery does.

I can write about the spark.

about the Mexican restaurant

the late-night whisperings,

the way someone holds the steering wheel for me.

I can write about the score cards and the dance floor lights

and the kiss in the doorway.

But that isn’t love.

I am not built for Sunday mornings or coming in from the rain,

for phone calls that soothe you when the party gets too loud.

I wasn’t made for movie nights or rituals or sharing headphones,

for the safety of someone else’s arms,

someone tracing my tattoo.

 I can only comprehend the wreck.

I was built for angry late-night drives,

kissing strangers in nightclubs out of spite.

I was built for smashing plates,

slamming tequila,

chain smoking until my mascara blurs my vision,

staring at dots of the city by the lookout.

The love I felt has been squashed time and time again.

They look at me and they don’t see grocery shopping

Or dancing at someone else’s wedding.

I’m just a snow globe,

shake me up

leave me and my insides on the floor

once you’ve broken all the pieces.

There’s nothing exciting in the downfall,

but that’s what I’m best at.

They all want the electricity,

The blood and the pulse and holding flesh that isn’t their own –

but thrill expires.

They want the dirty converse,

the smoking on the sidewalk,

not the blanket pile on the couch and the rack of clean dishes.

I’m not designed for any of that,

I’m an illusion they can take and shatter when it turns

into something they don’t want anymore.

‘USE BY THE THIRD DATE,’

because once you’ve seen someone’s insides,

you don’t need to care about the rest.

It doesn’t matter whether they’re a Friday night or a Sunday morning,

whether they’re tequila slammers or a bottle of cherry wine,

it all runs out eventually.

I am not built for love.

I’m not even sure I’m built for writing. I’m built for men to brag about and never call again once they’ve kissed me in the doorway.

I’m built for nothing more than to be chased, caught,

let go.

What’s the point of trying to pretend I’m built for anything more?

― a.w

#writing #words #poetry #writers on tumblr #love #quotes #ali writes #my writing #heartbreak #idk what else to tag this as lol

[purpleyearning]

Accidentally giving Spencer a catchphrase in my PLL fic; "Jesus, Hadley, that's dark."

#ali writes

[thoughtcascades]

Im such a I want your attention but don't want to annoy you person.

#own #text #showerthoughts #ali #quote #quotes #writing #original words #poetry #literature #inspiring #quoteoftheday #poem #aesthetic #prose #inspiring quote #life #spilled ink

[wishfuldivine]

Gaz being cuddled by his 141 boyfriends for comfort?

The sergeant felt like his heart was breaking. Never in a million years did he think he'd be in this situation before. Where a small mistake nearly cost the entire mission.

He had gone dark on comms upon infiltrating a facility to gain some important intel. Something the captain had clearly told him not to, but being the stubborn person he is, didn't listen. His desperation to get this done and get out safely played a huge reason.

His mind was too preoccupied to notice an enemy closing in on him. If it wasn't for Ghost, who had been on overwatch, he'd be dead. He resumed with the objective, and everything went smoothly after that.

Usually, he'd be one to let it go, but the fact that he disobeyed and got a mild scolding from his captain made him feel extremely shitty. So much so that he walked around with shoulders sagged and began ignoring everyone for the remainder of the week.

That is, until Soap had enough of seeing his precious boy like that and set out a plan. He asked Gaz to meet him in the rec room so they could talk about something concerning him - Gaz has always been a landing ear and shoulder no matter what. And today wasn't any different.

Gaz went and met up with Soap. Ever the sweetheart on putting others before himself. Not knowing that Ghost and Price would be there too.

"What is this?" He had questioned, looking around at his three boyfriends with a confused yet distressed expression.

"I'm sorry, love. But we just wanted to talk to you." The deep and gruff voice of Ghost.

"We know you've been avoidin' us. Couldn't take it." Price added afterward.

"Please talk to us." Soap pleaded next.

Gaz stared at them for a couple of moments in silence before speaking. He told them how he felt. How disappointed he was at himself. That he should've done better. Maybe he's not worthy to be on the team.

That did it. They didn't let him talk any longer. They instead rushed him towards the bed and cuddled him tightly. Soft kisses and words of reassurance were given. No matter what happens, Gaz will always be on the team. He'll always be their precious boy.

It made Gaz cry. And even then, they wiped his tears away and continued to love him.

#kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price #simon ghost riley #pricegaz #soapgaz #ghostgaz #cod #call of duty #gaz x everyone #poly 141 #my sweet babies comforting the best boy #ali writes

[sdv-farmer-ali]

so this idea struck me while i was collecting eggs from my chickens and ducks. then spiraled when sebastian mentioned that they used to do an egg toss with rotten eggs.

so ali while hanging out and getting high with sebastian, sam and abigail, gets the idea to egg mayor lewis's house bc hes a shitty mayor and person all together.

sam and abby are obvs all for it bc chaos gremlins stick together.

i feel like sebastian would try to be the voice of reason but also really wants to egg the mayors house y'know

so thats the story of how on spirits eve, a few months later, while everybody was busy with the event that mayor lewis's house was egged.

#sdv #sdv farmer #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #sdv abigail #ali writes #headcanon #sdv headcanons #chaos gremlins #stardew valley #stardew sebastian #stardew sam #stardew abigail

[ali-annals]

Unexpected Visitors

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: G | WC: 800 | CW: - | A/N: This is one of my first fics so I'm not super proud of it but the lovely peeps on ao3 seem to like it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I thought I'd cross-posted this already but apparently I haven't, oops :| | Ao3 |

An unknown woman shows up on Wayne Manor's doorstep asking for Damian Wayne…

And enjoy this lovely fanart made by @tinybrie 🥰

A bright light flashed through the windows of the manor, the echo of thunder sounding overhead almost immediately. The knocking on the wooden door echoed down the dimly lit hallway, almost covered by the sound of rain and wind gusting outside.

The family butler swung open the door, taking in the visitors.

A young woman was standing there, holding a baby. She had her mother’s dark hair, but her eyes... 

He tore his gaze away from the baby when the pale, tired woman asked, “Is Damian Wayne here?”

“I’m afraid he is not ‘in’ at the moment, Miss. May I say who called?”

“He’s alive?”

The butler blinked, hearing the note of relief underneath the urgency in her voice. “Yes, Miss..?”

“Oh, thank goodness! His tracker stopped working and I was…I thought…can I see him, please? I can help heal him.”

“How did you know he was injured, Miss?”

She stepped further inside, brushing raindrops off the baby’s and her clothing. “Tracker. If it stops working and he doesn't reply, he’s either dead or severely injured. And since you say he’s alive-”

Alfred still didn’t know her name, but he knew she was trustworthy. Call it an old man’s intuition, call it experience from sizing up every type of person under this roof (of which there were many), he could tell his youngest Master would be safe with her. 

“I’ll show you to his room, Miss.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

~~~

Damian groggily opened his eyes. Owww… His muscles protested after all that had happened in the last short while. 

The faint sound of rain hitting the window by his bed provided soothing white noise, mixed with the soft breaths from the dark head resting on the bed by his hand. 

Marinette was fast asleep, like the baby in her arms.

He stroked her hair gently. “ Habibti , I’m awake.”

She jolted upright, carefully cradling the baby so as not to disturb her rest. “Ma lune? You’re okay?”

“Just fine, mon coeur . I take it you healed me?” He scooched into a half-sitting position.

She nodded. “I thought…Your tracker stopped, so I came to see…”

“Shh, it’s alright, habibti .” Damian cupped her face in his hand. “It broke when I was fighting. I would have immediately contacted you but they forced me to stay and heal, and drugged me so I would sleep and recover without protest.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” She leaned over to kiss him. “I brought Zara.”

After Marinette had reassured herself that he was well-healed thanks to her handiwork, he brought up the question niggling at the back of his mind.

“How many people know?”

“Alfred, and whoever’s watching your monitors right now.”

“You’re okay with them knowing, now?”

Marinette nodded. “I’d prefer to be close by if anything like this happens again. So what if Bruce doesn’t like magic users or the fact that we hid this from him? He can get over it or not, but I will be by your side,” she stated firmly.

He smiled softly at her, seeing the feisty woman he fell in love with. “Let’s go settle their disturbed brains, then, shall we?”

He removed all the health monitors and stood, stretching and enjoying the slight discomfort.

She handed Zara to him, whom he carefully cradled in his arm and stroked his finger over her tiny cheek, and then they headed down to the dining room, where the rest of his extended family were gathered for a celebratory meal. 

The entire Bat clan was there, in various stages of recovery from an assortment of injuries.

Alfred brought in the plates of crepes and casually announced, “There was a young lady here to see Master Damian this afternoon, just after your last check. She’s up with him right now.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?!” The ones who could, jumped up to check on their youngest.

“Hello, family. I am perfectly fine, so don’t scold me for getting up. Dinner looks delicious, Alfred.” Damian and the visitors strolled in.

“Why do you have a baby in your arms? How are you up?”

“This is Marinette Wayne, my wife, and our daughter, Zara. Marinette healed me; thus, I am awake and about.”

“Since when were you married? With a child? When did you get a girlfriend?” Questions echoed from all corners of the table.

“We met when I was in Paris to help Ladybug six years ago. We got married last year and Zara is nine months old now.”

“Jon helped Damian escape when he needed and covered for us. He’s quite good at illusions,” Marinette spoke up. “Hi, I’m Marinette Wayne; it’s nice to meet you all.”

Taglist (open): @jennifer-rose123 @questioning-blob-of-fog

#daminette #dcxmlb #ali writes #fic

[abyssal-ali]

'tis the damn season

Pairing: Luka Couffaine x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: T | Ao3 | Masterlist

WC: 3.8k

A/N: For my wonderful Twinsie @wildbookcat 💜 Beta'd by @sneksnacc

Tiny flakes of powdery snow danced through the air, carried around by the whims of the wind. Luka envied their carelessness. Somehow, he had ended up at the Charles de Gaulle International Airport, waiting for his high school ex-girlfriend, who was also his little sister’s best friend, and thus someone he couldn’t avoid.

It wasn’t even that he was still heartbroken about the end of their ill-fated relationship (lie), or that they had ended on bad terms (was both parties being broken-hearted and depressed for the next several months ‘bad terms’?), the issue was that he didn’t know how Marinette was going to react.

They were now both adults, had a collective handful of ended relationships under their belts, and were mature enough to look past that summer, right?

Another gust of wind blew through the man-made wind tunnel–aka the main doors exiting the airport–and caused a shiver to go down Luka’s back. He was still affected by his reptilian Miraculous, though he’d returned it after Hawkmoth had been defeated seven years ago. He wondered how Marinette would deal with the snow and chill when she arrived, since she was even more attuned to her Miraculous than he had been, and she continued to wield the gems occasionally. Ladybugs didn’t like the cold either.

The doors slid open, another batch of travellers entering the snowy grey afternoon with a shiver.

A pink pom-pom caught his eye, and Luka stepped out of the car to wave at its owner.

“Marinette!”

Her head turned to him, surprise overtaking her features, before being replaced by a smile. “Luka!”

Her cheeks were already flushing pink, matching her coat and hat, Luka noticed when she stepped back from la bise. He picked up her suitcase, slung her bag over his arm, and motioned towards his blue VW Golf.

“Your parents were busy with the holiday rush, so they asked me to come get you when I was over there saying hi yesterday,” Luka explained, getting into the driver’s seat once he’d stored her things in the hatch.

“Couldn’t stay away from their pain au chocolat, huh?” Marinette teased him easily.

Luka exhaled soundlessly as he pulled away. Maybe this would go okay, after all.

“You know it. So, how long are you here for?”

Marinette settled back in her seat. “I’m not actually sure. I want something new, but old…no, familiar, at the same time.”

Luka hummed. “I hope you find it.”

“Thanks. So, why are you here? It’s been a while since either of us were in Paris,” she commented, blowing hot air on the window and doodling hearts and smiles with her fingertip.

“I thought it was time. Haven’t seen Ma and Juleka in a while, and I have friends here I wanted to catch up with. I’m currently on a break from producing, so I figured now was as good a time as any.”

“Right,” Marinette agreed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

And now the awkwardness was seeping through the car.

“You too; it’s been awhile,” he said softly. “I’m always happy to see you.”

Even if it hurts when I don’t.

Her gaze darted down to her mittenless hands, fidgeting with her short, buffed nails. Luka could see the calluses from being constantly pricked on the pads of her fingers; a thin red scrape on the side of her hand likely came from brushing against a pincushion the wrong way.

The snowflakes had gradually become larger and more frequent, so Luka turned on the wipers.

“So, I saw you snagged the honour of designing Clara’s outfit for the Grammys next year,” he commented to break the silence.

Usually, he was fine with silence, especially around Marinette, who often needed it, but right now he was acting very unlike himself. Coming back to Paris had stirred up all these old feelings and actions, and he cursed it in his mind.

“Yeah. I’m hoping coming back here will provide some inspiration. I want to pay homage to her roots,” Marinette explained. “We could go for a drive around all our old haunts, maybe. Oh, but you’ll probably be busy, sorry. I can drive around.”

“I’m not that busy.” He blurted the words before he thought. “You still don’t have a license, right? I don’t mind being your chauffeur.”

The snowflakes appeared to have come from Marinette’s sparkling eyes. “Thank you, Luka!” She watched him drive in silence for a while. “You haven’t really changed, even though you’re famous.”

He flicked a glance at her, slowing down for a red light. “You think so?”

She nodded. “You look older now, because you are, obviously, and your image-controlling people have changed your appearance somewhat, but at your core you’re still the same Luka I know from seven years ago.”

The light turned green, and Luka wondered if it was a sign for one delusional second before he pressed the gas again.

“Is that a compliment or not, Mari?” he asked, settling for a teasing inquisition instead.

‘It’s a good thing!” she insisted. “Okay, you’ve matured, but your essence is the same. You’re like…like a nice red wine! Aging improves a good thing!”

“Oh, so you’re calling me old now?”

Mari sputtered. “That’s not what I said at all! And men say women take things too seriously! Pfft!”

Luka couldn’t hold back his laugh as Marinette crossed her arms, her puffy jacket turning her into  a cocoon of pink.

“I know what you meant, Mari; thank you for the compliment.”

She sniffed at the traces of humour in his penitent tone, but uncurled her arms.

“There’s the bakery. We should just have missed the closing rush,” Luka glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Have a good time, Marinette.”

“Thank you, you too! Oh, you can text me when you want to go for a drive. I still use the same number.”

“0-474-152-772?”

A wave of pink coated her cheeks. “You still remember it?”

I stare at it for a good half hour every week debating calling you or not. Of course I know it; it’s seared into my memory.

“Yep. I kept my old number too.” He popped the trunk and lifted her bags out.

“0-516-352-772?”

“Yep. Say hi to your parents for me!” 

He placed her bags just inside the door, and then beat a hasty retreat. Why do you still remember my number? 

~~~

How could she forget his number, when it spelled out her name?

Marinette sighed, waved goodbye at Luka’s car, then shut the door, ready to greet her parents.

“Maman! Papa! Guess who’s home!”

“Marinette! Sweetie, you made it!” Once the overwhelming hugs and bises had been exchanged, her parents looked curiously at the empty space behind her. “Luka got you here safely?” asked Sabine.

Mari nodded. “He was waiting for me at the airport; he asked me to say hi to you for him. He said you were busy with the holiday rush.”

Tom agreed. “We were sorry to miss picking you up, but our seasonal helper was sick, so we weren’t able to close and get you after all. Luka coming by and being free was fortunate.”

“It was nice to catch up with him,” Mari agreed. “I’ll just bring my bags up to my room and then we can catch up while we make dinner?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Sabine. Tom brought the luggage up, then left Mari to settle in after one more hug.

Looking around her room, Mari smiled at the remembrance of all the memories she had made in the pink space. Pictures clothespinned to her wall of fairy lights danced in the breeze as she twirled, releasing a deep breath and closing her eyes at the peace of being home again.

She could feel the ideas coming for Clara’s outfits.

It was a brilliant idea to come back to Paris.

~~~

It was a horrible idea to come back to Paris.

Why had he said yes to picking Marinette up?

Why had he said yes to driving Marinette around?

Why had he answered her text as soon as she sent it, at 2:08 am?

Why had he showed up at her door at 7:30 am, why had he let Tom drag him to the kitchen and feed him pastries (okay, that one was self-explanatory), why had he lingered and chatted, why why why.

The answer to all his questions was sitting in the passenger seat of the car he was borrowing from a friend, looking devastatingly beautiful and chattering away about how things had changed since she had left, a year before he had, and contrasting it to Los Angeles.

If he’d wanted to hear about her failed relationships after she defeated Hawkmoth, broke up with him, and moved away, he would have asked.

Luka was well aware that he was sulking, but he didn’t care at this moment. They were driving by College Francois Dupont, and the memories of that time weren’t the most pleasant.

“Ooh, I have an idea! Can you park here? I want to walk around for a bit.”

Luka dutifully pulled over, parking in an empty space between the school and the Methodist church down the block.

Marinette strolled around the quiet street, the fluffy flakes floating down muffling her footsteps and muttered monologue. 

She returned to him eventually, scribbling away at her sketchbook.

Luka’s hand raised before he realised what he was doing. 

“Luka? What are you doing?”

He blinked down at her, his hand frozen as she glanced up at him from under her bangs.

“You, um, snow-”

Why was he making this awkward? Biting the bullet, he gently brushed the accumulated snow off the top of Marinette’s ponytail.

She flashed him a smile and climbed back into her seat.

“Where to next, Mari?”

~~~

“So, any plans for your break?” Mari clutched a mug of cocoa in her hands, careful not to drop it over the edge of her balcony on the head of some unsuspecting passersby out admiring the lights.

Luka leaned his back against the balcony, blowing on his own mug. “I haven’t made anything firm yet, but I expect my schedule will fill up rather quickly.”

Mari hummed. “I guess I should book our hangouts while you’ve still got room for me then, Mr. Hot-Demand.”

“I’ll always have room for you, Mari.”

She smiled at him before turning back to the cityscape. “I’ve missed this view.”

The real view nudged her shoulder. “Old memories coming back, huh? I’m glad you’re able to miss it, Mar.”

“Did you miss it?” She turned on her back to be companionably side-to-side with him.

“The city? Not so much. The people in it? Yeah, I missed them a lot.”

She nodded in understanding. “Did you miss the people who weren’t in it, too?”

He sipped his cocoa. “Everyday.”

~~~

Marinette opened her eyes, breathing deeply. There was nothing like a full ten hours of sleep in your childhood room, warm and cozy under blankets as the snow drifted by the window hypnotizingly, your secret love snuggled up beside you-

Oh yeah, she’d made Luka stay the night, saying it was too cold to walk back home as her excuse to have him sleep here. Her fingers brushed a teal lock back from his forehead as she took in his peaceful features. Honestly, they weren’t much different from his usual everyday expressions. She envied his calm, never being able to stay still for long. 

Luka shifted, blinking sleepily at her, a sleepy smile curving his lips. “Morning, Mari.”

His arm raised to trace a feather-light path down her cheek to cup her neck and pull her towards him.

She let him guide her closer, her breath catching in her throat.

“Mari, if you’re up, could you help out at the register for a bit?” called Sabine through the door.

Luka jerked away and Mari rolled out of bed with a thump. “Be there in a minute, Maman!”

“Are you okay?” he peeked over the edge of her mattress.

“Just fine,” she rubbed her behind. Luckily, the duvet had cushioned her fall.

“Er, sorry about that,” Luka ran his fingers through his messy locks.

“It’s fine,” she shrugged off the hurt, grabbing a pair of jeans and a flower-embroidered sweater off the back of her chaise. “Want me to save you anything for breakfast when I go down?”

“A quince pastry would be nice.”

“Got it. See you!” She fled down the stairs to the secondary powder room to change and twist her hair into a braid. Ready to suppress the feelings stoked by Luka’s earlier actions, she washed her hands and prepared to face the public.

Luka wandered downstairs a while later, looking neat and as if he hadn’t slept in her bed and almost greeted her with a kiss before they were interrupted and then ignored it. 

She could feel Sabine and Tom pause in their work as they took in the situation and incorrectly interpreted it.

“Oh, I thought we missed you leaving last night, Luka,” smiled Sabine. “Are you-”

“Here’s your pastry,” interrupted Marinette, thrusting the napkin-wrapped goods into Luka’s hand. “You’re lucky I saved you the last one.”

“Er, lucky, yeah. About that. Can I talk to you? Later, I guess, when you’re not busy,” he cast a glance at the blatantly listening bakers. 

“Sure. We can go for another drive in about an hour? Around one?”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye, Tom, Sabine.” With a wave, he ducked out the door, leaving a bill in Marinette’s now-empty hands for the pastry.

She turned to her parents. “It’s not what it looks like. It was late and cold and I didn’t want him walking home in the snow-”

“Mhm,” Sabine raised a knowing brow. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Marinette shook her head. “Not yet.”

~~~

Luka shook his head, sending accumulated flurries flying off his hair. He’d had the most lovely dream, waking up to Marinette cosying up to him in his bed, smiling at him lovingly. Except it hadn’t been a dream, and he’d almost kissed her.

He was not going to go down the path they’d travelled in school, with the secrets and barriers between them. She still didn’t know he knew she was Ladybug and the Guardian, and she hadn’t told him. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; it hurt a little.

Realistically, he knew there were several reasons why she wouldn’t bring it up (not the least of which because she didn’t want to dredge up those traumas again) but emotionally, he was simply hurt by her still not trusting him with her identity even though she’d entrusted Sass and literal timelines to him.

Still, his therapist in the States had done him good. 

He was going to tell Marinette he knew on their drive this afternoon, get everything off his chest, and then leave it in her hands while he returned to LA and broke his heart over her for the last time. Yep, sounded like a good plan.

~~~

Marinette climbed into the car. Luka closed her door, crossed the front, and slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Where to?”

“I thought maybe we could just drive around this time, unless there’s somewhere you wanted to go?”

“No, that sounds fine.” He took a sip from the mocha she had supplied them with, humming appreciatively. “This is perfect; thanks, Mari.”

“You’re welcome.”

He started the car and pulled away. 

They drove in silence for a while, occasionally pointing out some place they and their friends had adventures at. 

Luka pointed at the tip of the Eiffel Tower. “That thing was destroyed more times than I can count.”

She made an agreeing noise, thinking back to some of the battles the Tower had seen. 

“Marinette, I need to talk about something with you.”

She nodded, looking at the un-Luka-like tension in his body language. “Okay.”

“I was Viperion, on the Miraculous team. I reset so many timelines. It was impossible not to know who my allies were, with all the mishaps occurring. I’ve known you were Ladybug for years.”

She stilled, breathing stuttering as old trauma resurfaced. Someone knew she was Ladybug, something bad happened.

Reminding herself that Hawkmoth was gone, she wasn’t Ladybug anymore, and she was safe, she regulated her breathing and thoughts. 

“I knew you were Ladybug when we were dating, and that your identity was why you were so hesitant to open up. I thought now would be a good time to tell you that you don’t have to keep that secret alone anymore.”

“Luka, I-”

“It’s okay, Mari. I didn’t hold it against you. After all, we were all kids. Just thought I could even the score before I leave, since we both know each other’s secret,” he muttered. 

“I- you-” she stuttered, falling silent as her thoughts whirled.

“I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon,” he broke the silence after a few minutes. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told another soul and I never will. But, if you ever want to talk about it…you have my number.”

She nodded, still processing. “Thank you, Luka. For- well, everything. I’m sorry for what I put you through.”

He gave her a smile meant to be reassuring and forgiving, but she knew it was fake. “Have a happy new year, Marinette.”

Strangely feeling like she’d been broken up with, she closed the car door and walked into the bakery, where her parents met her.

“Everything okay, sweetie?”

She shook her head. “I think I need to take you up on your offer to talk about it.”

~~~

Luka packed his suitcase methodically, thoughts with one person miles away.

He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected when he’d told her he knew. 

Maybe for her to ask him out again since they had no secrets between them anymore? Okay, that was his wildest dream, but he supposed she hadn’t changed that much, still taking her time to process things. Not that he blamed her–having a magical emotional terrorist attacking your city didn’t exactly inspire impulsive actions regarding your feelings.

His therapist had told him that there were seasons in one’s life, and sometimes people were only meant to be with you for a season, like a flower. Others were like trees, there no matter the weather. He wanted her to be a tree, but maybe she was only a flower. Whatever she was, he’d always remember the beauty of her blooms and the sweetness of her perfume. 

“‘Tis the damn season,” he mumbled, slinging his guitar case over his back and picking up his suitcase.

He’d left her with a reminder of his phone number. Hoping she’d call him one day, he drove to the airport. He only realised he’d chosen the route that took him by the bakery as he passed it, peering in the window to catch a glimpse of Marinette working the register. 

~~~

Marinette wasn’t having a good day. She’d taken forever to fall asleep, tossing and turning as she stewed over Luka and her parents’ advice.

They’d understandably been surprised by her explanation of the inner workings of her and Luka’s short-lived relationship, but provided some valuable outside-perspective commentary.

After a fitful sleep, she’d been working the register while her parents worked on a rush-order of pastries, her mind consumed by thoughts of Luka.

“Here’s your change, ma’am. Have a happy new year!” Handing the coins over, she wiped her hands on her apron and tidied up the counter space.

Clean up complete, she ran upstairs to change into jeans, boots with Ladybug pom-poms, a turtleneck, and her favourite Viperion hoodie she’d worn thin.

She tossed a quick goodbye over her shoulder to her parents and ran out the door, waving her hand at an approaching taxi. 

“International airport, please,” she huffed, buckling her belt.

“Hope you’re not late for your flight, mademoiselle. The snow is slowing traffic,” said the driver.

Marinette clasped her hands to stop her nervous fidgeting, calling on all of Tikki’s luck that she’d arrive before Luka’s flight left. 

~~~ Luka wasn’t having a good day. He’d slept off and on, was leaving his first love behind, and now he couldn’t even do that because of the sudden snowstorm. All flights were postponed or cancelled for the time being.

So far his flight was only cancelled, so he found a comfortable piece of carpet to claim and began strumming an imaginary guitar while he waited for updates.

Snippets of lyrics floated through his brain as he composed a piece containing his feelings in the moment. 

“I won’t ask you to wait…if you don’t ask me to stay…” He hummed softly.

The sound of running feet made him look up, curious who thought they were late for a flight that wasn’t taking off.

“Marinette?” “Luka?”

She paused in front of him, catching her breath.

“Why are you here?” he asked cautiously, getting to his feet.

“To see you,” she panted. “Didn’t want you to go.”

His heart picked up pace as if he’d been the one running through the airport. “Really?” “Really. I want you. I have for years. Is there any way you can stay?” she asked softly.

“I’ll stay any way I can if you ask, Ma-ma-marinette,” he grinned. “I love you. I never stopped.”

She tiptoed to be face-to-face with him. “I love you too,” she whispered in his ear before greeting him with a soft kiss. It felt like home and the beginning of everything and the end of everything and the past and future all wrapped up into one amazing kiss in the present.

He cupped her face in his hands, resting his forehead on hers.

~~~

Luka drove them back to the bakery, keeping her hand entwined with his. They stepped into the entry, stomping snow off their boots. Sabine and Tom greeted them as if it was an everyday occurrence, though Marinette saw the happy spark in their eyes.

“Just in time for the party!” boomed Tom. “Dinner is ready; let’s sit!”

After a festive new year’s eve dinner and delicious buche, Luka and Marinette carried their flutes of champagne up to Marinette’s balcony to watch the firecrackers and revellers beneath them.

Chanting filled the air, little sparks in the distance showing where firecrackers had been set off.

“10! 9!” The countdown to the new year had begun.

“My new year’s resolution is to have the woman I love become my girlfriend. Will you be my girlfriend?” Luka asked.

“4!”

Marinette nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“3! 2! 1!” 

Horns sounded, firecrackers popped, and hollers filled the air, but Marinette and Luka heard none of it, too wrapped up in each other. 

“Joyeuse annee, Luka.”

“Bonne annee, Marinette.”

#ali writes #Lukanette #Fic #Marinette dupain cheng x Luka Couffaine

[sapphire11]

all the words you didn't mean for me to hear

Part 2 of 'Secret Messages' a Break up era Tarlos fic Read Part 1 Here

Hello Again Everyone! Still posting this fic in 'mini' parts here on tumblr before releasing the whole thing on ao3. (still mostly because I need some encouragement and validation despite not feeling ready to publish it yet there and you all have always been supportive) Think of this as a little gift for being wonderful followers/mutuals 💛

Counting this as my Seven Sentence Sunday (Sneak Peak Sunday in my world) Thanks so much for the tags @ramblingdisaster73 & @ravens-words

Thank you to everyone who reached out with encouragement and kind words on the last part! (let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic or my Tarlos fics) @chaotictarlos @firstprince-history-huh @bubblesandroses8

We could lose him.

His own voice echoes in his mind as he shoves open the door to the stairwell. 

We could lose him.

His own voice is too loud in his head. Drowning out all others. Nancy’s reassurances, Captain Vega’s attempts at hopeful optimism. They’re all lost in the terror that grips him by the throat.

We could lose him.

His own voice shaking with fear that he doesn’t want to feel anymore. He needs to feel something else. Anything else. So he collapses on the top step of the stairs and roughly pulls out TK’s phone, headphones coming with it.

We could lose him.

His own voice echoes and he needs to drown it out with another.  

Hey babe … shit. Let me just …. *background noises, buttons being pressed rustling … 

Hey Carlos.

He turns and settles his back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, closing his eyes and allowing TK’s voice to block out everything else. 

How are you? I hope you’re doing okay. Nancy let me know that she’s still in touch. I’m glad; even if I think she only told me because she’s trying to get more information out of me about why we … well about what happened.

I hope that you are letting our friends be there for you. They’ve been trying to be there for me. Even as scattered as we all are at work. Paul still texts. Marjan sends me funny memes. Mateo begs for Marvel movie nights every time we have a night off together. It’s not the same, but it’s something. Plus, Doctor Matterson has been telling me to lean into those friendships; to that support. It helps. Sometimes.

On one hand it is worrisome that TK is so freely admitting that he’s struggling in these messages. On the other hand, he is grateful that TK still in some way was turning towards him, trusting him with the truth of his feelings. Of course he wishes that he’s trusted him at the time, but he knows how much it must have cost TK to admit this even in a message. He knows how even saying the words out loud can feel like you are giving them power over you. 

At the same time, he thinks about the way he pushed everyone away during the breakup. He didn’t want them to have to choose, he wanted TK to be able to vent and have people that were safe, away from Carlos, as TK seemed to want to keep them apart. He should have had more faith in his ex, in TK, in person he has always known him to be. Of course he’d want Carlos to have the same support, and of course he wouldn’t tell them anything. 

Other times it honestly just makes me miss you more. But I’m trying and I hope that counts for something.

It counts for everything, because if only in this hollow, cold, hospital stairwell, Carlos can admit that he didn’t try. He just gave up. Let the anger build inside him until there was nothing left to do, but to pretend to forget. To pretend to move on.

Just wanted you to know that I’ll be okay. That you don’t have to worry, because I know you. I want you to be okay too, so take care of yourself Carlos. Let our friends be there for you; it’s the least you deserve.

It’s the least you deserve

Those words burn into his mind, like the flash of light when you look directly at the sun. They’re all he can hear for a long time. 

He knows that TK left this message months ago. That he was alluding to the fact that Carlos doesn’t deserve to deal with what TK would call his ‘fucked up brain and mess’. But listening to this message now, it almost feels prophetic. It is as if TK is telling him that there is no other choice, but to lean on their friends.

If the worst comes to pass and TK doesn’t come back to him, he’ll try to take care of himself, for no other reason than because TK asked him to. Asked him in some stupid message recorded months ago in the middle of a communication drought, but it feels important. Moreover, it feels like the truth. TK asked him to take care of himself and now there might be no other options. 

TK’s wisdom about leaning on their friends propels him back towards the ICU waiting room. He finds Nancy and Tommy in the same chairs he left them, only now Mateo and Judd have joined them. 

“Hey man.” Judd nods, he’s the first one to notice him, and as he shifts off his spot leaning against the wall, Carlos freezes in place. Despite being compelled to come back, and feeling the itch to follow through with TK’s plea of letting their friends be there for him, he feels out of place. It’s been so long since he occupied the same space as all of these people that mean so much to TK, and it’s impossible to ignore the real reason why they’re all here together now. 

Judd watches him carefully, slowly making his way over with the look born of way too much knowledge surrounding grief. Carlos finds himself engulfed in the warmest hug he’s felt in a long while, the older man’s arms wrapped completely around him, shielding him for just a moment. When Judd pulls back and pats a hand on his shoulder, the look of understanding on his face brings tears to Carlos’ eyes. He can’t stand to look at it anymore as he turns towards the rest of the group who are doing their best imitation of not watching the spectacle. 

“Hey Carlos,” Mateo greets him with the least amount of exuberance he’s ever heard from the kid and a soft, careful hug. “We’ve missed you man. Just wish –” he stutters, a shifty glance thrown in the direction of TK’s room. 

“Me too, Mateo,” Carlos offers, “Thanks for coming. I know TK would appreciate it.”

“We’re here for you too.” The fierce insistence in Mateo’s voice is a clear holdover from other times. From months of Carlos’ absence in not just TK’s life, but all of these people’s. For the first time since the break up Carlos allows himself to feel the grief of the loss. The weight of it pulls him down and he sinks into the chair between Nancy and Tommy. Allowing them to take his hands in theirs again, except this time he doesn’t pull away. 

Mateo and Judd excuse themselves sometime soon after that, with mentions of needing to get some rest before starting a new shift early tomorrow. It’s a stark reminder that the world outside the walls of this hospital marches on. He wishes he had the power to slow it down, prevent the inevitable ending that hangs over him.

“Want to go grab some coffee?” Nancy’s voice breaks through his dark thoughts and he meets her gaze before turning towards the room that holds his heart. He knows what he wants to do. 

“I’m gonna go sit with TK.”

He feels Nancy follow his gaze and her hand landing on his shoulder. “I’ll grab you something,” she promises as they both get up and without a second glance he’s striding up to the door to TK’s room. Nothing has changed since the last time Carlos entered this room, the quiet slide of the door opening allows for the sounds inside to reach his ears. His heartbeat kicks up at the too slow, unsteady rhythm of the heart monitor. It brings him back to nights laying tangled up on the couch with TK, fingers and lips finding pulse points. The always higher than average beat of TK’s heart, that Carlos took great pride in making speed up with a well placed kiss. 

As he settles into the chair next to the bed, the hiss and click of the ventilator surrounds him. Wrapping around him like a noose, cutting off his access to the very thing that gives him life. It’s not air though, no that thing is TK, his liveliness, his energy, everything that makes up that man Carlos loves. Desperate to hear something else, besides everything that is wrong, he pulls TK’s phone out of his pocket. 

Opening the app he thinks how it’s better to listen to these now, while there is still hope, rather than later when they’re the words of a ghost. 

November 6th, 2021

Hey Carlos, is it weird if I tell you I saw you on a scene today? Probably. Sorry. You looked good. Really good. I’m glad you seem to be doing okay. 

Startled at the thought that he looked good at any time during the break up, Carlos tries to remember what shift that would have been, but the days blur together in his memory. He’s suddenly sad that he can’t remember the last time he saw TK at a scene before the disastrously awkward meeting earlier that day. 

Doctor Matterson has been encouraging me to reach out, try to talk, but I haven’t told her that I walked out and then ghosted you. I did tell her that I definitely don’t have the right to come waltzing back in, now that I finally have some shit figured out.

She says that having the conversation might do us both some good. Help us move on. Find closure. I think that it’s just easier to keep the door as firmly shut as that day I walked out. Am I a coward for that, probably, but at least I’ll survive to tell the tale. 

Move on. Find Closure. Survive to tell the tale. 

He wonders why TK’s words always land like an arrow to his heart. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to move on after this. Find the closure that TK alludes to in his message. He wonders if TK felt like he was finding closure all those months ago, or if he was just pretending like Carlos was. 

The anguish he feels hearing TK tell him that he thinks it would be better to keep the door shut. That TK forgot he held the key to every door Carlos ever had, all he had to do was come back, be there, talk, and Carlos wouldn’t have kept him out. 

Mind whirling, the sounds of the medical equipment grow louder again and Carlos clicks the next message.

November 8th, 2021

“Hey. So I’ve been keeping busy.  

TK’s voice floats over him as he stares unseeing at the body lying in the bed, unconsciously he closes his eyes, imagining the voice is coming from the man himself. 

Work has been good. Steady.

Scaled down to therapy twice a week. Meetings. I’ve been trying. 

Some days I think it’s working, but then I remember how good we had it before and how that blew up in my face. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m okay. That I’m not giving up. 

It’s such a short message, but the tone of the message is different from all the previous ones. The tone of TK’s voice pitched up, an attempt at lightheartedness. It’s not quite sincere, but there is a flicker of truth underneath it, like TK maybe had started to believe some part of what he was saying, that he wasn’t giving up. 

Carlos longs to reach out and take TK’s hand now, to beg him to keep fighting, to not give up. Old insecurities hold him back, but he moves the chair a bit closer, the legs scratching loudly across the floor, and then he leans closer still as he hits play for the next message.

November 10th, 2021

Dad left. Said he was sorry he couldn’t do more for the 126 and just ran away into hill country. I want to be so mad at him, until I remember that running is exactly what I do, did, have done. I don’t know. Some days it sucks to be a Strand.

And just like that all traces of hope are washed away again. Sucked out by the force of Owen Strand’s distinct lack of ability to be what TK needs when Owen himself is struggling to not be the hero everyone else sees him as. Anger stirs in the pit of Carlos’ stomach at the reminder that no one has been able to reach Owen since TK was admitted. That he’s not here now when TK needs him, and that he apparently hasn’t been for a long time. 

It’s a kick in the gut that despite TK’s own words several messages ago that Owen could tell he wasn’t doing well, the man still couldn’t face being just what TK needs if he couldn’t be what he wanted. 

Mom’s been trying to get me to go visit her. She’s got Jonah and can’t travel, otherwise I know she’d be here right now. She’s worried. She’s also pissed, I heard her yelling at dad through the phone. It didn’t change anything though. 

Nothing really ever changes, does it? At least not the things that matter.

The words are a clear contradiction to who TK is at his core. TK has never believed in permanence of situations/people/feelings, sometimes to the detriment of believing that nothing good ever stays, but he always believed that things could change. 

Once, TK had told him that ‘nothing ever stays the same’ and now he’s saying that ‘nothing ever changes’. He supposes the sentiments aren’t necessarily the same, but the lack of hopefulness in the words blankets him. Even at his most wary, even when he was pushing and pulling Carlos in every direction, TK never completely disregarded the possibility of things changing. 

In the beginning TK had told him he wasn’t ready. Not that he wouldn’t ever be ready.

Before the solar storm TK told him that he needed to figure out himself before he could figure them out. Not that he would never be willing to figure them out.

With Carlos’ parents, TK promised to be whatever he needed, until he was ready because, nothing ever stays the same and he had faith in Carlos being ready sometime. 

After the fire the number of times TK comforted him by reminding him that living with Owen wouldn’t be a forever thing, that things change. 

During their last fight TK had shouted that he knew it wouldn’t last, that nothing ever stays the same. At the time it had just hurt to hear those words that Carlos once took reassurance from used against him. Now he is hit with the realization that TK hasn’t had anything permanent. He hasn’t had anything stay for him, not his parents, not his sobriety, not his love.

Carlos wants to be the one to change that. Same as he always has, but now with a new understanding of why TK doesn’t believe happiness will last. 

With that thought he clicks play on the next message.  

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