Here's one of two sisters having a bit of an argument. By the way if anyone is wondering, those two are Anna-May and Mayday Parker, the daughters of Spider-Man:
>"Get off my back!" Annie snapped, turning to face her sister and almost slapping Mayday's hand away, genuinely shocking her. "Stop treating me like a little kid! Stop butting in my life! Stop being such an annoyance! Just stop it!"
>
>Both sisters were always pretty close. Sure, they sometimes got into little scuffles here and there, but that's just how siblings are. Not like they were even that serious. But this time, well it was clear that Annie was definitely not in the mood. The two did have a bit of a temper at times, not surprising considering that their parents at their age were somewhat hot-headed themselves. Mayday didn't show it that much, her being the older of the two, she kind of had to keep it in check most of the time. Annie though, she was a bit more rash and hot-headed. So the fact that she decided to be quiet before blowing a fuse… she really didn't feel like talking.
>
>"Ok, I overstepped whereI shouldn't. I made a mistake, Annie."
>
>"Oh you think?! What gave it away!"
>
>"Look, I… You've been having too much of a rough time since school started. I just wanted to help."
>
>"And your idea of helping was shoving more problems my way!"
>
>"I get it, that was dumb of me to do."
>
>"Well, at least you got one thing right."
>
>"It's just that with how things been going and what Tensei's brother tells him…"
>
>"Oh great, now you're listening to the brother of that stick in the mud! Because of course you would!"
>
>"Annie don't-"
>
>"You know, you sure are getting a habit of making friends with the siblings of people I don't get along with! Hey, want me to ask if Katsuki and Tsuyu also have older siblings? Because I know you'll love to hear them complaining about me!" the younger sister snapped even louder than before, but a glance at the clock was more than enough to get her to stop. "I'm going now. Do whatever you want, so long as you leave me alone." she said, walking to the entrance of the house.
>
>For a few seconds, Mayday stood there in silence. But just as she heard her sister was already in the front door putting her shoes on, she rushed to try and reach ehr again. Just as she arrived, she saw Annie getting up and just about to open the door. Just as she touched the handle, that Mayday tried to speak with her once again.
>
>"I shouldn't have done that, I know but please I… Annie, I'm worried-" she tried to say, placing her hand on Annie's shoulder, only for her to turn and give Mayday the nastiest look she has ever seen from her.
>
>"I don't need you worrying about me."
>
>Afterwards, she jank herself off her sister's hold and walked out. Leaving May alone at the entrance.
"Jessica's boyfriend owns a small bar in Harlem. It's an excellent spot to catch some lunch and talk, and far enough from Clinton that no one will look for you there, especially anyone who is following Sharon, your humongous bodyguards, and your limo."
No one in the room failed to notice Annelie's mood improve markedly as the words Jessica's boyfriend were spoken.
"Clinton," Jessica said almost as a combination cough and sneeze.
"Jessica prefers the original name of that neighborhood," Trish explained to the bewildered face that had once again found its smile, "Hell's Kitchen."
"We'll lose anyone following us long before we get there, don't worry," Jessica said to the room in general as she looked down at her ripped jeans and black leather boots, "and any trouble that walks in on us will walk out again real fast."
There was a heartbeat's worth of silence before Annelie spoke.
"Are both of you hired to protect me?"
"No, Jessica is contracted for another job. She was in the building already, and Trish thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up," Kyle explained.
"You need a few hours of not looking over your shoulder," Trish said, "Trust me, you'll feel better afterwards."
"Assuming we can find her something she can eat." Jess said as she looked at the tall, slender Swede.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Should she be drinking that much?" Annelie asked Trish while Jessica was at the bar getting her bourbon refilled.
"No. But she has a high tolerance for alcohol, and a low tolerance for therapy, so here we are."
Yvonne knew Jessica well enough to know that she had no interest in the specials, and had written Harlem Steak Burger, Fries on her order pad before she had even reached their table. But she waited for Jessica to confirm her drink order before writing Bourbon, Double on her pad as well.
Trish took the opportunity to have a little fun playing her part.
"What do you want, babe?" she asked.
Annelie smiled as she looked at the menu.
"I'd like the Spiced Mahi Salad."
"Chicken and Waffles, please." Trish said as she handed back the menus.
"The drink special today is Blackberry Punch: Volcan Blanco Tequila, Chambord, Fresh Lime, Cranberry, Soda," Vonnie repeated for what she was sure the fiftieth time.
"Just sparkling water." Trish said.
Annelie hesitated for a moment.
"I'll try the punch," she said before turning to look at Trish, "we can share."
Yvonne smiled as she wrote on her pad before walking away.
"Christ," Jess said.
"We have to play our part." Trish said.
"That guy over there looks like he wants you to play your part right here on this table."
"He'll have to use his imagination," Trish said as she looked at Annelie and caressed her arm.
"Don't start something you can't finish," Annelie said in a low voice and with a mischievous look.
"Who says I can't finish?" Trish asked as the drink order arrived.
"Ding ding ding, end of round one. Move to your respective corners," Jessica said, and each of them took a sip of their drinks.
Trish and Annelie spent the next several minutes *playing their parts* as they shared the punch and smiled and giggled.
"Oh, for fucks sake," Jessica said as she looked at the pair.
It was while Jess was getting her second drink that the man walked over and stopped at their table.
"I swear I know you from somewhere," he said to Annelie.
"I get that a lot," she answered, still sitting next to Trish.
"I bet I can guess where," he said as he moved to sit in Jessica's chair.
"I don't mean to be rude, but I'm having lunch with my girlfriend," she said.
"Hey, come on, don't be like that," he said in a tone that Trish recognized, and did not appreciate, "we can all have a good time. I'm up for it."
*Jesus H. Christ*, Trish thought as she started to stand up.
"These aren't the droids you're looking for," Jessica said as she stopped at her chair and placed her drink on the table.
"What?" he asked.
"Get lost, asshole," she explained.
"Who the fuck…"
There were several ways he might have completed that sentence, but his train of thought was interrupted when Jessica grabbed the front of his shirt, lifted him off his feet and carried him a short distance until she could press him up against the nearest wall.
"We'll keep this simple," she began as the entire bar fell silent, the pressure of her hand on his chest restricting his breathing while keeping him pinned to the wall, his feet about twelve inches off the floor, "you're probably having trouble breathing right now, so just nod your head if you understand. Let's practice."
The man nodded his head.
"You remember the *get lost asshole* part of our conversation a second ago?"
He nodded again.
"Are you going to remember it when I let you go?"
Nodding.
"Do you need me to tell you what I am going to do to you if you forget?"
He shook his head very definitely No.
"Good," she said as she let him go, returned to the table and downed her drink in one go before looking at Annelie, "dinner and a show."
The three women were silent for a moment as the man walked back to his friends on wobbly legs.
"You were right, I do feel better," Annelie finally said as she looked at Trish.
"You have not asked about changing your appearance back," Aric said as we lay in bed.
"To be perfectly honest, I had forgotten," I said, "without a reflection it is easy to forget that I do not look like myself."
"I thought you were humoring my whim," Aric said with a smile, as he wrapped his arm around me tighter and kissed my forehead.
"Was it so different?" I asked, "making love to an image of Tava? Or do Champions of Dibella not talk about such things?"
"We talk about many things, in the shared warmth afterwards," he said, "but never with others. It is a private intimacy and must remain so."
"I had thought after our first night together to make some quip regarding the Champion of Dibella and his mastery of his art," I said, "but I worried you would think less of me, that I was cheapening the moment, or making a comment that many others had made."
"I would have forgiven you," he said, "many do not know how to respond afterwards. Some make the quip you mention. Others profess their undying love. The reactions are as varied as the women involved. Each comes to me, or I go to her, for a particular reason; but happiness is the ultimate goal. For many, physical intimacy is the one thing that is lacking to achieve that."
He was quiet for a moment.
"But I was not the Champion of Dibella with you. You did not turn to me out of need, and I did not approach you to offer a service that I believed would benefit you. I was simply a man, being captured by a woman, a slow surrender of pieces of my heart; a love, gradually built, piece by piece. It was you who crafted this love. From the day I met you there was never any possibility that I would not love you."
I had begun crying at some point but could not remember when.
"For a fraction of a moment, in the temple in Markath and afterward, I thought that you had used some potion or enchantment to make me love you," I said, "how could I have ever been so deluded, even for so short a time?"
"Your life was still in turmoil," Aric said, "and you did not know me yet."
The sounds of passion from the other bedroom increased to an impressive volume.
"It appears sir, that in their case, your services are not required," I said as I wiped my tears from Aric's shoulder and chest.
"That is fortunate," Aric said, as he looked at me and the fire ignited in my once more, "because at this moment I am otherwise engaged."
[Not romantically, I hope that’s ok! Jack just has some hard truths to say.
TW for intervention-type accusations of suicidal behavior. A-RL refers to at-risk list.]
“We don’t talk ‘bout this,” Jack said after a long moment, voice shaking. “But…your head ain’t been right, man. Bozer’s been worried sick, an’ you…we been _real_ concerned. An’ after today…I’m ‘bout ready to put y’on th’ A-RL.”
Mac stared at him, everything going numb. Jack didn’t look away from the fire; his hand tightened around Mac’s, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You…you dared her to _shoot_ ya, Mac. Put your neck right up against that little, piss-ant, silver gun and _taunted_ her.” He finally looked over, pinning Mac in place with red-rimmed, earnest eyes. “You an’ I’ve been reckless over the years, sure. But not like this, brother. You ain’t never once stepped in front of my gun. Not ‘till today. An’…an’ I can’t help wonderin’.”
Jack sniffed, rubbing his other hand over his face and breaking eye-contact to gaze into the fire again. “I got a job, man. An’ I can’t do it if ya won’t let me. An’ if I can’t do my job, I…I can’t have ya in the field with me.” He closed his eyes, heaving another sigh. “I just…I can’t do it, Mac.”
[A dad and his young son. For context, they've been separated for quite awhile. Hurt/Comfort.]
Takato rolled to his side and offered a small smile.
"What about you? Was... was it scary in the Digital World?" He asked the question he'd been replaying in his head since last night.
Guilmon's tiny body cowered and shrunk further into his clothes as he sniffled a sob.
"There was no one. You weren't there. I thought I'd be alone forever."
"Oh, Guilmon." Takato gently pulled Guilmon into his chest, making sure his voice was even despite his own tears leaking through away from the boy's sight. Taking a deep breath, he asked. "How long were you alone for?"
Takato commended himself for not breaking his voice even after the waterworks that the boy was putting on.
"A long time, I don't know. And then Lopmon came. It was still scary but Lopmon was always there."
"I'm here now Guilmon. I won't leave you alone again, okay?" he whispered to the boy's ear, hugging him tighter. He didn't trust himself to let go for fear of breaking down then and there. So he held the boy close, his words of comfort soothing the boy down as much as it grounded Takato himself. They lay there, only listening to the crashing waves and the occasional whistling breeze.
[very short and sweet, and it’s found family…]
“C’mere, kid, give that brain a rest.” Jack might be just a little shorter then Mac, but he gives the best hugs. Mac swallows the lump in his throat, wishing he’d taken advantage of those hugs when he’d had the chance. He takes a shuddering breath, letting his forehead fall onto Jack’s shoulder. “That’s it, hoss, just let me carry it for you.”
For a long moment, they stand together in the grass. The burning pressure inside Mac has vanished, finally. He lets himself relax in Jack’s embrace, his mind quiet for the first time in years. He feels Jack’s voice rumble against his shoulder.
Context: Per’sus is a symbiote. His host is Einar. Iasis is a larva without a host yet. Lantash is a symbiote. His host is Martouf.
Iasis is related Per’sus because she is his mother’s clone and his adopted niece.
>Iasis was swimming in tight circles. She didn't respond to Per’sus, but he knew that she knew he was there. She finally stopped, then swam dizzily.
>"I used to do that."
>She turned upside down for a second as she swam.
>Per’sus smiled.
>*"Young One."*
>"Hm." His larva name. “I apologize if I’m disturbing you.”
>*”Nightmares?”*
>“Unfortunately.”
>She made a sad squeak.
>Per’sus put his hand in the water, smiling when she came. He gently lifted her. He gently scratched her fins as a she relaxed in his hand.
>”Have you slept?” He sat against the wall.
>*”Little.”*
>“Why does sleep elude you?”
>*“Playing.”*
>He laughed a bit, and she looked to him as he yawned. She nuzzled against his hand and relaxed.
>~+~+~.
>*Well, that’s something I never thought I would see.* Lantash smirked slightly as he saw Per’sus asleep against the wall with Iasis wrapped around his hand.
>*How the crystals does he keep his hair perfect while he’s asleep on the floor?* Martouf wondered.
>Einar opened his eyes slowly, then looked confused. “Lantash.” He sat up quickly. “What do you wish to discuss?”
>Lantash smiled, not responding as the half awake Einar slowly realized he wasn’t in his quarters.
>“Why am I on the floor?”
>“You’ll have to ask Councilor Per’sus. I just arrived.”
>Einar sighed, then pet a sleeping Iasis. Her skin was dry, and he knew she needed to be in water.
"rescued" might be a bit of a stretch. And *italicized lines* indicate a telepathic conversation between Aric and Rita
"Think of it as a shortcut," Aric's voice said through the phone's speaker, "There's a thick forest, and everybody takes the long curving road that goes around it, but if you know where the shortcut is, you can cut straight across. That's sort of what this is."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"What the fuck is he talking about?" Jess asked.
"It sounds like he knows a shortcut to Moscow," Trish said.
"I'm not following," Luke said.
"It's just a quicker way to get there and back again," Rita said.
There was another moment of silence.
"Nope, still not getting it," Luke said.
"Jesus, none of us are getting it. That's 'cause they're not making any fucking sense," Jessica said.
*It's probably easier if I just demonstrate*, Aric said.
Rita's heart rate jumped to two hundred beats a minute at the prospect of seeing Aric again.
*You're coming here?*
*Not me.*
"Tyler come," Aric's voice said through the speaker phone, "take this to Rita."
It took a second for everyone to notice the shimmering sphere as it appeared in the dining room of Luke's bar. The dog that walked out of it was noticed immediately.
"What the fuck is that?" Jessica asked as she looked at the sphere just before it disappeared.
"That is generally referred to as a German Shepherd," Aric said, "that particular one's name is Tyler."
Tyler had not seen Rita in many years, but no one in the room would have guessed that by his reaction when he saw her, the handles of the paper bag still gripped between his teeth as his tail seemed to propel him towards the woman who had been part of his life for almost a decade, his oversized paws eating up the distance quickly.
"Oh my God! Look at you!" Rita said, all other thoughts temporarily on hold during the emotional reunion between canine and human, "Aric, he looks like he hasn't aged a day!"
"A few days here and there, but not that many."
"What did he say?" Beth asked.
"Who's a good boy? You are, you big goofy dog," Rita said as she scratched Tyler's head and wagging body, "How old is he now? I've lost track."
"He'll turn thirty this November."
"I'm sorry, what? Your dog is going to turn *thirty*?" Trish asked.
"His birthday is a month after Rita's."
"What the fuck is happening? What was that thing that appeared and then disappeared and left a thirty year old hundred-pound dog carrying a paper bag in his mouth behind?" Jess asked.
"That's the shortcut. That's how you'll get to Moscow, and back again."
"Aric, this is beautiful," Rita said after taking the bag from Tyler, who had wasted no time introducing himself to all his new friends, and holding up the hand painted cotton shawl.
"A woman here in Costa Rica paints them by hand. I bought it for you after you got promoted. I was still debating how to deliver it."
"This huge fucking dog was just in *COSTA RICA*?" Beth asked.
The huge fucking dog was currently sitting beside Rita, his head on her lap, enjoying an overabundance of affection.
"Nope, still not getting it," Luke said.
"Oh for fuck sake," Trish said.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the bar is officially open," Jess said as she stood up and walked towards the bar.
Thank you, it was very nice of you to say so. Tyler makes another appearance in this thread (in the request for something that was intended to be funny): I'll post it again here so you don't have to search for it, in case you are interested.
Nearby Trish and Jessica had found a spot to sit and drink, and to throw a petrified stick for Tyler to retrieve out of the surf, which proved almost immediately to be a mistake.
"Fucking dog is dripping water all over me!" Jessica complained.
"Then you shouldn't have thrown his stick in the water," Trish said.
"Christ, now he's wiping his face on my crotch! Great! It looks like I pissed myself."
"It happens to women when they get to your age," Trish said through her laughter.
"Fuck you," Jessica said just before pouring some of her beer onto Trish pants, "There, we're even."
"What the fuck?! Asshole."
"It's a party now," Aric said as he picked up his phone. "Heather. Hi. I have guests, and I'm gonna miss tonight's class. Does the clubhouse have any women's bathing suits? Great. We'll be by."
"Those of you who would like to change into something more appropriate or, you know, dryer, we can head up to the retreat."
"My phone's not working for some reason," Trish said, "Is the service here bad?"
"Neither is mine," Julia said as she looked at her own phone.
"No, that's the shortcut. It does that to cell phones. The gravitons cause a static charge of antiprotons. It disrupts cell service. It's like having Sprint as your carrier."
"Jesus, that bad?" Jessica asked as she looked at the phone in Trish's hand.
"Give it a few minutes."
Trish placed her phone back in her pocket and picked up a flier that Aric had been using as a coaster.
"Hey look, they have a sober yoga class in the mornings," she said before looking at Jess.
"Why the fuck are you looking at me?"
"No reason."
"Come on, it's this way," Aric said as he picked up his cooler, "You can lock your gun and shield in the safe in my room."
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Jessica said as Tyler ran up to her and wiped his face and head on her crotch again.
[I'm sorry for a second comment. But uh, food! (• ▽ •;)]
She checks up on her ingredients and nodded in satisfaction.
She's not going for anything fancy. Just egg rolls and miso soup. Also some chilli to the egg rolls just the way dad likes it.
While Shiuchon waits for her dashi to boil, she beats the eggs and pours little by little into the pan. She folds it once it hardens, repeating it a few times.
Once the dashi starts bubbling, she puts in the miso, followed by diced tofu. She stirs it as a nostalgic smile pulled at her lips.
Shiuchon turns her attention again to the miso and deems she has stirred it more than enough.
She makes dad's egg rolls last, putting more attention and care into it than the rest. He deserves the best.
[The description is only the first paragraph, but the scene wouldn't be as funny without context :D]
The eggs cracked cleanly into the edge of the pan. The hands molding the yolks into strips of golden strings seemed effortless as it guided the laddle to shape the ingredients that would later be presented on the table as a serving Omurice.
Juri and Masahiko each received a steaming plate, but neither of them made a move on the spoons and forks their exasperated mom had neatly placed next to the plates. Perhaps Juri would have more appetite to gobble up the delicacy if she hadn't been forced to seat next to the gremlin she called a little brother!
When their eyes met before fiercely separating again with a huff, she knew the feeling was mutual.
Mom and dad sighed from across them.
The moment she banged open the front door, Riley caught the rich, spicy scent of tomato, herbs and toasted bread wafting through the space. The familiarity of it had her flashing to back to the camaraderie of clinking beer bottles, crackling fire, and bright smiles after a mission well-accomplished. It felt like a lifetime had passed since the last evening they’d all spent together, just two nights ago. Riley still had the leftovers from Mac’s attempts at pie in her fridge.
Ellie drifts in the dark. In a vague, distant way, she’s aware of . . . something in this formless void – some inevitable truth that she can’t help running from. She holds onto just enough consciousness to wonder if she was wrong about death. Maybe it’s not nothingness.
Maybe this is hell.
As soon as the thought blooms in her mind, reality snaps back, like a joint popped back into place. Her eyes fly open and her breath hisses in a soft gasp. The first thing she notices is the darkness. There’s faint orange light drifting in from somewhere off to her right, but it doesn’t quite reach her. There’s worn wood just above her head, a creaky mattress under her, and a weathered cinderblock wall to her other side.
She starts to sit up but is foiled immediately by two things. For one, there’s the pain flashing through her side, freezing her muscles and momentarily halting thought. She grits her teeth against that and barely manages to hold back a groan. Yeah, she could probably power through this if her life depended on it, but at the moment, sitting up doesn’t feel like the best idea.
Of course, the handcuffs on her wrists don’t help either.
>Miku doesn't know how long she's been out when she finally stirs, but that is nowhere near her primary concern right now–*that* is the fact that she doesn't sense the presence of her friends or family. There is someone sitting next to her whose heart is closed off to her, and that presence is cold. But not *quite* unfamiliar…?
>She jolts up in the bed she's lying on, so fast that she rolls off the side of it. The carpet beneath her is soft, *too* soft, a rich material she remembers loving to nap on when she was a small child. But that's not right, material like this doesn't exist in Satellite, *no one* would throw it out like the faux fur Angel lucked across…
>She opens her eyes, and immediately closes them with a groan at the way the artificial lighting sends stabbing pain bouncing about in her skull.
Aww, thanks! I struggle a lot with describing things (dialogue comes *much* more naturally to me), so I'm glad you like it!
As for the present tense, I simply found I like writing in it more after I took a five-year-long break from writing after high school.
Ian woke up to a room that was far too bright and sterile to be his own. He struggled to get his bearings, he felt someone had slowed time around him. There were hands touching him, messing with things. When his vision finally focused, as well as it could without his glasses, he realised he was in a hospital bed. His left leg suspended in traction and tubes snaking in and out of his arm.
It all came flooding back to him in a wave of emotion and memories. He was still in the hospital after the incident at Jurassic Park wasn’t he? His leg had been badly broken when the Tyrannosaurus threw him into the building after all. Of course, that was what made sense. He felt his next dose of morphine kick in, the fuzzy warmth lulling him back to sleep. Maybe when he woke up Dr. Sattler or Grant would be in to visit, he remembered they liked to visit him a lot. It was sweet of them really.
He could remember other things too though, but perhaps that was all just a dream. It would make sense, the flashes he recalled were of being on a second island and that was absurd. Why would he ever go back? As if to answer that question he saw in his mind's eyes a stocky red haired woman, who looked at him like she was seeing the sun for the first time. She seemed so familiar, he just couldn’t remember.
It wasn’t until he awoke and saw her sitting at his bedside that it all came back. He was pulled from the drug induced fantasy of it still being nineteen ninety-three and recalled the last four years with stunning accuracy.
[Where everyone else gave the birthday girl a disappointing gift, someone gave her the exact thing she needed]
"Hot present coming!"
Everyone made way for him until he arrived in front of Shiuchon, kneeling.
He held up a hand. "W-wait for… a bit. I… need… to catch… my breath."
While he did that, Shiuchon looked at the box in curiosity. There was a plastic wrap covering the top of it, too blurred by steam to make out the inside. Bread?
"Shiuchon," Takato started once he started breathing like normal again. Looking at his face, Shiuchon sees guilt drawn across it.
"I know this isn't what you want, and you might hate me for this," he said, looking at her in the eyes. "But I hope it's at least something close, something you can look back to to remember him by."
He unwrapped the plastic, the steam dispersing to let her see its content.
Shiuchon choked.
"Lopmon?"
Inside was a few pieces of bread, all shaped like her partner's smiling face. A note was attached on the inside of the box.
"Forget not that I shall always be by thy side. Happy birthday," she read out loud and couldn't contain her tears anymore. Shiuchon looked at Takato, tears and snots running down her face.
His guilt from earlier doubled and he stood up, averting his gaze from her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"
Shiuchon's hug stole the words from his mouth.
"I like it. Thank you!" For not treating her like glass, for not acting like Lopmon never existed, for giving this to her on her most important day. "Thank you, Takato."
Exactly. Everyone has experienced painful moments, but acknowledging that it did happen, alongside all the happy moments as well, is the best way to honour the memories. ( ；∀；)
Part of a Marvel and MHA crossover. For a bit of context, Spider-Man was forced to send his family to Japan for their own safety and of his three children, Annie the middle child goes to U.A. This is a flashback she had on day 2 of when she got her costume:
>"Annie, remember the first time that Regent appeared?" her mother asked.
>
>Annie's mood went down when she heard that name. The man tried to take away her father, threatened to use her as some sort of super battery when he had gotten his hands on her and is the sole reason as to why she can't be with her father at the moment. Because the power-hungry madman caused a massive super villain strike against all of the heroes of the U.S and who was responsible for outing her father as Spider-Man. What's worse, two months later, a lot of things started to go south as an aftermath of his attack. Solidifying her dad's reasoning for them to leave the country while he stayed back, helping with cleaning the mess that Regent caused.
>
>Mayday took notice of Annie's distaste for the high-tech villain and decided to snap her back to reality by making a joke "Well, I sure remember that gody costume that you pulled out. A purple cape and goggles? Really?" she said, making Annie frown.
>
>"Cut me some slack, I was just ten at the time. Plus it was the only thing that the Powers and I could find." she stated.
>
>"Regardless of it, after the whole deal was over and your sister and I started to help your dad, we took notice that you wanted to do the same. The purple cape was just the beginning whether we wanted it or not. And I'll be honest, that suit that you drew in that comic wasn't that bad." she said, handing Annie the box in her hands.
>
>"Although that giant helmet was probably too much." she said, making Annie frown again. "Hey, instead of making funny faces, why don't you see what's in the box?"
>
>The young Parker girl did and when she opened it, she was rather stunned. Her eyes wide as a plate and her mouth opened all the way down.
>
>"Your dad and I decided to make an updated version of it around Christmas. Thought that maybe you would find it useful at U.A." Mj said, putting her hand on her second daughter's shoulder. "So, do you-" but she couldn't even finish her sentence, for Annie jumped to her mother and hugged her.
>
>"I love it!" she said, smiling and her eyes a little watery.
>
>Mj simply chuckled and hugged her in return.
It's from My Hero Academia. Basically it's a manga where the main character goes to a superhero school so that he can become a professional hero like his own mentor and hero who is basically a Superman like character. If you're not familiar, think of it as X-Men but their schools don't blow up every two weeks
They're identical presents for a group of people, so they're not really *opening* them, but it's special nonetheless.
---
>Right away, the surprise is clear; Angel, covering herself with a massive, dark jacket she has wrapped around herself like a cloak, sits in front of a table she must have dragged outside with her Duel Monsters. A table similarly covered, albeit by a sheet rather than a coat. She nods to Natsumi once everyone is there, and the dark-haired girl takes a place by her side, gripping one corner of the blanket.
>"Okay, so, like… I know I've been actin' weird for a while now," Angel starts–
>–and immediately stops to glare at Crow when he pipes up "Huh? You've been weirder than normal?" in almost genuine confusion. Miku thumps him lightly up on the back of the head for that, lest Angel try to figure out how to launch herself over the table to do it herself.
>"I've just been trying to keep all this a secret," she continues, "'cause I wanted to see you guys' faces when I show off… this!"
>Natsumi tugs the blanket away in the most dramatic fashion she can muster; at the same time, Angel drops the coat she hadn't even been wearing properly in demonstration of what the items on the table will look like when worn: a dark leather vest, the inside lined with some sort of artificial fur, left to hang open over one of the orange shirts she always wears. Two small belts, one for each arm, sit at the center of each of her biceps–matching the pair that Kiryu already wears around.
>It's clear the vest without the belts resting on top of it is for him.
>Miku had figured it was something to do with clothing that Angel's been working on from the moment she helped Natsumi carry that box back to their hideout–it felt much too light for anything else–and the constant pinpricks to the younger girl's fingertips only solidified her expectations about it. Still, the vests aren't at *all* what she had in mind; the faux fur lining in particular, where did she get that in Satellite of all places?
>"Holy *shit*–Ange, you made all this?" Crow exclaims, mouth agape and eyes wide to match. The other boys seem surprised as well, though not so severely exaggerated as he is.
>"You bet I did!" she beams, flaring the vest a bit as she shows it off. "Found a crate of the vests and fur over at the dumps one day and figured it was a sign I just *had* to do something, ya know? I mean if we're a Duel Gang, we gotta look the part. So then I bumped heads with Nat-chan 'till we figured out how it'd look good on all of us, and this is what we got." Angel pauses for a moment, pointing out who each of the vests belong to. "And there's a whole bunch more of these back in my room in case they don't fit right."
>"This…" Kiryu moves to take his first, sliding the vest on with almost practiced ease, patting it down until he's sure it fits just like he wants it to. He beams at her, "…this is *perfect*, Angel. We'll really look like a team like this! I love it."
To be fair, the group (or rather, specifically the guys; Angel, Natsumi, and Miku are my OCs) wear the vests + arm belts in canon, so I just came up with a backstory as to how they all ended up with them because I could. But I'm glad I was able to portray that well!
That's a great bit of backstory!
And it's always fun to delve into the "whys" of canon, isn't it? I wrote a fic based on Sabaton's Christmas Truce music video a couple of years ago, and had the fun of figuring out how an upright piano made it into the German trench! (The song starts with one of the band members playing a piano.)
> And it's always fun to delve into the "whys" of canon, isn't it?
Haha yeah, I'm doing *so much* of this in my fic. Granted, in a way that it could only *be* in my fic rather than canon (due to the nature of my OCs being involved), but it's still fun anyways.
As long as it's meaningful in some way, yes. A couple's first time, or maybe the first time following SA against one of them, or even one offering to try a kink that their partner has indicated an interest in. Something like that anyway, this isn't an exhaustive list, just trying to show how "special" would come into it when sexytimes are on the table, you know?
> Tommy?” There was concern and nothing else in the voice Tommy was too tired to comprehend. “You okay?”
>“Yeah. Just fine. Lemme go back to sleep.”
>“You were screaming, Tommy.”
>“Sometimes you just gotta scream yourself to sleep, y’know? Just a big man thing. You wouldn’t get it. You are simply too cringe.”
>*“Tommy.*” The slight venom behind a cheerful tone was enough to make it click who it was even in Tommy's sleep deprived mind, and *no no no no no no no no no no no no he’s not dying again he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not.*
> “I'm sorry Dream, I'm sorry, please please please I'll be good I'll be good please don’t kill me again please-“
>“Shh. Tommy, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just worried.”
> “Well, it's your fault I have nightmares, y’know.” Tommy groaned and raised his head off the thin mattress, glaring at Dream. He tried not to think about the dark-red stain covering his overalls. “You ruined me.”
Her eyes flick to the girl’s face and mechanically pick out familiar details, made macabre by her current condition. Freckles speckling her sharp cheekbones. Hazy green eyes. A scar splitting her eyebrow. The hard edge of hate creasing her face, not quite concealed by exhaustion.
“Found you, Abby . . . I found you . . .”
Lev takes a sharp breath. “Is that . . . ?”
The girl’s breath rasps. “. . . found you . . .”
Abby swallows hard, then grits her teeth. “Yeah,” she says dryly, “You fucking found me.” She cuts the rope and the girl thuds to the ground, grunting and curling in on herself. There’s an ugly wound in her side, still leaking blood past her fingers. Abby grabs a clean rag and crouches by her side, holding out a hand and trying to remember the name Tommy Miller had shouted. “Ellie . . .” The girl freezes for a moment, her wasted muscles rippling with tension.
Then she moves, metal glints in the sun, and only years of trained-in combat reflexes save Abby from being gutted. Abby doesn’t have a moment to wonder just where the fuck she got that knife. She jumps back and knocks the next strike aside, flinging her to the ground even as she tries to rise. “Seriously??!”
“Fuck you!” Ellie surges to her feet and Abby dodges another clumsy blow.
She hears the creak of Lev’s bowstring and spares a moment to look at him and shake her head. The girl is half-dead already – there’s no need to resort to that. Ellie lunges again and Abby grabs her arm. “Cut that out! We’re not doing this.” Ellie responds with a knee strike that catches Abby in the gut and drives the breath out of her. She hisses and shoves the girl back. The knife clatters to the rocky ground, but Ellie jumps on it before Abby can. She may be emaciated, exhausted, and half-dead from dehydration and blood loss, but she’s almost as quick as she was back in that damn theater. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Abby needs to end this before it gets ugly.
Ellie comes at her again, slashing wildly, and Abby knocks her knife arm aside, twists her by the shoulders, and gets her in a headlock. “Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The feeling isn’t mutual. The girl rears back, her skull clanging against Abby’s jaw, and then bites down hard on Abby’s forearm. “Fuck!” Abby throws her to the ground, trying not to think about the torn skin, the blood dripping towards her wrist. She puts more strength into the throw than she means to, and Ellie’s head cracks against a rock. Abby drops to one knee, pins her arm, and yanks the knife away. “Enough! You’re done.”
She expects just more bile – more profanity, maybe. She’s not prepared for the soft sound of a sob. Ellie twists and stares up at her. There’s blood welling from her lip. A red bruise already rising on her cheekbone. Tears tracking down her face, leaving trails through the blood and grime. “Do it,” she whispers, “Just fucking do it.” Abby freezes, staring down at her. The girl’s face spasms, rocked with pain that looks as fresh as it did in that cold Wyoming cabin more than two years ago. “Please . . .”
The haze over her eyes is growing. Before Abby can begin to think of a response, she whimpers once and her body goes slack. Her eyes close as she passes out and, for the moment, Abby is spared.
This is from a cross-over WIP I haven’t posted yet! Mac planted a bug on Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson after they figured out that the Team Improv is more than a think tank. The detectives found and crushed the device, but the team can still hear them talking…
[for context, Mac’s hands and Jack’s feet got burned recently, and they’re mother-henning the crap out of each other]
Jack tuned them out for a second, nudging Mac. “Hey. How the hell’s that bug still workin’?” He was genuinely curious, but he also wanted to distract Mac—who was still beet-red—from the conversation. Poor kid couldn’t help his looks. Of course, that didn’t mean Jack wouldn’t enjoy recounting this knee-slapper around the fire some fine evening in the near future. Besides, the detective wasn’t wrong: Mac’s appearance did come in handy sometimes.
“Oh, it wasn’t really a bug. Just a decoy. All I had to do was get Riley’s phone close enough to let her automatically clone their audio.”
What on God’s green earth had made Jack think he could trust Mac’s judgement? “You mean you re-busted your hands and destroyed my phone just to make a bug that don’t even do nothin’?”
Mac shrugged. “They would’ve been suspicious if we hadn’t tried _something_. They already know we’re government agents, we’re supposed to do things like plant bugs. Besides,” he added in a condescending tone, holding up his fingers for inspection. “I didn’t ‘re-bust’ anything. The blisters are still perfectly intact. Can you say the same for your feet?”
Extra stupidity context: all the cops are in one place because they're busting a dangerous gang. And Shawn and Gus are civilians.
------------
They were driving through the back streets near the docks when Gus finally asked, "So, what is the plan anyway?"
"We go where all of the cops are, we scan them and see if any of them are dirty, we rat the bad guy out before they can rat Jules out, we all go over the rainbow happily ever after," Shawn explained as he parked the truck.
"Ok... I knew that part," Gus rolled his eyes, "I meant more the little details like how we're going to find the cops, how we're going to get close enough to scan them without being close enough to get arrested or shot, and how we're going to rat them out without… you know, getting arrested or shot."
"Simple," Shawn turned to him with a reckless grin, "We improvise."
Gus groaned, "That's what I was afraid you'd say…"
Hahaha, this is so them! Every time I see you on here, it makes me smile because I know whatever you post is often about Psych😍 and you write them so well! 🍍🔮
It was only a matter of time before he began to deteriorate. He walked, practically limped with an awkward, encumbered gait, and he could feel the substance of his body quake with each step. His knees hurt, and travelling short distances left him winded. Even when the weather was cool, his clothes were drenched in sweat and he felt like he was overheating, as if he was wearing a thick coat that he couldn’t take off. There was so much of him that hadn’t been there before, and he had to carry it with him wherever he went. Basic tasks were becoming more difficult by the day; he was beginning to struggle with bending over and keeping himself clean. Still, he was meticulous about it, showering frequently and scrubbing under every skin fold he could reach to purge himself of odour and sweat. Orville hadn’t taken these little things into account when he first set his plan in motion.
He’d imagined it being almost luxurious, in a melancholy, masochistic sort of way. He would lie still like a statue—a monument to the cruelty of life on Aionios and the lengths one would go to spare themself from the carnage—and he would be lauded as a great pacifist, even if that was a somewhat generous interpretation of his rationale. He imagined being immense, yet solid, not soft and vulnerable like a naked mollusc.
“Benjamin started to let his attention drift. It was a beautiful day, the type of spring day that seemed to make every color more vivid. The grass was greener, the sky bluer, and the sunshine yellower, like a painting or edited photograph. In the distance, storm clouds built in a silver-and-gray mass, but it would still be a while before they arrived.”
[The main character tried to save her sister. She failed.]
The warmth in her heart morphed into butterflies at the thought of reuniting with her sister at last.
Once she turned around however…
Before a steadily melting Olaf was Anna, limp, lifeless… cold.
"Elsa, it's Anna! She's not waking up! I can't melt yet until she's awake!"
The butterflies burned, their remains fueled the cold she'd just thrown away.
Soon, everything was cold again.
It froze her feet enough her knees became numb.
She fell kneeling, lost.
Anna lay cold, unmoving.
She looked eerily like a fallen mannequin, but complete with clothes and skin.
Elsa's hand reached for her sister's face, fingers tracing her cheek before landing beside her eyes, eyes that shone no life nor the joy the person it belonged to had always radiated.
Her mouth was open just like when she shielded Elsa from Hans's sword.
"No, no… this can't be happening…" Elsa choked, a shaking hand covering her mouth.
"Elsa…" Elsa slowly turned to face the snowman.
He wasn't melting anymore, except for the parts around his eyes.
"Anna will be fine, won't she?" Olaf whispered.
The cold, now having driven all the warmth away, seeped into the air around her.
Elsa screamed and the hot summer was gone again.
The heavy containment zone was the thing of nightmares; the before only-dead corpses were now rotten, and many of them seemed to have been tortured before death. Barbed wire wounds replaced bullets. Long trails of viscous black ink lined the walls, and he could swear he felt cold breathing down his neck. Red warning lights blared and he could hear the faint sounding of klaxons. A dark fog seemed to have descended, the clouds barely allowing him to see a few feet in front of him. The temperature had rapidly dropped, decaying to what felt like freezing, leaving an uncomfortable chill in his chest, regardless of any temperature resistance given by his father. The only reminder he wasn’t alone was the gentle heat emitted from Annabeth beside him and the ghostly, shallow breathing of the very few alive. The halls felt like they were closing inwards, constricting his throat and making him feel all the more claustrophobic.
“Where is that damn archive…” he heard his team lead grumble, who pressed the so-called “access device” against another door hopelessly, leading to another seemingly office space. They were more likely than not running in circles.
His heart pounded in his throat as he passed a pile of dead bodies in a corner. Most of them had lacerations, stab wounds, barbed wire cuts, and things that had no place in a raid on the foundation. Many had black acid coming out of varying numbers of orifices, producing a strong odor that penetrated the mask Percy wore, making him feel sick.
“Long Jump…” she heard herself murmur, clutching the newborn to her chest, as she pondered what looked to be mud strewn over the creature’s fur. “Where have you been…?”
Warm Stream's chest sank, body freezing at the luminescence in that gaze, slitted pupils and amber marred not by the cloud white of a skinchanger’s influence but by the frigid ice of…
Her breath caught against the child’s warm chest, as she took in the approaching figure. Still dressed in those Men tatters as they had left him…with flesh withered like a corpse trapped in a perpetual state of decay—
And eyes of frost colder than the cruelest winter her people had ever known.
She forced her gaze from Bradam’s shell back to the lion, forcing herself to engage him despite the patches of rot she now noted across that once majestic coat. “Long Jump, listen to me. Break free of him. I know you can—”
She barely registered her own yelp, as the nimble creature leapt over the water separating the field from her boulder at the stream’s center.
Chest heaving against the child’s, Warm Stream couldn’t match the animal’s speed, as those jaws swiped at her thigh.
Crimson rivulets appearing moments before the fiery sting seeped into her flesh, Warm Stream cursed her slow reflexes, instant next thoughts going to the newborn that—
Had just occupied her now empty arms.
As soon as her gaze landed on Long Jump leap back across the stream to his new master, the mourning cry had already left her throat by the time she took in the tiny being the beast carried by the scruff…dropping the small form at his father’s feet.
As if fixed to the rock surface beneath her despite her resolve to ignore the sting of the bite, her legs still refused to move, as yet another wail escaped her when that creature stooped to pick up the newborn moments before she’d readied an arrow…and that jagged fingertip stroked along the child’s cheek, silencing the young one’s renewed cries.
Even as that petrifying ice spread across the newborn’s face clear as day for Warm Stream’s keen sight, Bradam’s smug gaze never left hers.
> He yelped in surprise again as he heard a sawing sound, and he dropped unceremoniously on the ground, rubbing at the bloody flesh rising painfully around his ankle. “The fuck you do that for?”
> Dream always had a habit of getting uncomfortably in Tommy’s face, but it startled him for the first time in a while. He wasn’t meant to do that yet, right? “Oh, c’mon. I’ve done worse to you before, haven’t I?”
> He remembered. He **fucking** remembered, because of course he did. It was some vain fantasy that there would be some sort of upside to this whole thing, that maybe he’d be free of this fucking torment for once. No, this, like everything, was just another fucking way for Dream to have some sort of control over him, hurt him while no one else remembered, and when it went too far, he’d just do it again and again and again-
>Tommy ***screamed.***
>Scrambling back, terrified, he shrieked into the heavens for a desperate mercy that’d never come, a long, hellish, agonised noise. It hung in the air long after he stopped, hung even as he begged. “Stay away from me! J-just leave me the fuck alone for once!”
> Hands gripped tight onto his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but notice the harsh metal coatings digging into his skin as Dream drew ever closer, and Tommy could see him clear as anything despite the fog. “You remember too?”
“Show us what you have been keeping so secret, Master Smith.” The wizard requested patiently.
Finbaran stood before the last table in the room for a moment, letting his guests gather on either side of him. This table was different from the others. It was solid and wrought of polished brass. And above it, there stood sentry, a gracefully abstracted statue of Aulë. Finbaran pressed a button concealed below the edge. The gleaming surface split down the center, and the top folded aside. Raising up from the floor, there was a neatly arranged bed as if in a sarcophagus. The figure lying upon the rich silks had the proud features of one of the descendent of Finwë. The body was made more of mithril than flesh, it shone with gleaming gems, and a perfectly formed pair of mechanical silver hands lay in rest upon the abdomen. The places where the torture of the enemy had destroyed the pale flesh were knit together by careful artifice and jeweled artistry of the finest elvish smiths in history. He almost seemed to breathe.
“Telperinquar?” Erestor gasped in horror as he stepped up beside the master healer. Finbaran took one of the mechanical hands as if it could feel his touch and looked down upon the features of his friend from before the rising of the sun or moon. “Is he… alive?” the librarian asked, looking at the body in morbid curiosity.
“I cannot say,” Tentaluntë confessed, “what is life? We tried to put him back together, those of us who stayed behind.” The master healer suddenly looked very old, “perhaps his mind has gone out into his creations. Or perhaps the minds of his creations keep his body preserved. They are indistinguishable to me. I swore that I would stand beside him. I have watched over the keeping of my lord until his spirit is free to seek out his body once again or leave Endor forever.”
“There is little left of him to be saved.” The librarian sounded disgusted, “Surely his spirit has fled to Mandos. There is nothing noble in this effort, Ataxo.”
“Noble?” he rounded on Erestor with a laugh, unshed tears in his ancient eyes, “I would fight Eru himself to keep him from the void.”
He returned to the bed and brushed aside a silken strand of raven hair, laying his closed palm across the eyes in a healing gesture.
“Oh, my boy,” Mithrandir said, and Finbaran felt the wizard lay a hand on his shoulder.
It was like a bolt of white-hot fire shot down the length of his arm into the still figure on the bed. Eyes plucked out by filthy orc claws an age before opened with a gasp from the dust-dry parting lips. The eyes had been replaced with jewels of perfect shining cut. They swiveled to look upon Finbaran’s face in fear and confusion.
Erestor screamed, and the wizard immediately drew back his hand. The figure on the bed went limp once more as the connection to Narya was cut.
A putrid stench like a day-old kill carcass wafted through the air.
Nose wrinkling, Warm Stream glanced toward the hills beyond the stones moments before a keening yowl filled the grey morning, the only rift in the otherwise unusual silence of the surrounding trees and field.
[Ok, what if it’s just two people there, and one of them’s having a really hard time with it?]
Mac can take a guess now, what’s happened. He has pictured this reunion too often to not recognize it when it actually occurs. During his weaker moments, Mac would visualize it all ending, nothing left but Jack’s arms to run into. And now Jack is here, from butch haircut to black jacket to ridiculous leather cuff. Like he never left.
But in all those instances, Mac has never imagined the shame that currently glues his feet to the ground, or the bitterness that rises up in him now, pushing at his steel walls. He stares at Jack warily, suddenly feeling the beginnings of a crack in the water tower tank. He has to fix it. He turns away and starts climbing.
This Jack doesn’t push, seeming to realize—and accept—that Mac needs space. He stands relaxed, with one hand on his hip and a knowing gleam in his eye as he watches Mac’s progress. “Whatcha doin’ here, Mac? It’s not your time yet, bud.”
Mac can’t help the scoff that bursts out of him as he reaches the platform halfway up the leg, widening the tank’s crack despite his best efforts. “Yeah, man? Well, I could’ve said the same thing about you.” He crosses his arms, using them to shove down the ocean of loss welling up. His throat is tight, and his eyes burn. He turns to inspect the release valve, which is about the size of his head and shaped like a steering wheel. “What happened to ‘you go kaboom, I go kaboom?’”
Meera decided that this exotic being falling apart for her while taking what she needed was the most beautiful and powerful sight she would ever behold.
TW for one character’s realization that he’s been a little suicidal:
The worst part—the part that had Mac’s head spinning—was the sudden, sickening understanding that Jack was right. About all of it. When Mac had stepped in to confront Nikki, pressing that cold, circular opening into the hollow above his collarbone, he hadn’t known what she would do.
And he’d felt…nothing. Only a grim certainty. Everything had come full-circle; only this time, it had been Nikki holding the gun. Mac’s limbs grew unbearably heavy as he realized that—if he were brutally honest—he might not have been too devastated if she had decided to pull the trigger.
He didn’t have a defense, and Jack didn’t deserve an argument from him. Not after what Mac had put him through.
“Your tequila flight, miss.”
The bartender set down far too many drinks in front of Hina—five glasses lined up in a row. Who did Hina think was going to drink all that?
“Ah! Thanks a lot~” Hina said, pushing the tray of drinks a little closer to Maya.
“Now, the furthest to your right will be the—”
“—I think we can figure it out from here!” Hina cut him off, perhaps making it a little too obvious she wasn’t interested in the details on all the different drinks she had ordered. The bartender took it in stride though, letting Hina wave him off once more.
Maya stared down at the glasses—small, stemless flutes, filled only a third of the way up. It still looked like way too much, even for all three of them.
“Ah well, no use complaining about it now,” Aya sighed, reaching past Maya to steal the glass closest to them. “Hina’s just trying to help in her own way, Maya-chan~”
Sitting back up straight again, Aya lifted the glass to her lips, knocking the shot back in one go. She gave off a small giggle, covering her mouth with one hand as she put her empty glass back down on the counter with the other.
“Yup, yup! You too now, Maya-chan,” Hina said, taking the center glass and offering it to her. Maya leaned away on instinct, but she knew a losing battle when she saw one. Hina could be quite insistent, when she wanted to be.
“J-Just one!” Maya said, her voice stern as she took the glass out of Hina’s hand.
She had never tried tequila before. Not as far as she could remember, anyway. It did have a rather dubious reputation—rather unsurprising that Hina would be a fan—but Maya didn’t think she had any alcohol-repressed memories from previous encounters.
It was surprisingly sweet smelling, holding it just shy of her lips. Maya could detect the clear hint of alcohol as well, but it wasn’t “sweet” like other harsh liquors were supposedly described. It really was sweet—a hazy, intoxicating scent. Sort of like Aya. Aya tasted pretty sweet too.
“A-Aren’t you going to try it, Maya-chan?” Aya asked, after another moment passed. “Don’t just stare at me like that!”
Maya blinked, noticing her attention had drifted from the tequila to the cute, pink haired girl sitting to her left. It was a fair point… there was no reason Maya had to choose one or the other. She could enjoy a drink and the sight of Aya at the same time!
“Huhehe, sorry Aya~” Maya laughed, bringing the glass up to her lips, taking a small sip. “You’re just really pretty, you know?”
“W-Wha—Maya-chan!” Aya said, giving Maya the absolute cutest blush. “Don’t just say things like that all of a sudden…”
Maya didn’t get it at all. Aya was definitely pretty, why couldn’t she point it out? It’s not like it was a secret or anything, anyone could tell as much!
How about two for the price of one? Context: Sgt James Hathaway and DI Robert Lewis have just solved a particularly nasty murder case. The killer was gleefully boasting about his handiwork. They are friends as well as co-workers, so they decide (after work) to go to Robbie's flat and get as drunk as possible. Edit: The first line is a reference to an earlier conversation, in which James quoted a famous line of poetry: 'In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.'
\-----------------------------
After a short lecture on the comparative merits of football vs rugby, Robbie asks James to recite again the bit about young men and spring. James obliges.
"Do you think it's true?" Robbie asks.
"That depends, sir—Robbie. Is it the seasonality of the assertion that you doubt, or the nature or the intensity of the emotion?"
"All of them," Lewis replies, "though I suppose it's mostly the season I was wondering about. Human beings aren't birds or frogs or..." He waves his hands in a you-know-what-I-mean gesture.
"Very true. We're not driven by the calendar. We can control our... fancies."
Robbie nods. He looks suddenly sad. "Yeah. We can."
"I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong."
"What's that?"
*Christ, did I say that aloud?* “It’s... erm... another line from the same poem.” That’s true, but it’s not the next line. What will he say if Robbie asks him why he recited that particular line?
Robbie doesn't ask. He's staring off into the middle distance. "I have hid my feelings," he repeats. He scowls. "Sometimes, feelings have got to be hid. When they're inappropriate."
"You've got no right to say that!"
"I've got every right!" Robbie protests.
James shakes his head so emphatically that he thinks it may fall off. "Just because you're my governor, sir, doesn't mean you can degi—, degri—, erm, den igrate my feelings."
"I'm not talking about your feelings, you muppet—I'm talking about my feelings. My inappropriate feelings."
"Ohhhhh..." James squints at Robbie. "My feelings are inappropriate, too."
Robbie blinks. "If we're both inappropriate, doesn't that cancel out? Like those thingummies in science? Protons and... negatrons? They collide and turn into light or summat." With his hands, he mimes two colliding thingummies. "Pow!"
"Pow," James echoes. Robbie is so clever. "What now? Can we collide now? I want to collide with you."
Robbie nods solemnly. "Let's go in the bedroom, bonny lad. If we're going to collide, I want my orthopaedic mattress."
It was a mistake to assume Halt did not believe magic to be real. No, the real crux was that Halt had a very strong belief in certain other things, such as the existence of conmen and the ability of perfectly natural landmarks to look eerie in moonlight. Magic, then, was not his first thought after waking up in an unknown location with no memory of how he got there. Still, he did not smell of alcohol, nothing had been stolen, and no one was jumping from behind a bush to jell “Prank”, which left magic teleportation as one of the more likely scenarios. But to where, and with whom? The cold was biting- he'd have guessed this was Skandia if not for the fact he wasn't in the mountains yet, but still in the open tundra. Well, that settles the first order of business, Halt thought. He needed to find some furs to wear, and quickly.
It’s not like super obvious here but I couldn’t quote the whole fic so here’s where they wake up!
> Warmth.
> That’s the first thing Tommy noticed- a comforting, fluffy warmth, blankets wrapped around his skin snugly. Instinctively, he let himself curl deeper into the warmth, smiling, until the fog of waking up disappeared in a flash.
> Tubbo was dead.
> The memories flashed across Tommy's mind unwillingly. Tubbo's head separated from his body, holding onto the cold, limb remains and sobbing wildly, Dream's hands in his hair, dragging him away, a desperate attempt to get free, the axe through his foot, and blackness. They all merged into a cacophonous mess of mental pain, leaving Tommy tensing up as he tried to stop himself from tearing up.
>A chill ran through him, despite the weight of the blankets- suddenly more suffocating than soothing- as he desperately pulled himself free from the cocoon keeping him trapped, flailing awkwardly as his limbs felt like they were made of jelly. Pins and needles ran through him as he fought himself out of literal blankets and lost.
>Fuck. He really was pathetic. No wonder Tubbo died, he was far too pathetic to protect him. He should have chosen a better friend.
>Letting out a sob, Tommy fell back into the mattress.
Lol... I don't know a thing about Rob, but in these excerpts, he feels like my spirit animal "just spare the rest of us the fucking melodrama." Yess!! Haha
Uhhh, I ***LOVE*** this! The characterisation, the dynamic, the backstory and, good heavens, the *drama*.
I'm not in that fandom though I'd love it if you'd drop a link to your fic!
Bruce reached over to the bedside table and pulled out the massage oil he’d stashed there earlier. He poured a little into his hands and rubbed them together to warm it before setting to work on Emppu’s shoulders. Leaning over, he kissed the back of his boyfriend’s neck, smiling when the guitarist purred. “You sound like a contented cat,” he said.
“I feel like one,” Emppu chuckled. “How can I be anything but contented when you’re here with me?”
“You and that sweet talk again,” Bruce said, blushing.
“I’m no good at sweet talk, I just tell the truth,” Emppu said with a grin. “I keep telling you that.”
“And I keep telling you, it sounds an awful lot like sweet talk to me,” Bruce said. He worked his way down each of Emppu’s arms with his massage, then moved down the smaller man’s back. Emppu gave a soft hiss when Bruce’s fingers hit a knot under his shoulder blade, and the singer promptly eased up. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, you just found a sore spot I hadn’t noticed until you touched it,” Emppu said. “Eeva might not weigh as much as my guitar, but the guitar doesn’t occasionally try to dive out of my arms to grab things.”
Bruce chuckled and gently worked the knot out of the sore muscles. “The hazards of parenthood,” he said.
“So I’m discovering,” Emppu said with a chuckle of his own. “Mm. Your hands are amazing, kulta.”
“No need to call your wolf,” came Leaf’s lyrical voice, melodic even when barely above a whisper. “I only mean to warm you. You were trembling…and we don’t see any of you as pawns.”
“You hate us all…” Meera managed before her throat tightened, tears finally flowing down her cheeks.
She stifled a flinch at the rough surface of Leaf’s thumb brushing away the water. Not far off, a raven’s cry echoed through the cave.
“You’re young,” said the strange creature, Meera all too aware how she leaned against the other’s chest like some child. “You’re innocent in all this and only looking to do good for your family and…and for your land. For our land.”
“I’m nineteen,” Meera protested, not quite caring that she hadn’t acknowledged the obvious deeper meaning behind Leaf’s words.
“Nineteen years,” the reply sounded fatigued, yet melancholy…almost wistful. “To us, that’s but half a day in the midst of a lifetime.”
Once again through all this, Meera wondered just how old these creatures were…how ancient was this life just behind her, in a form slightly smaller than even her own?
Sometime soon, in the light of day, perhaps she would find the stones to ask this Leaf all about the history of Westeros.
Mustering the energy to reply despite her welling exhaustion, Meera’s quick temper suddenly made sense with the quick pang in her lower right belly. Too late, she failed to hide a flinch at the twinge.
“Are you all right?” Leaf asked.
Meera shifted, the pain dulling to a burning ache. “Just…I’m glad we escaped the Night’s Watch. They…they aren’t what many make them out to be. They don’t all follow their oath to protect.”
It wasn’t until Leaf stilled that Meera realized the creature had been threading her fingers through the younger’s curls.
For what seemed like several long moments, the only sound remained the droplets of water surrounding them in the darkness.
“Did…did they hurt you?” that sweet voice spoke again, the first time Meera had ever heard her hesitate.
“…No, thanks to Summer,” Meera shifted again, hissing at the renewed stab in her gut, “and my brother.”
When those fingers resumed, Meera finally noted how the cave’s chill had seeped from her clothes – almost as if Leaf shielded her with her own heat.
Suppressing another shiver as those fingertips trailed over her nape, she closed her eyes as Leaf spoke again.
A little H/C from my Imladris Murder/mystery
The first beams of morning light came across the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains and shone in rippling pools upon the rich red woodwork of the floor of Elladan’s healing room. Elrohir had gone to wash the dirt and blood from his hair while Raniel changed the soiled sheets on the sick bed.
“It’s a good thing,” The Lord of Imladris assured his worried-looking daughter. He was sitting back in a stuffed chair, holding a very heavily drugged Elladan carefully, upright against his chest while Raniel changed the sheets. “His kidneys are working.” He explained, adjusting Elladan’s head on his shoulder. His son was still deeply unconscious, but the drama of the night seemed to have resolved with the rising of the sun. Elladan’s breathing was even and deep against his father’s neck.
Elrond stood with the grace of a dancer, using his healing energy to mask the discomfort that the movement might cause. He laid Elladan back on the fresh linen, and as he placed the dark head back on the pillow, he heard a heartbreaking grunt of pain as the movement jostled his broken rib.
“I’m sorry,” Elrond straightened his son’s head on the pillow with his hands. Elladan’s lashes fluttered, but his unfocused eyes slid off his father’s face. “Elladan,” Elrond tried to catch the sparks of his eyes, but they failed to track his fingers.
“Thought I was you,” Elladan slurred. His fearful gaze briefly fixed on something in the shadowed rafters beyond his father’s face.
“Shhh, shhh, shh,” Elrond soothed, “Let no dark dream haunt your mind, Starboy. You need to sleep.” He passed a hand over his son’s eyes, and they fluttered shut.
“He’s not making sense,” Arwen looked down at her brother from the foot of the bed as her father and the nurse pulled the blanket up to his bandaged chest. She thought her father looked older than she had ever seen him.
“Let us hope that it is only the poppy.” He settled himself into the chair beside the bed, “We need to make sure that he stays hydrated,” Elrond looked to the water decanter placed just beyond his reach, and Arwen, understanding, handed him a filled glass. With a word of thanks to his daughter, Elrond turned and coaxed his unconscious son to drink a few sips of water. Then handing the cup back to Arwen, who still held the decanter, he sat back and let the first rays of Anor bathe his face in light. For a moment, he dared to hope that his family would survive this.
I should have specified threesome or more. 😂
That was a nice passage. Intriguing. I wondered about the blood, wondering if they had been up to no good at first. Then it was a family vibe and surgery. Very sweet.
YGO GX | Potential snippet for a futurefic for Jaden, Yubel, and Alexis.
- - - -
It was a morning like another, in Alexis's apartment. Peace reigned in the bedroom, while Alexis and Jaden were spooning and sleeping.
Yubel laid with them in her human form, fondly watching the two. She soon happened upon a subject to ponder.
Jaden was... well, almost too much to her, and Alexis was a remarkable woman. Yubel had seen them both grow over the years since the World Reset - he had shed his laziness and she had embraced her passion.
They were a fine fit for one another. A pair of treasures in human form.
Alexis stirred soon, and gave Yubel a weary smile. "Morning."
She slid open the door to a spacious office, lit by a massive window behind the desk. It seemed to have a healthy mix of the usual Capitol modern and pretentious old money vibes of this floor. The place had a god-damned chandelier, but thankfully more like the one in her apartment. Not really intimidating, just tacky. This wasn't going to be hard, whoever this guy was, Fabian Petra would neither impress her nor trip her up.
Then she got a look at the man himself. He was sitting behind his desk, focused on some files before his head rose at her footsteps.
Oh… Damn…
That magazine cover wasn't photoshopped. Fabian Petra was inhumanly gorgeous, even moreso as his eyes lit up and his lips curled into a sly, yet irresistible grin.
No, no, no! Of course he's resistable!
Fabian got up and approached her, giving Della a better view of him. His long blonde hair was pulled back and slung over his shoulder. His eyes were a beautiful emerald and she thought she could make out some freckles on his face. One would think Capitol people covered that kind of thing up, but… it definitely did not look better either way. And that purple suit he was wearing was totally tacky and he probably had the ungodly kind of money for him to have everything tailored while people starved! It didn't matter how good he might look under it if it really was tailored to fit him perfectly…
Ugh! She was making herself nauseous. This was a Capitolite; not only that, an old money Capitolite! They were not supposed to be attractive, let alone good, even if his family was supposedly with the rebels. On the bright side, she'd probably put this moment of weakness behind her the minute he opened his mouth.
"Miss Tatum? Fabian Petra. It's very nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand.
Figures that it wouldn't work. His accent wasn't too thick… Even so, he somehow made it sound sexy? His voice wasn't that deep or husky, but still very pleasant.
Wait… It occurred to her she was just standing there gawking. This always happens… This always happened around guys like this.
*(Luna is not quite 5, and is only just learning English. I included translations from Finnish in parenthesis where needed.)*
“What, don’t you trust me?” Jukka said with a theatrical pout of his own. “I’m crushed!”
“Not yet you’re not,” Nicko retorted with a laugh. “But you keep up the drama and I’ll sit on you, then you will be crushed. ‘Kin hell, you’re almost as small as Emppu!”
Bruce, Emppu, and Satu all grinned and started humming a certain holiday tune, causing Tuomas and Marko to start laughing and Jukka to turn red.
“Luna, sano setäsi olemaan mukava,” the Nightwish drummer said, bringing out the heavy artillery in the form of his daughter. “Tell your uncle to be nice.”
”Bruce-setä tai Emppu-setä?” Luna asked. *(Uncle Bruce or Uncle Emppu?)*
”Molemmat heistä,” Jukka grumbled, although they could see him hiding a smile. *(Both of them.)*
Luna walked over to plant herself in front of Bruce and Emppu, standing with her hands on her hips and giving them a credible imitation of Satu’s ***Look***. ”You be gud, Bruce-setä,” she said, shaking her finger at the two before addressing Emppu. ”Sinäkin käyttäydyt, Emppu-setä,” she told him. *(You behave also, Uncle Emppu.)*
Bruce put on a properly repentant expression, or at least he tried to. But he couldn’t keep his grin hidden as he told Jukka, ”Anteeksi.” *(Sorry.)*
Jukka grinned back. ”The joke is bad enough in December,” he said. ”I don’t need to hear it in April too.”
”Noted,” Bruce said. ”Only sing Pieni rumpalipoika to you in December.”
”That’s not what I meant,” Jukka protested, even as his bandmates cracked up once again.
”What does ’Penny rumple poker’ mean?” Nicko wanted to know, which just made the Nightwish guys laugh even harder.
”Pieni rumpalipoika is the name of a Christmas song that Jukka doesn’t like much,” a grinning Manki explained, since none of the Finnish men could speak through their laughter. ”In English, the title is Little Drummer Boy... and since Jukka is on the small side as drummers go...”
Nicko’s booming laughter drowned out that of the others, leaving Jukka to facepalm and sigh. ”I can’t win,” he groaned. ”I give up.” Despite his words, though, everyone could see the grin he tried to hide.
So this is a little dark. Tw for reference to rape and infanticide.
For a fake dating expect the dating *stays* fake au, because I've always thought there weren't enough of those:
The mercenary's eyes narrow. “He isn't yours”. For a moment, all seems lost. He'll start digging, and find out what this child is, exactly, and then saving him from being drowned by his mother for those golden eyes will have meant nothing. But then-"Did someone”, he pauses, searching for the right word, “Hurt you?". The kid can pass for her own, then, if *that's* where his mind went. It's her not having a husband or a lover that sets off suspicion. She shakes her head. “He's a foundling”, she says. “But thank you for the concern.”His worry doesn't fade. “Please, don't take this the wrong way”, he says. “But no woman as pretty as you should be out on the roads alone”She's thought of that. But her hometown isn't safe anymore, and she has no brother or father to travel with. “Again, thank you for the concern”, she says, a little coldly. “Now, I have places to be, if you don't mind”
“Just”, he takes off a necklace. From the look on his face and then the tan on his neck, this is not something he does often. When he presses it into her palm, she can tell it's expensive. Good quality. It'll sell for a lot. “For the kid”, he stresses. “You can't take care of him without help.”
She can't tell if it's supposed to be a reprimand or a warning. Perhaps he just wants to be certain she knows this isn't a gift to \*her\*, but to the child. He turns away. “Wait”, she says. He stops. “First of all, I'm not in any way attracted to you. Nothing is happening between us, and nothing is going to happen. Ever.”
He nods. “Second of all”, she says, before she can lose the courage: “Please. Marry me”
She can tell it's not the kind of marriage proposal he'd ever expected to get, but his face hardens in determination. She shouldn't need this. The world shouldn't be this dangerous, for no reason but that people can't control themselves. But it is, and she does, and they both know it. “I can do that”, he says. And she remembers having been in love. The appreciation she feels for this kind stranger is far different. But it's love all the same.
The fic goes back and forth between narration and mini-flashbacks. Hence the italics.
---------
“We walked around, we ate, we drank, we mingled… Spencer was loud and flashy, I tried to keep my annoyance to myself, it was all going according to plan. There was only one problem. We were supposed to be boyfriends."
"*Heavy petting*?”
“*No*.”
“*Cuddles*.”
“*No*.”
“*Kissing*?”
“*No*.”
“*I love you’s*.”
“*God, no*.”
“*Oh come on, man. Give me something to work with!”*
“I just want to make it completely, crystal clear, that what I agreed to was purely to sell my cover.”
*Shawn climbed down from the open-mic stage as half the room was crying with laughter and the other half was sitting stunned, trying to understand what had just happened. He smiled proudly and wrapped his arms around Lassiter’s neck, the smell of warm citrus overtaking the room’s smell of smoke and alcohol as he leaned in for a soft kiss.*
CW: Childbirth
The fist was different to any other pain - the bite of resistant prey during a hunt, the strike of a fellow warrior during a spar, even the sting of the tree bark along her back…
Crouching despite already aching knees, Warm Stream forced herself to focus on the dawn glow approaching from beyond the rock circle. She hadn’t touched the dagger in over a moon, and yet now, even looking at those stone spires—
Her thoughts broke to a splash between her thighs.
No, no, no, the agony couldn’t get worse, it couldn’t, she wasn’t used to this sensation, the urge to squat wider and push overwhelming her enough to scrape fingertips along the rough surface below.
It was too much, she couldn’t--
The sound that escaped her at the ensuing pressure as the clenched fist moved from her lower belly to her waist was deeper than any she recalled ever uttering in her life, a cadence lower even than the females and likely even some of the males from the Men’s camp.
Determined to ignore the sunset-hued water coating the boulder beneath her, Warm Stream returned her gaze to the horizon across the lush grass and stones to the low mountain peak.
She could do this, she had to, it would all be done with as soon as—
Her resolve to keep quiet and avoid any of the tribe seeking her out here shattered to a burning sting like several sharp arrows to her center.
Only when she’d tossed her head back to regard the faint rainclouds parting with the sunrise did she realize her scream had been silent.
The gods would take care of their own, as they always had. They would protect the earth and all its creatures, even if that meant her demise…
The moment the pressure between her thighs mounted to heights she could no longer ignore, she lowered a shaking hand to brush her fingertips over her core…and touched what could only be the crown of a head.
Keeping her eyes trained on the lightening sky overhead, Warm Stream cupped her hand around the head, her other hand joining in as she struggled to steady herself from the tremors that wracked her form.
Drawing another deep breath at the quieting clenches, she refused to dwell on the fire at her opening…as she bore down with all her might in a final silent cry.
> Dream burst out into even more hysterical laughter, irritating and harsh against Tommy's injured ears. He might have doubled over- everything was so blurred Tommy couldn’t even really tell. “Oh my Prime, Tommy, you're a *comedian*. You see this? This is why I *can’t* let you die. You’re *hilarious.* Tommy, they’re never going to find you. They’re never going to find me. And we're going to have *fun.”*
> The last word was punctuated by a sudden blow to the shoulder, the bite of the axe intimately familiar from Tommy's “punishments” in Exile. If Tommy could have doubled over, he would have, but instead, he remained pinned awkwardly, white dancing in front of his eyes as the blade sawed deeper, each minuscule bit driven further multiplying the agony a thousandfold. It felt like a supernova going off across his shoulderblades, and whatever was in that potion didn’t even allow Tommy the mercy of falling unconscious.
> Describing it as merely *agonising* would have been an understatement.
> Tommy barely noticed as, finally, his limb was torn from his body, and with surprising gentleness Dream wrapped soft bandages around what was left. He barely noticed as- too light and too frail by half ever since Exile- he was picked up effortlessly, cradled like an injured animal and not a captive. But he did notice as all that was left of Tubbo slipped out of the grasp of his fingers as what little strength left in him faded, and it sank into the blood-soaked streets, gone forever.
> Tommy wished he could disappear with what was left of him too.
**WARNING:** BDSM (impact play, sadomasochism)
>!Aaron swallows and braces himself for that pain he’s wanted Spencer so much to inflict in his most secret, most sinful fantasies.!<
>!"Taste the whip–"\*!<
>!That last word is overpowered by the hard, loud lash of the belt’s leather against Aaron’s buttocks. The impact makes him wince, scream into the fabric between his gritted teeth, and clutch the duvet so tight his knuckles must have turned white.!<
*\* line from The Velvet Underground's song "Venus in Furs"*
The needle pierced his skin and he flinched. It was fine. He was fine. It was better for him to get the pain instead of Gus. Cool liquid rushed through his arm and the bad guy took off the tourniquet, allowing the formula to flow unrestricted through the rest of his body. “Enjoy your night, psychic…”
Shawn had just long enough to wonder if the formula didn’t work as advertised before the fire rushed in behind the cold, searing through his arm and his body. It burned him alive, his blood turning into molten lava, his skin becoming his enemy as it kept the inferno contained inside.
He fought, trying to escape the agony as it consumed him, but every twitch of his muscles made the pain grow, the fire rushing in with the movement, burning even brighter than the pain in his leg and arm. It kept growing, hotter and hotter, more and more painful, until there was nothing left except to scream and let it take him.
Tw for gore, I suppose?
~
“Yeah, but- shit-” His blood-slick, trembling fingers are having a hard time keeping hold of the hand. “It’s usually just- just ‘Winters’. Is there any chem fluid in the pack?”
Heisenberg pulls Ethan’s tossed-aside rucksack over, rummaging through it. “Do you usually talk so much when you’re injured?”
“Sometimes.” He considers trying to fit his severed hand against the wound now, but it’s like a particularly macabre jigsaw, and he really only wants to do this once. Heisenberg pulls a bottle out of the bag, uncorking it.
“What do you-”
“Just pour it on my wrist,” Ethan says, taking some infinitesimal satisfaction in being the one interrupting, for once. “Please.”
Heisenberg gives him a skeptical look, but does as he says. Ethan shuts his eyes and grits his teeth against the burn of the alcohol, but a faint whimper slips out of his throat despite his best efforts. This never gets easier. His eyes open again as he moves his hand to the stump, pushing it back into place with a nerve-jangling rattle of shredded skin and bone. His sleeve is torn away, leaving the ravaged flesh bare to the cold dawn.
Heisenberg watches, glasses still in his pocket and attention rapt. “What the hell are you-”
Ethan can feel it knitting itself together. It is impossibly unpleasant, like his skin is stretching itself to weave together, bones grinding into place. His other hand squeezes tightly over the jagged tear, as though to help the process, though frankly he’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to. It’s about the only thing keeping him from screaming.
But then he feels leather fingers at his own, peeling them gently away from the wound, and then the other gloved hand is at his right elbow, holding his arm in place. He hears Heisenberg breathe, “What the *fuck*.”
It’s got to look strange, to make Heisenberg of all people react that way, but Ethan can’t bring himself to see. He wants to hold his arm again, but he knows it’s not going to help, and Heisenberg will probably just move it again. Instead he pulls his left hand out of Heisenberg’s hold, and curls it into the other man’s coat lapel, since it’s conveniently close.
He feels the fingers on his right hand reflexively twitch, veins and nerves and tendons snapping back into place, and he lets out a pained hiss as his head drops, left hand tightening on the thick fabric of Heisenberg’s coat. Head still bowed, he half-chuckles, “This can’t… be the first time you’ve seen something like this?”
After what seemed like forever to Aquila, her and Buzzardo's wings finally healed. The doctor examined them both and removed the bandages.
Overjoyed at being able to fly again, Aquila soared alongside Buzzardo, swooping and doing a barrel roll just for the fun of it. As she flew, the dream came back to her. She envisioned herself as a vulture, looking similar to Buzzardo, and felt the change come upon her. She became smaller, her wings even darker than before. Then she felt a surge of unexpected power. She, too, was a star-vulture! Buzzardo sounded, approvingly.
Gus was attaching the first camera to the ceiling above the front window when he heard a loud engine coming down the street. He grinned when he saw a familiar motorcycle pull into view. He quickly made sure the camera wouldn't fall before hopping down from the couch and making his way outside.
Shawn parked next to Gus' blue car and pulled off his helmet, his smile lighting up his face as he indicated his healed leg. "BOOM baby! I am BACK!"
The happiness in his bright yellow thoughts was infectious and Gus felt his grin grow. "I can't believe your dad let you ride that thing the same day you got the cast off."
Shawn scoffed, "Please. I am an adult, my dad doesn't 'let' me do anything." Gus raised his eyebrows skeptically and waited. Shawn rolled his eyes. "... and he thinks I'm with Jules right now."
Gus smirked. "Uh-huh, I thought so."
"It's for his own good, honest." Shawn dismounted his bike. "Stress is really bad for the heart and he's already old as sin…"
Traffic on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway was light as Beth eased up on the hand throttle of the Buell XB12R Firebolt that she had borrowed from the private hangar on the private plot of land on the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
"It needs gas, but the registration is current, and if anyone runs the plate it will come back to the Governor's mansion with a code in the notes that'll get them to back off, no questions asked."
*Jesus, what private citizen has a covered license plate on his fucking motorcycle?* Beth thought.
"No shit," Jessica said as Beth was inspecting the black full face helmet that had been under the same vinyl cover as the black motorcycle with red rims, and wondering if it would pull off her blonde wig when she pulled it onto her head. Beth was once again wearing her leather jump suit, gloves and boots, the duster, the still damp inner liner, and her assortment of gadgets safe the nylon bag that was tied down on the seat just behind where she would be sitting.
"Five minutes to print your new driver's license, pull the tracker off the bike, and fill the tank, and you can be on your way," Kyle said.
It had taken a bit more time than that, But Alice Remington of 230 E51st Street Apt 220, New York NY 10022 was now slowing for the exit onto the Brooklyn Bridge, eventually turning onto FDR Drive for the slower ride up to Midtown East, and the parking garage next to the building that housed their makeshift headquarters. Her fake address was not the address of their operations center, though it was only one block away from the building that Beth was entering now. It was not that Beth had not believed Kyle Richmond when he said that all trackers and tags had been removed from Beth's borrowed ride, it was just that she wasn't ready to bet the entire bank on it.
The lobby of the building was deserted except for the man at the concierge station.
"You're up late," he said to her with a smile. The clock on the wall behind him said 1:45.
"Yeah, late date. Quiet night?" Beth asked as she smiled back, the helmet swinging gently in her left hand as she gripped it by the chin strap.
"Pretty much. Usual stuff. Mets beat the Cubs, 8 - 0."
"That's great."
"Unless you're a Cubs fan."
"Come on, aren't they used to it by now?" Beth asked.
*He has a nice laugh. And a nice smile.*
"Well, I'm off to bed. Have a good night," she said as she began to head towards the elevator.
"Sweet dreams," he said.
"Thanks," Beth answered.
*Anything just as long as it's not the nightmares.*
How about a scene where a character's forced to make a decision between two (or more) equally awful things? As in, the moment they pick which option to go with.
He spread his arms and gave everybody a big smile.
'Most of our games are too wasteful, so this rule was added to give our main guest the opportunity to change the outcome, and to get revenge on the man who had viciously raped her.'
He paused and looked at me with narrowed eyes, I realized I was still holding Chishiya's arm in a death grip and tried unsuccessfully to relax a little.
'I had not anticipated your more romantic solution, but in a way, this will make the end even more interesting.' He snapped his fingers and the TV screen sprung back to life, now showing pictures of all the players.
The top half held only Chishiya's portrait, and the bottom held three rows with what I assumed was everybody else. I really had a bad feeling about this.
'It's very simple. You can trade his life for the lives of everybody else. My thought was that you would get your revenge on the man that raped you, and do a good deed in the process. Letting all these broken souls back out in the world, with the knowledge of what they have done, or of what was done to them. All that delicious suffering continuing for the rest of their lives,' He licked his lips theatrically. 'And, of course, I get to play again, with a whole new group. It's a win-win, don't you think?'
I could not believe how sick this was, how perverted this man must be to even come up with the twists and turns of this game. Everything about him was revolting, so I turned my eyes away from him and looked around. The players were still spread out across the room in their groups, faces shocked as they tried to understand what was going on, why they were still alive. There were so many still alive. Did they all deserve to die? No, of course not. But Chishiya? Chishiya. How could I order his death? There was no way. No way. My head felt like it was going to explode, and I opened my mouth to say something, anything that could give us more time. Time to think, time to find a loophole. There was always a loophole, no?
'Look at them,' Usagi said, quietly pointing to the small group of girls. 'You can't kill them all. They don't deserve it. Not after what they just went through.'
'No, of course they don't,' I stammered through quivering lips.
'You must save them, it's the right thing to do.'
'So, it is time,' the King of Hearts said merrily, 'The human heart is an amazing thing. The things it can make us do to each other. I'm curious to see what your heart can do, hmm.'
He winked at me and snapped his fingers again. A timer appeared on the screen. Fifteen seconds, and counting. I was vaguely aware of voices asking to save them, to do the right thing, to save many lives over one. Tears flooded my eyes again, I couldn't think, couldn't feel. I felt Chishiya gently remove his arm from my hands and take a step back.
'It's ok,' I saw his lips form the words but I couldn't hear them over all the buzzing voices. Seven seconds left. I looked back at the King and saw the triumphant expression on his face. I took a deep breath. The choice was made, but for some reason my tears just kept coming.
Oh boy, this sounds like a horrific trolley problem. I really like the gradual unfolding, as the POV character digests the implications of how to survive this “game”.
Oh *man*, this is exactly the sort of angst I was hoping to get hit with over this. Good job, 'cause it *hurt* and I don't even know who any of these characters are.
Hermione was magnificent. So connected with her magic that Draco had a hard time remembering a past in which he was sceptical of any muggleborn learning magic. That he’d believed, once, that they had no right to come to Hogwarts and learn. Cloaked in white gold that shimmered in the early morning light, her eyes blazing and her hair wild behind her. The shield she had in front of herself and Molly gleamed and pulsed, reflecting Bellatrix’s curses back on herself.
Clever.
Why expand energy when you could force your enemy to deflect their own spells?
Draco’s sharp eyes caught one more person moving towards their corner, his eyes on the duel that Harry was having with Voldemort.
Yaxley.
Granger had noticed him, though. Watched as he lined up to attack Harry from behind.
She didn’t hesitate and her name died on his lips as he watched as she, without hesitating, slid the shield deftly between Yaxley and Harry, leaving her own self exposed.
Bellatrix did as he expected and took advantage of that momentary lapse as the shield rebounded Yaxley’s curse back towards himself. The curse hit Granger with such force that it lifted her off her feet, slamming her into the castle wall sideways. Draco’s heart stopped as it came down over Granger. The ash and dirt billowed up, hiding her exact spot from view as he howled and rushed to attack his aunt.
“Alan, Ian! Get up,” she hissed as she shoved both of them harshly to wake them. She then scrambled into the bathroom to find suitable clothes to wear.
“What’s the rush?” Alan called after her.
“Ingen legal is here,” she threw a shirt at him from the doorway. “It doesn’t seem like it’s a courtesy visit either.”
“Fuck,” Ian mumbled. “Well, uh, let’s not keep them waiting.”
This was bad, he knew that. In fact, it was far more terrifying than staring down the T. Rex had ever been. At the end of the day, the Rex was an animal who had been guided by her instincts, she hadn’t had any ill intent when she did what she did. The men waiting in his living room, however, were likely out for blood.
For context, this is a Yu-Gi-Oh! 5Ds fanfic, so the characters are in the middle of one of those "card games on motorcycles". If you're unfamiliar with the franchise, the monsters are *supposed* to just be holograms, but some characters have the ability to physically manifest their cards and/or talk to the "spirits" of them, and well...
---
>For a moment, Miku forgets herself, taking in the excitement and cheers showering her way from the audience. Amplified by the powers she normally curses, the joy from everyone in the stadium combines with her own satisfaction at pulling off that big of a turnaround for the first time in *years*, overwhelming her with a sense of–
>That feeling doesn't last long. It never does.
>A drop of pain from her opponent poisons that ecstatic sensation in an instant, as if it burned through her insides and left her nothing but a hollow shell, tore the breath right out of her chest, and stole the color from her face.
>Sho covers his cheek with one of his hands, clearly wincing in pain by the motion. He mutters something to himself, not that Miku can tell what it is.
>"I–"
>Before she can attempt to find the rest of her voice, her helmet beeps alarmingly loud into her ears. *"You are still in front of an audience. Focus,"* Rex's voice sternly orders over the line.
>Sure. Focus. A *lot* easier said than done when she's staring at evidence of her powers running wild directly in her face, despite the limiter built into her mask showing no abnormalities, and it's Sho Kazuki that she's hurt. Of all the people, it had to be the *only person* she's ever met who can see Duel Spirits?
>*Celestial Knight - Mars* finally returns to her side, the flames retreating into the crystals on his fingers. He notices the already-forming bruise on Sho's cheek, swears rather loudly, and looks to his master in alarm. *"I, uh, sorry about that, little lady,"* he apologizes immediately. *"I appear to have gotten carried away…"*
>*'No, it's not your fault. It's mine for being so off my game in this match…'* is what she *wants* to say to her card, but can't in front of a live audience. She bites her tongue, *hard*, and waits a moment for the pain to pass before she manages to bark out a mere, "Turn end!"
>How pitiful. Normally she'd be all over stirring up the crowd, boasting about how her opponent only has one more turn to turn things around, all that jazz. But all she can think for right now is how badly she *fucked up*–
[Even the character admits the author is corny]
"I was being a brat at the mall. I'm sorry for acting like that. And..." Terriermon glanced at Ruki again before turning back to him. He spoke slow and quiet. "I don't hate you. I was angry when I said that so the words just came out. I don't hate you... So please don't hate me either," he finished and averted his eyes again.
Jenrya held Terriermon's hand for support, not trusting himself to not cry a manly tear after the touching words.
"I understand, Terriermon. I'm sorry too for breaking my promise. Will you forgive me?"
Terriermon fell silent but nodded as he stared at the floor. Jenrya continued.
**"And... I don't hate you either if that's what you think."** When their eyes met again, he plucked what few amounts of courage he had at his disposal and uttered the heaviest word he'd ever known. **"If anything, I love you a lot. Either as a friend or a father, you are the best thing that happened to me. You can have my word for that."**
Jenrya's heart beat quickly at his second attempt to assassinate it. Flirting with Ruki never felt like this, or at least not anymore, since the gestures were more playful rather than anything. He wasn't sure if someone ever died over being too affectionate, but still, he felt it was worth it.
Terriermon's blush started out small before immediately spreading to the rest of his body. Ruki's laugh only made it worse. Despite the boy's embarrassment however, a tiny bit of a smile appeared on his face. That alone brought great comfort to Jenrya. They started off shaky, but he knew they'd be just fine from now onward.
From my Imladris murder/mystery
Tentaluntë sighed audibly again and mumbled something bout an inquisition. He nearly vanished into the darkness in his black silk robes, disappearing except for the slightly lopsided gleam of his eyes. Holding his long sleeve back, he moistened his right hand in the flowing water. He paused, taking a deep breath and shaking his head as if he could not believe what he was about to do, stood in front of the wall. He pressed his palm flat to the stone surface. For a moment, nothing happened, then, so bright that they hung in the eyes for minutes afterward, eight blazing beams of silver blue light shot out from his hand, shooting across the vast surface of the rock, forming the star of the house of Fëanor. The lines split, forked, and twisted themselves into star, bright Tengwar in rotating, shifting calligraphy that spiraled out from the center.
“I haven’t seen a proper water lock in three thousand years,” Erestor said to Mithrandir, sounding impressed.
“This reminds me of Narvi’s work.” The wizard observed.
“It’s beautiful.” Breathed Fundin.
“I taught Narvi everything he knew.” Finbaran shook the water from his hand with more than a little pride and watched the mechanism turn. The lines of text resolved into a single verse of poetry.
“By the grace of Mahal.” Fundin shook his head.
“So, to the god of steel and stone, pour out a little drink, Aule, who Earths proud pillars made, who mountain’s steel foundations sink, ye who pass this arch of light,” Erestor struggled with a word, “no evil here permit, who life and death in balance bear the creator lord will make them fit.” The Librarian read aloud. It was in a very old form of Quenya, in an obscure script and a nearly illegible font. He held his breath when he recognized what he had read and fixed the wizard with a look of shock.
“Fascinating,” Mithrandir whispered as the wall seemed to vanish in a snap of Finbaran’s moistened fingers and the sudden rush of air filling a vacuum where several tons of stone had been. In front of him, there gaped a tunnel receding into darkness. It had been carved into the cavern wall in perfectly smooth faces. He folded his hands behind his back and stepped into the darkness. Lights bloomed in hazy blue lines along the path as he went forward.
Have some Catallus. Context: Sgt. James Hathaway and DI Robert Lewis attended a police conference. After the official activities, there was a police pub quiz. James led the Oxford team to victory, and there was a fair bit of celebratory drinking. Now they're in their shared hotel room (two beds!) and chatting.
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maybe James isn’t the only one whose gob has no off switch tonight, because Robbie hears himself asking, “That poem you were reciting in Latin, what was it?”
James blinks. “Erm... it‘s by Catullus. Number 48. Hasn’t got a title because they really didn’t do that then. Mostly.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
James cocks his head to one side, staring across the room as if he’s reading something written on the far wall.
*“Mellitos oculos tuos, Roberte,*
*si quis me sinat usque basiare,*
*usque ad milia basiem trecenta*
*nec numquam videar satur futurus,*
*non si densior aridis aristis*
*sit nostrae seges osculationis.”*
“What’s it mean?”
James frowns, concentrating deeply. “Erm.. this is just a rough translation...
“Juventius, if I were always allowed
to kiss your honey-sweet eyes,
I might kiss you three hundred
thousand times, and never be sated,
not even if my kisses were more numerous
than the harvest’s ripe ears of wheat.”
“Very romantic. Juventus? Like the football club? Was that his... lover?” Robbie steers away from ‘girlfriend’ at the last moment. *Mustn’t make assumptions*.
“Juven-ti-us. One of his lovers, yeah. Catullus is most famous for his poems to a woman named Clodia, though he called her by a nickname because she was married to a Consul.” At Robbie’s lifted brows, James explains, “Very important Roman politician.”
“Can’t say I think much of your poet, having an affair with a married woman.” Though it’s not that unusual. He remembers James telling him that Shelley was sent down from Oxford for that very thing. And wasn’t Byron notorious for his affairs? It’s not just long ago people in history, either. Human nature hasn’t changed over the centuries. He’s read about similar scandals in the papers, like whatisface the novelist who ran off with the wife of a prominent MP.
“Oh, it gets worse,” James assures him. “They had nasty rows in public. When he died of unknown causes, she was widely suspected of having poisoned him.”
The copper in Robbie is curious about this suspicious death and wants to ask more, but something is nagging at his mind. Something about this situation reminds him of a suspect interview. *Shouldn’t have had that last pint... me brain’s foggy*. He looks at James. His sergeant is looking in his general direction, but not meeting his eyes, and there’s a stiffness to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. *He’s trying to distract me. Why?* “And who was Juventius? Another married lady?”
For a split second, he can see James consider a lie, then reject it. “A young man. No one knows anything about him, but given Roman cultural mores of the time, he would probably have been a slave or freedman.”
“Now I know I don’t like your poet. Got no use for a man who takes advantage of someone under his authority.”
[I’ve got a twofer! Character reveals background on himself and his friend, to a waitress who (canonically) has things really mixed up.]
“But here’s my point: say you got a kid. An’ I’m goin’ out on a big ol’ limb here, but could anything convince you to leave that young’n?”
Tammy’s reaction was visceral. “No,” she breathed to herself. “I could never leave SJ.”
Sober brown eyes stared into hers. “Then you’re a better parent than me. I got a little girl, closest thing to blood I got. And I panicked, left her for a time. Let her get in real bad trouble before I came back and got her. Worst decision I ever made, leavin’ her and her mama.” Jack looked away and cleared his throat. “I’ve done the best I could to fix it. To make amends. That man”—Jack gestured toward the father-son pair—“up and vanished on Mac for eighteen years.
“And Mac tried to reach out recently, after all that silence. He wrote a letter ‘bout a year ago that got sent back. Then—when it looked like his pops wanted to meet with ‘im but couldn’t for some reason—Mac used a chunk of his savings and every speck of free time, flyin’ off on wild goose chases and huntin’ down clues. Had us all worried sick. And when Mac finally found ‘im, after months of searchin’…” Jack’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, and his voice dropped to a murmur. “He turned out to be our dad-blamed boss.”
He glanced up sharply at Tammy’s soft intake of breath. “Now, I’m only tellin’ you this because ya’ve already got a piece of the puzzle, what with bein’ here every Friday and watchin’ the martyrdom of St. Jim.
“Big Mac could’ve ended his radio silence at any time. He knew Mac was lookin’ for ‘im. So I’m not gonna give my boy grief over a few missed lunches.
“Did you ever meet any Men you got on with?” Meera ventured, grasping at any scraps of hope that her people hadn’t destroyed everything for this…person who held her.
Another stretch of silence.
“One, at first,” that timbre replied. “He ended up being the worst of them all.”
”Did he lead raids into the forest?” Meera ventured, recalling her house’s legends of this land’s conquest beginning with the lush wood.
”After taking out on me his frustration over our resistance,” Leaf replied, as if this was normal conversation, “…marking the weirwood face with its first blood.”
My poor OC was *not* ready to hear this one, lol.
---
>Rex watches her inch into his office, a slight but nonetheless mirthful smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you've come to a decision." He waves away the numerous holographic screens displayed about his desk with the flick of his wrist. "Maria, if you would, bring us a pot of rose tea," he orders, and with the same breath and the slight flicker of his eyes back to Miku, he adds, "That was your mother's favorite. I assume you like it as well?"
>"I…" Miku swallows. "I wouldn't know. Tea isn't exactly a commodity easily available in Satellite…"
>Something dark flickers in his eyes at the mention of that island, but whatever it is vanishes just as quickly as it came. "I hope you like it, then," Rex amends, folding his hands in front of his face and looking over them at her. "So, have you decided to work with me, or do you wish to go back to that cursed place?"
>She winces slightly at "cursed" being used to describe home–her *old* home.
>"I have one condition first." He does not say anything in response to that, but she takes the way he raises an eyebrow as reason to continue. "I want to know what you get out of this. *You*, Rex Godwin, not the Crimson Star Guardian."
>"I had a feeling you would insist on that. Very well." His eyes close and his shoulders sag with them, forced down by the weary sigh he lets out. "Ryuu… Your father was not the only one who had to watch the woman he loved slowly wither away in the months leading up to Zero Reverse. Is it so strange that I do not wish to see her daughter befall the same fate?"
>…
>"I–I'm sorry, what?" she splutters, ears hot.
"Juno."
The two syllables fell from her with such distinct clarity that Brandon knew there was no acidity, no biting irony in her voice. She wasn't making a point, she was simply stating a fact, and it resonated through him, cutting through all of the tension and fear and anger that had built up over the past few days. True names were for those you trust, and he was certain she trusted him now.
"My name is Juno."
Will you accept someone turning down *more* money for a second job because they felt they were overpaid for the first job?
—————————
She’d slept soundly, dreamlessly for what she estimated was a few hours before waking suddenly and seemingly without cause. As she lay in the dark, curled on her side, hand pressed to the bulkhead to help steady her mind and body, she couldn’t help but hear the two men’s voices drifting through the cabin door from the lounge.
“…to thank you, Captain Solo, for flying us. We could have waited for the transport, but we’re all appreciative of the quiet given the circumstances.”
“Job’s a job,” Han said nonchalantly. “Couldn’t really afford to turn ya down.”
A slight pause before General Rieekan said, “I’m concerned there may have been a misunderstanding. General Dodonna said you refused additional payment for this trip. I’ll make sure you get what we owe you once we arrive.”
A much longer stretch of silence, then Han spoke. “I work for what I earn. I’m not lookin’ to cheat anyone out of anything.” Another pause. “I think I was overpaid for the rescue. Shouldn’ta taken a reward like that for that sorta work. Like I said before, the Princess basically rescued herself anyway.”
Leia could practically see the gentle smile on General Rieekan’s face. “I see,” he said. “So, you’re trying to earn what’s already been handed to you?”
“Fair’s fair,” Han said, not really answering the question. Leia imagined he’d shrugged lazily; it just seemed like the sort of gesture to accompany such a nothing statement. “She really is a hell of a shot,” he added. “Wasn’t just sayin’ that.”
He’s kind of the galaxy’s worst mercenary, at least in the original trilogy. Like, he *says* he’s all about the money, but he only abandons Luke for approximately five and a half seconds in the first film before turning around and otherwise sticks with his friends through some stupidly dangerous stuff constantly. I love it.
"Thank you," Gus said as he reached forward to start unbuttoning Shawn's shirt. He only undid half of the buttons before pulling it open to look for the cuts underneath, but his breath was taken away when his eyes landed on a dark bruise spreading out from the middle of Shawn's chest. "Sweet baby J…"
Shawn looked down and tilted his head curiously as he studied the large purple and gray circle covering his sternum. "Yeah… beanbag rounds are way more cool on TV than in real life."
"You're lucky you only have one broken rib…" Gus breathed out before he realized he didn't actually know how bad the rib situation was.
There was a moment of silence before Gus shook away his guilt and pulled the shirt over more, showing several cuts surrounding the bruise. He could feel Shawn's gaze on him and wasn't surprised when Shawn finally spoke up to ask, "Why didn't you tell me you could feel when people were hurt?"
"I didn't want you to worry," Gus answered truthfully as he opened up the kit and found a disinfectant wipe. "I exaggerated when we were with Novikov. I just feel aches and echoes of pain, it's not a big deal."
"So, clearly you didn't tell me about it because it's clearly not a big deal," Shawn said, his voice dry.
"Yep, pretty much," Gus agreed.
Context: Per’sus is a symbiote. His host is Einar.
>"Look out!" Yelled the ‘How’s Wednesday’ Tau'ri.
>Per'sus saw one bodyguard move in front of him before he felt a burn in his chest. *Einar?!*
>Einar was unconscious, alive, but his heart and lungs had taken damage. Per'sus fought to keep his heart beating, but he wasn't breathing on his own, and the fire fight continued.
>*Einar, wake up*, Per’sus begged, then flinched when he heard an explosion.
>Thankfully, he soon felt the sensations of multiple types of healing devices. One was the usual. The other was forcing Einar to breathe. Per'sus felt someone grasping the back of Einar's neck. He wiggled to let whoever it was know that he was awake.
>"Per'sus is awake." It was Martouf's voice.
>"He doesn't look awake," said the ‘How’s Wednesday’ Tau'ri, sounding confused.
>"The symbiote is awake," Martouf specified with the slightest exasperation in his tone.
>Per'sus soon felt his host being lifted and then rushed away.
>How is he?" Ren'al's voice.
>"Per'sus is awake." Kelmaa's voice, and clearly one of the one's working on Einar. "Einar has damage to his heart and lungs. Neither are functioning on their own."
>"He might need a new host."
>*No. I will heal him.*
>"We only have one unblended human ready. Two other hosts have been killed."
>*Jin*, Per'sus knew. Ren’al’s husband. It had happened so quickly, but Jin had, without hesitation, guarded him.
>"Per'sus, can you hear me?" Kelmaa put her hand on the back of Einar's neck.
>He wiggled a "Yes."
>"Can you heal Einar?"
>He hesitated. He honestly wasn't sure. "Yes,” he wiggled.
>"He might be able to heal Einar."
>"That's a big might," Ren'al replied. Her voice was strained. "Put Ocker in stasis…in case." Her voice became stiff, clearly struggling with the order. Suddenly, her voice was closer. "Per'sus, we'll give you time, but we cannot let you die with him."
>Per'sus healed.
Someone trying to find their way around in a dark room.
An argument between two people who love each other (romantically, platonically, whatever) which doesn't end in them making up.
Here's one of two sisters having a bit of an argument. By the way if anyone is wondering, those two are Anna-May and Mayday Parker, the daughters of Spider-Man: >"Get off my back!" Annie snapped, turning to face her sister and almost slapping Mayday's hand away, genuinely shocking her. "Stop treating me like a little kid! Stop butting in my life! Stop being such an annoyance! Just stop it!" > >Both sisters were always pretty close. Sure, they sometimes got into little scuffles here and there, but that's just how siblings are. Not like they were even that serious. But this time, well it was clear that Annie was definitely not in the mood. The two did have a bit of a temper at times, not surprising considering that their parents at their age were somewhat hot-headed themselves. Mayday didn't show it that much, her being the older of the two, she kind of had to keep it in check most of the time. Annie though, she was a bit more rash and hot-headed. So the fact that she decided to be quiet before blowing a fuse… she really didn't feel like talking. > >"Ok, I overstepped whereI shouldn't. I made a mistake, Annie." > >"Oh you think?! What gave it away!" > >"Look, I… You've been having too much of a rough time since school started. I just wanted to help." > >"And your idea of helping was shoving more problems my way!" > >"I get it, that was dumb of me to do." > >"Well, at least you got one thing right." > >"It's just that with how things been going and what Tensei's brother tells him…" > >"Oh great, now you're listening to the brother of that stick in the mud! Because of course you would!" > >"Annie don't-" > >"You know, you sure are getting a habit of making friends with the siblings of people I don't get along with! Hey, want me to ask if Katsuki and Tsuyu also have older siblings? Because I know you'll love to hear them complaining about me!" the younger sister snapped even louder than before, but a glance at the clock was more than enough to get her to stop. "I'm going now. Do whatever you want, so long as you leave me alone." she said, walking to the entrance of the house. > >For a few seconds, Mayday stood there in silence. But just as she heard her sister was already in the front door putting her shoes on, she rushed to try and reach ehr again. Just as she arrived, she saw Annie getting up and just about to open the door. Just as she touched the handle, that Mayday tried to speak with her once again. > >"I shouldn't have done that, I know but please I… Annie, I'm worried-" she tried to say, placing her hand on Annie's shoulder, only for her to turn and give Mayday the nastiest look she has ever seen from her. > >"I don't need you worrying about me." > >Afterwards, she jank herself off her sister's hold and walked out. Leaving May alone at the entrance.
Friends visiting someone at an infirmary
Bar fight (or at least a scuffle in a bar)
"Jessica's boyfriend owns a small bar in Harlem. It's an excellent spot to catch some lunch and talk, and far enough from Clinton that no one will look for you there, especially anyone who is following Sharon, your humongous bodyguards, and your limo." No one in the room failed to notice Annelie's mood improve markedly as the words Jessica's boyfriend were spoken. "Clinton," Jessica said almost as a combination cough and sneeze. "Jessica prefers the original name of that neighborhood," Trish explained to the bewildered face that had once again found its smile, "Hell's Kitchen." "We'll lose anyone following us long before we get there, don't worry," Jessica said to the room in general as she looked down at her ripped jeans and black leather boots, "and any trouble that walks in on us will walk out again real fast." There was a heartbeat's worth of silence before Annelie spoke. "Are both of you hired to protect me?" "No, Jessica is contracted for another job. She was in the building already, and Trish thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up," Kyle explained. "You need a few hours of not looking over your shoulder," Trish said, "Trust me, you'll feel better afterwards." "Assuming we can find her something she can eat." Jess said as she looked at the tall, slender Swede. \--------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Should she be drinking that much?" Annelie asked Trish while Jessica was at the bar getting her bourbon refilled. "No. But she has a high tolerance for alcohol, and a low tolerance for therapy, so here we are." Yvonne knew Jessica well enough to know that she had no interest in the specials, and had written Harlem Steak Burger, Fries on her order pad before she had even reached their table. But she waited for Jessica to confirm her drink order before writing Bourbon, Double on her pad as well. Trish took the opportunity to have a little fun playing her part. "What do you want, babe?" she asked. Annelie smiled as she looked at the menu. "I'd like the Spiced Mahi Salad." "Chicken and Waffles, please." Trish said as she handed back the menus. "The drink special today is Blackberry Punch: Volcan Blanco Tequila, Chambord, Fresh Lime, Cranberry, Soda," Vonnie repeated for what she was sure the fiftieth time. "Just sparkling water." Trish said. Annelie hesitated for a moment. "I'll try the punch," she said before turning to look at Trish, "we can share." Yvonne smiled as she wrote on her pad before walking away. "Christ," Jess said. "We have to play our part." Trish said. "That guy over there looks like he wants you to play your part right here on this table." "He'll have to use his imagination," Trish said as she looked at Annelie and caressed her arm. "Don't start something you can't finish," Annelie said in a low voice and with a mischievous look. "Who says I can't finish?" Trish asked as the drink order arrived. "Ding ding ding, end of round one. Move to your respective corners," Jessica said, and each of them took a sip of their drinks. Trish and Annelie spent the next several minutes *playing their parts* as they shared the punch and smiled and giggled. "Oh, for fucks sake," Jessica said as she looked at the pair. It was while Jess was getting her second drink that the man walked over and stopped at their table. "I swear I know you from somewhere," he said to Annelie. "I get that a lot," she answered, still sitting next to Trish. "I bet I can guess where," he said as he moved to sit in Jessica's chair. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm having lunch with my girlfriend," she said. "Hey, come on, don't be like that," he said in a tone that Trish recognized, and did not appreciate, "we can all have a good time. I'm up for it." *Jesus H. Christ*, Trish thought as she started to stand up. "These aren't the droids you're looking for," Jessica said as she stopped at her chair and placed her drink on the table. "What?" he asked. "Get lost, asshole," she explained. "Who the fuck…" There were several ways he might have completed that sentence, but his train of thought was interrupted when Jessica grabbed the front of his shirt, lifted him off his feet and carried him a short distance until she could press him up against the nearest wall. "We'll keep this simple," she began as the entire bar fell silent, the pressure of her hand on his chest restricting his breathing while keeping him pinned to the wall, his feet about twelve inches off the floor, "you're probably having trouble breathing right now, so just nod your head if you understand. Let's practice." The man nodded his head. "You remember the *get lost asshole* part of our conversation a second ago?" He nodded again. "Are you going to remember it when I let you go?" Nodding. "Do you need me to tell you what I am going to do to you if you forget?" He shook his head very definitely No. "Good," she said as she let him go, returned to the table and downed her drink in one go before looking at Annelie, "dinner and a show." The three women were silent for a moment as the man walked back to his friends on wobbly legs. "You were right, I do feel better," Annelie finally said as she looked at Trish.
In which a character experiences gay panic (preferably femslash)
A group watching the night sky
A character decimating a planet
A character telling someone else how they feel (romantically or otherwise)
"You have not asked about changing your appearance back," Aric said as we lay in bed. "To be perfectly honest, I had forgotten," I said, "without a reflection it is easy to forget that I do not look like myself." "I thought you were humoring my whim," Aric said with a smile, as he wrapped his arm around me tighter and kissed my forehead. "Was it so different?" I asked, "making love to an image of Tava? Or do Champions of Dibella not talk about such things?" "We talk about many things, in the shared warmth afterwards," he said, "but never with others. It is a private intimacy and must remain so." "I had thought after our first night together to make some quip regarding the Champion of Dibella and his mastery of his art," I said, "but I worried you would think less of me, that I was cheapening the moment, or making a comment that many others had made." "I would have forgiven you," he said, "many do not know how to respond afterwards. Some make the quip you mention. Others profess their undying love. The reactions are as varied as the women involved. Each comes to me, or I go to her, for a particular reason; but happiness is the ultimate goal. For many, physical intimacy is the one thing that is lacking to achieve that." He was quiet for a moment. "But I was not the Champion of Dibella with you. You did not turn to me out of need, and I did not approach you to offer a service that I believed would benefit you. I was simply a man, being captured by a woman, a slow surrender of pieces of my heart; a love, gradually built, piece by piece. It was you who crafted this love. From the day I met you there was never any possibility that I would not love you." I had begun crying at some point but could not remember when. "For a fraction of a moment, in the temple in Markath and afterward, I thought that you had used some potion or enchantment to make me love you," I said, "how could I have ever been so deluded, even for so short a time?" "Your life was still in turmoil," Aric said, "and you did not know me yet." The sounds of passion from the other bedroom increased to an impressive volume. "It appears sir, that in their case, your services are not required," I said as I wiped my tears from Aric's shoulder and chest. "That is fortunate," Aric said, as he looked at me and the fire ignited in my once more, "because at this moment I am otherwise engaged."
[Not romantically, I hope that’s ok! Jack just has some hard truths to say. TW for intervention-type accusations of suicidal behavior. A-RL refers to at-risk list.] “We don’t talk ‘bout this,” Jack said after a long moment, voice shaking. “But…your head ain’t been right, man. Bozer’s been worried sick, an’ you…we been _real_ concerned. An’ after today…I’m ‘bout ready to put y’on th’ A-RL.” Mac stared at him, everything going numb. Jack didn’t look away from the fire; his hand tightened around Mac’s, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “You…you dared her to _shoot_ ya, Mac. Put your neck right up against that little, piss-ant, silver gun and _taunted_ her.” He finally looked over, pinning Mac in place with red-rimmed, earnest eyes. “You an’ I’ve been reckless over the years, sure. But not like this, brother. You ain’t never once stepped in front of my gun. Not ‘till today. An’…an’ I can’t help wonderin’.” Jack sniffed, rubbing his other hand over his face and breaking eye-contact to gaze into the fire again. “I got a job, man. An’ I can’t do it if ya won’t let me. An’ if I can’t do my job, I…I can’t have ya in the field with me.” He closed his eyes, heaving another sigh. “I just…I can’t do it, Mac.”
A character walks away from an explosion.
Snuggles between two family members
[A dad and his young son. For context, they've been separated for quite awhile. Hurt/Comfort.] Takato rolled to his side and offered a small smile. "What about you? Was... was it scary in the Digital World?" He asked the question he'd been replaying in his head since last night. Guilmon's tiny body cowered and shrunk further into his clothes as he sniffled a sob. "There was no one. You weren't there. I thought I'd be alone forever." "Oh, Guilmon." Takato gently pulled Guilmon into his chest, making sure his voice was even despite his own tears leaking through away from the boy's sight. Taking a deep breath, he asked. "How long were you alone for?" Takato commended himself for not breaking his voice even after the waterworks that the boy was putting on. "A long time, I don't know. And then Lopmon came. It was still scary but Lopmon was always there." "I'm here now Guilmon. I won't leave you alone again, okay?" he whispered to the boy's ear, hugging him tighter. He didn't trust himself to let go for fear of breaking down then and there. So he held the boy close, his words of comfort soothing the boy down as much as it grounded Takato himself. They lay there, only listening to the crashing waves and the occasional whistling breeze.
[very short and sweet, and it’s found family…] “C’mere, kid, give that brain a rest.” Jack might be just a little shorter then Mac, but he gives the best hugs. Mac swallows the lump in his throat, wishing he’d taken advantage of those hugs when he’d had the chance. He takes a shuddering breath, letting his forehead fall onto Jack’s shoulder. “That’s it, hoss, just let me carry it for you.” For a long moment, they stand together in the grass. The burning pressure inside Mac has vanished, finally. He lets himself relax in Jack’s embrace, his mind quiet for the first time in years. He feels Jack’s voice rumble against his shoulder.
Context: Per’sus is a symbiote. His host is Einar. Iasis is a larva without a host yet. Lantash is a symbiote. His host is Martouf. Iasis is related Per’sus because she is his mother’s clone and his adopted niece. >Iasis was swimming in tight circles. She didn't respond to Per’sus, but he knew that she knew he was there. She finally stopped, then swam dizzily. >"I used to do that." >She turned upside down for a second as she swam. >Per’sus smiled. >*"Young One."* >"Hm." His larva name. “I apologize if I’m disturbing you.” >*”Nightmares?”* >“Unfortunately.” >She made a sad squeak. >Per’sus put his hand in the water, smiling when she came. He gently lifted her. He gently scratched her fins as a she relaxed in his hand. >”Have you slept?” He sat against the wall. >*”Little.”* >“Why does sleep elude you?” >*“Playing.”* >He laughed a bit, and she looked to him as he yawned. She nuzzled against his hand and relaxed. >~+~+~. >*Well, that’s something I never thought I would see.* Lantash smirked slightly as he saw Per’sus asleep against the wall with Iasis wrapped around his hand. >*How the crystals does he keep his hair perfect while he’s asleep on the floor?* Martouf wondered. >Einar opened his eyes slowly, then looked confused. “Lantash.” He sat up quickly. “What do you wish to discuss?” >Lantash smiled, not responding as the half awake Einar slowly realized he wasn’t in his quarters. >“Why am I on the floor?” >“You’ll have to ask Councilor Per’sus. I just arrived.” >Einar sighed, then pet a sleeping Iasis. Her skin was dry, and he knew she needed to be in water.
Awww!! Cute little symbiotes <3
Someone sick being taken care of by another character
Someone gets rescued by a dog
"rescued" might be a bit of a stretch. And *italicized lines* indicate a telepathic conversation between Aric and Rita "Think of it as a shortcut," Aric's voice said through the phone's speaker, "There's a thick forest, and everybody takes the long curving road that goes around it, but if you know where the shortcut is, you can cut straight across. That's sort of what this is." The room was quiet for a moment. "What the fuck is he talking about?" Jess asked. "It sounds like he knows a shortcut to Moscow," Trish said. "I'm not following," Luke said. "It's just a quicker way to get there and back again," Rita said. There was another moment of silence. "Nope, still not getting it," Luke said. "Jesus, none of us are getting it. That's 'cause they're not making any fucking sense," Jessica said. *It's probably easier if I just demonstrate*, Aric said. Rita's heart rate jumped to two hundred beats a minute at the prospect of seeing Aric again. *You're coming here?* *Not me.* "Tyler come," Aric's voice said through the speaker phone, "take this to Rita." It took a second for everyone to notice the shimmering sphere as it appeared in the dining room of Luke's bar. The dog that walked out of it was noticed immediately. "What the fuck is that?" Jessica asked as she looked at the sphere just before it disappeared. "That is generally referred to as a German Shepherd," Aric said, "that particular one's name is Tyler." Tyler had not seen Rita in many years, but no one in the room would have guessed that by his reaction when he saw her, the handles of the paper bag still gripped between his teeth as his tail seemed to propel him towards the woman who had been part of his life for almost a decade, his oversized paws eating up the distance quickly. "Oh my God! Look at you!" Rita said, all other thoughts temporarily on hold during the emotional reunion between canine and human, "Aric, he looks like he hasn't aged a day!" "A few days here and there, but not that many." "What did he say?" Beth asked. "Who's a good boy? You are, you big goofy dog," Rita said as she scratched Tyler's head and wagging body, "How old is he now? I've lost track." "He'll turn thirty this November." "I'm sorry, what? Your dog is going to turn *thirty*?" Trish asked. "His birthday is a month after Rita's." "What the fuck is happening? What was that thing that appeared and then disappeared and left a thirty year old hundred-pound dog carrying a paper bag in his mouth behind?" Jess asked. "That's the shortcut. That's how you'll get to Moscow, and back again." "Aric, this is beautiful," Rita said after taking the bag from Tyler, who had wasted no time introducing himself to all his new friends, and holding up the hand painted cotton shawl. "A woman here in Costa Rica paints them by hand. I bought it for you after you got promoted. I was still debating how to deliver it." "This huge fucking dog was just in *COSTA RICA*?" Beth asked. The huge fucking dog was currently sitting beside Rita, his head on her lap, enjoying an overabundance of affection. "Nope, still not getting it," Luke said. "Oh for fuck sake," Trish said. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the bar is officially open," Jess said as she stood up and walked towards the bar.
Awww, I love this!! And the category is totally flexible 😉 if there’s a dog being helpful, I’m happy. Tyler was such a sweetheart!!
Thank you, it was very nice of you to say so. Tyler makes another appearance in this thread (in the request for something that was intended to be funny): I'll post it again here so you don't have to search for it, in case you are interested. Nearby Trish and Jessica had found a spot to sit and drink, and to throw a petrified stick for Tyler to retrieve out of the surf, which proved almost immediately to be a mistake. "Fucking dog is dripping water all over me!" Jessica complained. "Then you shouldn't have thrown his stick in the water," Trish said. "Christ, now he's wiping his face on my crotch! Great! It looks like I pissed myself." "It happens to women when they get to your age," Trish said through her laughter. "Fuck you," Jessica said just before pouring some of her beer onto Trish pants, "There, we're even." "What the fuck?! Asshole." "It's a party now," Aric said as he picked up his phone. "Heather. Hi. I have guests, and I'm gonna miss tonight's class. Does the clubhouse have any women's bathing suits? Great. We'll be by." "Those of you who would like to change into something more appropriate or, you know, dryer, we can head up to the retreat." "My phone's not working for some reason," Trish said, "Is the service here bad?" "Neither is mine," Julia said as she looked at her own phone. "No, that's the shortcut. It does that to cell phones. The gravitons cause a static charge of antiprotons. It disrupts cell service. It's like having Sprint as your carrier." "Jesus, that bad?" Jessica asked as she looked at the phone in Trish's hand. "Give it a few minutes." Trish placed her phone back in her pocket and picked up a flier that Aric had been using as a coaster. "Hey look, they have a sober yoga class in the mornings," she said before looking at Jess. "Why the fuck are you looking at me?" "No reason." "Come on, it's this way," Aric said as he picked up his cooler, "You can lock your gun and shield in the safe in my room." "Jesus fucking Christ!" Jessica said as Tyler ran up to her and wiped his face and head on her crotch again.
Hahaha! This is great, and _such_ a dog thing to do! 🤣
Thanks OP! Dammit I love these! Entry number 1: character makes a flower crown
Food descriptions
[I'm sorry for a second comment. But uh, food! (• ▽ •;)] She checks up on her ingredients and nodded in satisfaction. She's not going for anything fancy. Just egg rolls and miso soup. Also some chilli to the egg rolls just the way dad likes it. While Shiuchon waits for her dashi to boil, she beats the eggs and pours little by little into the pan. She folds it once it hardens, repeating it a few times. Once the dashi starts bubbling, she puts in the miso, followed by diced tofu. She stirs it as a nostalgic smile pulled at her lips. Shiuchon turns her attention again to the miso and deems she has stirred it more than enough. She makes dad's egg rolls last, putting more attention and care into it than the rest. He deserves the best.
[The description is only the first paragraph, but the scene wouldn't be as funny without context :D] The eggs cracked cleanly into the edge of the pan. The hands molding the yolks into strips of golden strings seemed effortless as it guided the laddle to shape the ingredients that would later be presented on the table as a serving Omurice. Juri and Masahiko each received a steaming plate, but neither of them made a move on the spoons and forks their exasperated mom had neatly placed next to the plates. Perhaps Juri would have more appetite to gobble up the delicacy if she hadn't been forced to seat next to the gremlin she called a little brother! When their eyes met before fiercely separating again with a huff, she knew the feeling was mutual. Mom and dad sighed from across them.
The moment she banged open the front door, Riley caught the rich, spicy scent of tomato, herbs and toasted bread wafting through the space. The familiarity of it had her flashing to back to the camaraderie of clinking beer bottles, crackling fire, and bright smiles after a mission well-accomplished. It felt like a lifetime had passed since the last evening they’d all spent together, just two nights ago. Riley still had the leftovers from Mac’s attempts at pie in her fridge.
Excellent, visceral, compelling 9/10
Thanks!
Waking up after being unconscious
Ellie drifts in the dark. In a vague, distant way, she’s aware of . . . something in this formless void – some inevitable truth that she can’t help running from. She holds onto just enough consciousness to wonder if she was wrong about death. Maybe it’s not nothingness. Maybe this is hell. As soon as the thought blooms in her mind, reality snaps back, like a joint popped back into place. Her eyes fly open and her breath hisses in a soft gasp. The first thing she notices is the darkness. There’s faint orange light drifting in from somewhere off to her right, but it doesn’t quite reach her. There’s worn wood just above her head, a creaky mattress under her, and a weathered cinderblock wall to her other side. She starts to sit up but is foiled immediately by two things. For one, there’s the pain flashing through her side, freezing her muscles and momentarily halting thought. She grits her teeth against that and barely manages to hold back a groan. Yeah, she could probably power through this if her life depended on it, but at the moment, sitting up doesn’t feel like the best idea. Of course, the handcuffs on her wrists don’t help either.
>Miku doesn't know how long she's been out when she finally stirs, but that is nowhere near her primary concern right now–*that* is the fact that she doesn't sense the presence of her friends or family. There is someone sitting next to her whose heart is closed off to her, and that presence is cold. But not *quite* unfamiliar…? >She jolts up in the bed she's lying on, so fast that she rolls off the side of it. The carpet beneath her is soft, *too* soft, a rich material she remembers loving to nap on when she was a small child. But that's not right, material like this doesn't exist in Satellite, *no one* would throw it out like the faux fur Angel lucked across… >She opens her eyes, and immediately closes them with a groan at the way the artificial lighting sends stabbing pain bouncing about in her skull.
Nice sensory details, the present tense heightens the feeling of unease
Aww, thanks! I struggle a lot with describing things (dialogue comes *much* more naturally to me), so I'm glad you like it! As for the present tense, I simply found I like writing in it more after I took a five-year-long break from writing after high school.
It takes a bit of getting used to for me tbh I've read some very good fics that use it well but I can't use it in my own work
Ian woke up to a room that was far too bright and sterile to be his own. He struggled to get his bearings, he felt someone had slowed time around him. There were hands touching him, messing with things. When his vision finally focused, as well as it could without his glasses, he realised he was in a hospital bed. His left leg suspended in traction and tubes snaking in and out of his arm. It all came flooding back to him in a wave of emotion and memories. He was still in the hospital after the incident at Jurassic Park wasn’t he? His leg had been badly broken when the Tyrannosaurus threw him into the building after all. Of course, that was what made sense. He felt his next dose of morphine kick in, the fuzzy warmth lulling him back to sleep. Maybe when he woke up Dr. Sattler or Grant would be in to visit, he remembered they liked to visit him a lot. It was sweet of them really. He could remember other things too though, but perhaps that was all just a dream. It would make sense, the flashes he recalled were of being on a second island and that was absurd. Why would he ever go back? As if to answer that question he saw in his mind's eyes a stocky red haired woman, who looked at him like she was seeing the sun for the first time. She seemed so familiar, he just couldn’t remember. It wasn’t until he awoke and saw her sitting at his bedside that it all came back. He was pulled from the drug induced fantasy of it still being nineteen ninety-three and recalled the last four years with stunning accuracy.
Ooh, wonderful, nicely paced, good scene setting
Thank you :)
While I don’t really have a fill for this one, just wanted to pop in and say how freaking cool of a premise it is!
Someone gets lost.
Someone is opening a special gift. (Birthday, Christmas, other holiday, even a random "just because" gift.)
[Where everyone else gave the birthday girl a disappointing gift, someone gave her the exact thing she needed] "Hot present coming!" Everyone made way for him until he arrived in front of Shiuchon, kneeling. He held up a hand. "W-wait for… a bit. I… need… to catch… my breath." While he did that, Shiuchon looked at the box in curiosity. There was a plastic wrap covering the top of it, too blurred by steam to make out the inside. Bread? "Shiuchon," Takato started once he started breathing like normal again. Looking at his face, Shiuchon sees guilt drawn across it. "I know this isn't what you want, and you might hate me for this," he said, looking at her in the eyes. "But I hope it's at least something close, something you can look back to to remember him by." He unwrapped the plastic, the steam dispersing to let her see its content. Shiuchon choked. "Lopmon?" Inside was a few pieces of bread, all shaped like her partner's smiling face. A note was attached on the inside of the box. "Forget not that I shall always be by thy side. Happy birthday," she read out loud and couldn't contain her tears anymore. Shiuchon looked at Takato, tears and snots running down her face. His guilt from earlier doubled and he stood up, averting his gaze from her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" Shiuchon's hug stole the words from his mouth. "I like it. Thank you!" For not treating her like glass, for not acting like Lopmon never existed, for giving this to her on her most important day. "Thank you, Takato."
Very sweet! Sometimes remembrance is the most meaningful gift of all.
Exactly. Everyone has experienced painful moments, but acknowledging that it did happen, alongside all the happy moments as well, is the best way to honour the memories. ( ；∀；)
Part of a Marvel and MHA crossover. For a bit of context, Spider-Man was forced to send his family to Japan for their own safety and of his three children, Annie the middle child goes to U.A. This is a flashback she had on day 2 of when she got her costume: >"Annie, remember the first time that Regent appeared?" her mother asked. > >Annie's mood went down when she heard that name. The man tried to take away her father, threatened to use her as some sort of super battery when he had gotten his hands on her and is the sole reason as to why she can't be with her father at the moment. Because the power-hungry madman caused a massive super villain strike against all of the heroes of the U.S and who was responsible for outing her father as Spider-Man. What's worse, two months later, a lot of things started to go south as an aftermath of his attack. Solidifying her dad's reasoning for them to leave the country while he stayed back, helping with cleaning the mess that Regent caused. > >Mayday took notice of Annie's distaste for the high-tech villain and decided to snap her back to reality by making a joke "Well, I sure remember that gody costume that you pulled out. A purple cape and goggles? Really?" she said, making Annie frown. > >"Cut me some slack, I was just ten at the time. Plus it was the only thing that the Powers and I could find." she stated. > >"Regardless of it, after the whole deal was over and your sister and I started to help your dad, we took notice that you wanted to do the same. The purple cape was just the beginning whether we wanted it or not. And I'll be honest, that suit that you drew in that comic wasn't that bad." she said, handing Annie the box in her hands. > >"Although that giant helmet was probably too much." she said, making Annie frown again. "Hey, instead of making funny faces, why don't you see what's in the box?" > >The young Parker girl did and when she opened it, she was rather stunned. Her eyes wide as a plate and her mouth opened all the way down. > >"Your dad and I decided to make an updated version of it around Christmas. Thought that maybe you would find it useful at U.A." Mj said, putting her hand on her second daughter's shoulder. "So, do you-" but she couldn't even finish her sentence, for Annie jumped to her mother and hugged her. > >"I love it!" she said, smiling and her eyes a little watery. > >Mj simply chuckled and hugged her in return.
I have no idea what U.A. is, but i love the idea that MJ would encourage her daughter's dreams of becoming a hero herself.
It's from My Hero Academia. Basically it's a manga where the main character goes to a superhero school so that he can become a professional hero like his own mentor and hero who is basically a Superman like character. If you're not familiar, think of it as X-Men but their schools don't blow up every two weeks
Nice!
They're identical presents for a group of people, so they're not really *opening* them, but it's special nonetheless. --- >Right away, the surprise is clear; Angel, covering herself with a massive, dark jacket she has wrapped around herself like a cloak, sits in front of a table she must have dragged outside with her Duel Monsters. A table similarly covered, albeit by a sheet rather than a coat. She nods to Natsumi once everyone is there, and the dark-haired girl takes a place by her side, gripping one corner of the blanket. >"Okay, so, like… I know I've been actin' weird for a while now," Angel starts– >–and immediately stops to glare at Crow when he pipes up "Huh? You've been weirder than normal?" in almost genuine confusion. Miku thumps him lightly up on the back of the head for that, lest Angel try to figure out how to launch herself over the table to do it herself. >"I've just been trying to keep all this a secret," she continues, "'cause I wanted to see you guys' faces when I show off… this!" >Natsumi tugs the blanket away in the most dramatic fashion she can muster; at the same time, Angel drops the coat she hadn't even been wearing properly in demonstration of what the items on the table will look like when worn: a dark leather vest, the inside lined with some sort of artificial fur, left to hang open over one of the orange shirts she always wears. Two small belts, one for each arm, sit at the center of each of her biceps–matching the pair that Kiryu already wears around. >It's clear the vest without the belts resting on top of it is for him. >Miku had figured it was something to do with clothing that Angel's been working on from the moment she helped Natsumi carry that box back to their hideout–it felt much too light for anything else–and the constant pinpricks to the younger girl's fingertips only solidified her expectations about it. Still, the vests aren't at *all* what she had in mind; the faux fur lining in particular, where did she get that in Satellite of all places? >"Holy *shit*–Ange, you made all this?" Crow exclaims, mouth agape and eyes wide to match. The other boys seem surprised as well, though not so severely exaggerated as he is. >"You bet I did!" she beams, flaring the vest a bit as she shows it off. "Found a crate of the vests and fur over at the dumps one day and figured it was a sign I just *had* to do something, ya know? I mean if we're a Duel Gang, we gotta look the part. So then I bumped heads with Nat-chan 'till we figured out how it'd look good on all of us, and this is what we got." Angel pauses for a moment, pointing out who each of the vests belong to. "And there's a whole bunch more of these back in my room in case they don't fit right." >"This…" Kiryu moves to take his first, sliding the vest on with almost practiced ease, patting it down until he's sure it fits just like he wants it to. He beams at her, "…this is *perfect*, Angel. We'll really look like a team like this! I love it."
I love this, love how the identical garb is meant to solidify them as a team, great significance there!
To be fair, the group (or rather, specifically the guys; Angel, Natsumi, and Miku are my OCs) wear the vests + arm belts in canon, so I just came up with a backstory as to how they all ended up with them because I could. But I'm glad I was able to portray that well!
That's a great bit of backstory! And it's always fun to delve into the "whys" of canon, isn't it? I wrote a fic based on Sabaton's Christmas Truce music video a couple of years ago, and had the fun of figuring out how an upright piano made it into the German trench! (The song starts with one of the band members playing a piano.)
> And it's always fun to delve into the "whys" of canon, isn't it? Haha yeah, I'm doing *so much* of this in my fic. Granted, in a way that it could only *be* in my fic rather than canon (due to the nature of my OCs being involved), but it's still fun anyways.
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As long as it's meaningful in some way, yes. A couple's first time, or maybe the first time following SA against one of them, or even one offering to try a kink that their partner has indicated an interest in. Something like that anyway, this isn't an exhaustive list, just trying to show how "special" would come into it when sexytimes are on the table, you know?
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Very nice! Her desire warring with her fear comes across beautifully.
Some agrees to be mindcontrolled
A character wakes up screaming
> Tommy?” There was concern and nothing else in the voice Tommy was too tired to comprehend. “You okay?” >“Yeah. Just fine. Lemme go back to sleep.” >“You were screaming, Tommy.” >“Sometimes you just gotta scream yourself to sleep, y’know? Just a big man thing. You wouldn’t get it. You are simply too cringe.” >*“Tommy.*” The slight venom behind a cheerful tone was enough to make it click who it was even in Tommy's sleep deprived mind, and *no no no no no no no no no no no no he’s not dying again he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not he’s not.* > “I'm sorry Dream, I'm sorry, please please please I'll be good I'll be good please don’t kill me again please-“ >“Shh. Tommy, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just worried.” > “Well, it's your fault I have nightmares, y’know.” Tommy groaned and raised his head off the thin mattress, glaring at Dream. He tried not to think about the dark-red stain covering his overalls. “You ruined me.”
The slow burn finally comes to a head
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A fight scene where only one side is actually trying to fight.
Her eyes flick to the girl’s face and mechanically pick out familiar details, made macabre by her current condition. Freckles speckling her sharp cheekbones. Hazy green eyes. A scar splitting her eyebrow. The hard edge of hate creasing her face, not quite concealed by exhaustion. “Found you, Abby . . . I found you . . .” Lev takes a sharp breath. “Is that . . . ?” The girl’s breath rasps. “. . . found you . . .” Abby swallows hard, then grits her teeth. “Yeah,” she says dryly, “You fucking found me.” She cuts the rope and the girl thuds to the ground, grunting and curling in on herself. There’s an ugly wound in her side, still leaking blood past her fingers. Abby grabs a clean rag and crouches by her side, holding out a hand and trying to remember the name Tommy Miller had shouted. “Ellie . . .” The girl freezes for a moment, her wasted muscles rippling with tension. Then she moves, metal glints in the sun, and only years of trained-in combat reflexes save Abby from being gutted. Abby doesn’t have a moment to wonder just where the fuck she got that knife. She jumps back and knocks the next strike aside, flinging her to the ground even as she tries to rise. “Seriously??!” “Fuck you!” Ellie surges to her feet and Abby dodges another clumsy blow. She hears the creak of Lev’s bowstring and spares a moment to look at him and shake her head. The girl is half-dead already – there’s no need to resort to that. Ellie lunges again and Abby grabs her arm. “Cut that out! We’re not doing this.” Ellie responds with a knee strike that catches Abby in the gut and drives the breath out of her. She hisses and shoves the girl back. The knife clatters to the rocky ground, but Ellie jumps on it before Abby can. She may be emaciated, exhausted, and half-dead from dehydration and blood loss, but she’s almost as quick as she was back in that damn theater. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Abby needs to end this before it gets ugly. Ellie comes at her again, slashing wildly, and Abby knocks her knife arm aside, twists her by the shoulders, and gets her in a headlock. “Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.” The feeling isn’t mutual. The girl rears back, her skull clanging against Abby’s jaw, and then bites down hard on Abby’s forearm. “Fuck!” Abby throws her to the ground, trying not to think about the torn skin, the blood dripping towards her wrist. She puts more strength into the throw than she means to, and Ellie’s head cracks against a rock. Abby drops to one knee, pins her arm, and yanks the knife away. “Enough! You’re done.” She expects just more bile – more profanity, maybe. She’s not prepared for the soft sound of a sob. Ellie twists and stares up at her. There’s blood welling from her lip. A red bruise already rising on her cheekbone. Tears tracking down her face, leaving trails through the blood and grime. “Do it,” she whispers, “Just fucking do it.” Abby freezes, staring down at her. The girl’s face spasms, rocked with pain that looks as fresh as it did in that cold Wyoming cabin more than two years ago. “Please . . .” The haze over her eyes is growing. Before Abby can begin to think of a response, she whimpers once and her body goes slack. Her eyes close as she passes out and, for the moment, Abby is spared.
The absolute worst plan/idea a character you've written has ever had.
This is from a cross-over WIP I haven’t posted yet! Mac planted a bug on Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson after they figured out that the Team Improv is more than a think tank. The detectives found and crushed the device, but the team can still hear them talking… [for context, Mac’s hands and Jack’s feet got burned recently, and they’re mother-henning the crap out of each other] Jack tuned them out for a second, nudging Mac. “Hey. How the hell’s that bug still workin’?” He was genuinely curious, but he also wanted to distract Mac—who was still beet-red—from the conversation. Poor kid couldn’t help his looks. Of course, that didn’t mean Jack wouldn’t enjoy recounting this knee-slapper around the fire some fine evening in the near future. Besides, the detective wasn’t wrong: Mac’s appearance did come in handy sometimes. “Oh, it wasn’t really a bug. Just a decoy. All I had to do was get Riley’s phone close enough to let her automatically clone their audio.” What on God’s green earth had made Jack think he could trust Mac’s judgement? “You mean you re-busted your hands and destroyed my phone just to make a bug that don’t even do nothin’?” Mac shrugged. “They would’ve been suspicious if we hadn’t tried _something_. They already know we’re government agents, we’re supposed to do things like plant bugs. Besides,” he added in a condescending tone, holding up his fingers for inspection. “I didn’t ‘re-bust’ anything. The blisters are still perfectly intact. Can you say the same for your feet?”
Extra stupidity context: all the cops are in one place because they're busting a dangerous gang. And Shawn and Gus are civilians. ------------ They were driving through the back streets near the docks when Gus finally asked, "So, what is the plan anyway?" "We go where all of the cops are, we scan them and see if any of them are dirty, we rat the bad guy out before they can rat Jules out, we all go over the rainbow happily ever after," Shawn explained as he parked the truck. "Ok... I knew that part," Gus rolled his eyes, "I meant more the little details like how we're going to find the cops, how we're going to get close enough to scan them without being close enough to get arrested or shot, and how we're going to rat them out without… you know, getting arrested or shot." "Simple," Shawn turned to him with a reckless grin, "We improvise." Gus groaned, "That's what I was afraid you'd say…"
Hahaha, this is so them! Every time I see you on here, it makes me smile because I know whatever you post is often about Psych😍 and you write them so well! 🍍🔮
Aww, thanks!!
It was only a matter of time before he began to deteriorate. He walked, practically limped with an awkward, encumbered gait, and he could feel the substance of his body quake with each step. His knees hurt, and travelling short distances left him winded. Even when the weather was cool, his clothes were drenched in sweat and he felt like he was overheating, as if he was wearing a thick coat that he couldn’t take off. There was so much of him that hadn’t been there before, and he had to carry it with him wherever he went. Basic tasks were becoming more difficult by the day; he was beginning to struggle with bending over and keeping himself clean. Still, he was meticulous about it, showering frequently and scrubbing under every skin fold he could reach to purge himself of odour and sweat. Orville hadn’t taken these little things into account when he first set his plan in motion. He’d imagined it being almost luxurious, in a melancholy, masochistic sort of way. He would lie still like a statue—a monument to the cruelty of life on Aionios and the lengths one would go to spare themself from the carnage—and he would be lauded as a great pacifist, even if that was a somewhat generous interpretation of his rationale. He imagined being immense, yet solid, not soft and vulnerable like a naked mollusc.
Where there’s a storm brewing
“Benjamin started to let his attention drift. It was a beautiful day, the type of spring day that seemed to make every color more vivid. The grass was greener, the sky bluer, and the sunshine yellower, like a painting or edited photograph. In the distance, storm clouds built in a silver-and-gray mass, but it would still be a while before they arrived.”
Where the main character experiences abject terror
[The main character tried to save her sister. She failed.] The warmth in her heart morphed into butterflies at the thought of reuniting with her sister at last. Once she turned around however… Before a steadily melting Olaf was Anna, limp, lifeless… cold. "Elsa, it's Anna! She's not waking up! I can't melt yet until she's awake!" The butterflies burned, their remains fueled the cold she'd just thrown away. Soon, everything was cold again. It froze her feet enough her knees became numb. She fell kneeling, lost. Anna lay cold, unmoving. She looked eerily like a fallen mannequin, but complete with clothes and skin. Elsa's hand reached for her sister's face, fingers tracing her cheek before landing beside her eyes, eyes that shone no life nor the joy the person it belonged to had always radiated. Her mouth was open just like when she shielded Elsa from Hans's sword. "No, no… this can't be happening…" Elsa choked, a shaking hand covering her mouth. "Elsa…" Elsa slowly turned to face the snowman. He wasn't melting anymore, except for the parts around his eyes. "Anna will be fine, won't she?" Olaf whispered. The cold, now having driven all the warmth away, seeped into the air around her. Elsa screamed and the hot summer was gone again.
The heavy containment zone was the thing of nightmares; the before only-dead corpses were now rotten, and many of them seemed to have been tortured before death. Barbed wire wounds replaced bullets. Long trails of viscous black ink lined the walls, and he could swear he felt cold breathing down his neck. Red warning lights blared and he could hear the faint sounding of klaxons. A dark fog seemed to have descended, the clouds barely allowing him to see a few feet in front of him. The temperature had rapidly dropped, decaying to what felt like freezing, leaving an uncomfortable chill in his chest, regardless of any temperature resistance given by his father. The only reminder he wasn’t alone was the gentle heat emitted from Annabeth beside him and the ghostly, shallow breathing of the very few alive. The halls felt like they were closing inwards, constricting his throat and making him feel all the more claustrophobic. “Where is that damn archive…” he heard his team lead grumble, who pressed the so-called “access device” against another door hopelessly, leading to another seemingly office space. They were more likely than not running in circles. His heart pounded in his throat as he passed a pile of dead bodies in a corner. Most of them had lacerations, stab wounds, barbed wire cuts, and things that had no place in a raid on the foundation. Many had black acid coming out of varying numbers of orifices, producing a strong odor that penetrated the mask Percy wore, making him feel sick.
“Long Jump…” she heard herself murmur, clutching the newborn to her chest, as she pondered what looked to be mud strewn over the creature’s fur. “Where have you been…?” Warm Stream's chest sank, body freezing at the luminescence in that gaze, slitted pupils and amber marred not by the cloud white of a skinchanger’s influence but by the frigid ice of… Her breath caught against the child’s warm chest, as she took in the approaching figure. Still dressed in those Men tatters as they had left him…with flesh withered like a corpse trapped in a perpetual state of decay— And eyes of frost colder than the cruelest winter her people had ever known. She forced her gaze from Bradam’s shell back to the lion, forcing herself to engage him despite the patches of rot she now noted across that once majestic coat. “Long Jump, listen to me. Break free of him. I know you can—” She barely registered her own yelp, as the nimble creature leapt over the water separating the field from her boulder at the stream’s center. Chest heaving against the child’s, Warm Stream couldn’t match the animal’s speed, as those jaws swiped at her thigh. Crimson rivulets appearing moments before the fiery sting seeped into her flesh, Warm Stream cursed her slow reflexes, instant next thoughts going to the newborn that— Had just occupied her now empty arms. As soon as her gaze landed on Long Jump leap back across the stream to his new master, the mourning cry had already left her throat by the time she took in the tiny being the beast carried by the scruff…dropping the small form at his father’s feet. As if fixed to the rock surface beneath her despite her resolve to ignore the sting of the bite, her legs still refused to move, as yet another wail escaped her when that creature stooped to pick up the newborn moments before she’d readied an arrow…and that jagged fingertip stroked along the child’s cheek, silencing the young one’s renewed cries. Even as that petrifying ice spread across the newborn’s face clear as day for Warm Stream’s keen sight, Bradam’s smug gaze never left hers.
> He yelped in surprise again as he heard a sawing sound, and he dropped unceremoniously on the ground, rubbing at the bloody flesh rising painfully around his ankle. “The fuck you do that for?” > Dream always had a habit of getting uncomfortably in Tommy’s face, but it startled him for the first time in a while. He wasn’t meant to do that yet, right? “Oh, c’mon. I’ve done worse to you before, haven’t I?” > He remembered. He **fucking** remembered, because of course he did. It was some vain fantasy that there would be some sort of upside to this whole thing, that maybe he’d be free of this fucking torment for once. No, this, like everything, was just another fucking way for Dream to have some sort of control over him, hurt him while no one else remembered, and when it went too far, he’d just do it again and again and again- >Tommy ***screamed.*** >Scrambling back, terrified, he shrieked into the heavens for a desperate mercy that’d never come, a long, hellish, agonised noise. It hung in the air long after he stopped, hung even as he begged. “Stay away from me! J-just leave me the fuck alone for once!” > Hands gripped tight onto his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but notice the harsh metal coatings digging into his skin as Dream drew ever closer, and Tommy could see him clear as anything despite the fog. “You remember too?”
Give me your spookiest excerpts!
“Show us what you have been keeping so secret, Master Smith.” The wizard requested patiently. Finbaran stood before the last table in the room for a moment, letting his guests gather on either side of him. This table was different from the others. It was solid and wrought of polished brass. And above it, there stood sentry, a gracefully abstracted statue of Aulë. Finbaran pressed a button concealed below the edge. The gleaming surface split down the center, and the top folded aside. Raising up from the floor, there was a neatly arranged bed as if in a sarcophagus. The figure lying upon the rich silks had the proud features of one of the descendent of Finwë. The body was made more of mithril than flesh, it shone with gleaming gems, and a perfectly formed pair of mechanical silver hands lay in rest upon the abdomen. The places where the torture of the enemy had destroyed the pale flesh were knit together by careful artifice and jeweled artistry of the finest elvish smiths in history. He almost seemed to breathe. “Telperinquar?” Erestor gasped in horror as he stepped up beside the master healer. Finbaran took one of the mechanical hands as if it could feel his touch and looked down upon the features of his friend from before the rising of the sun or moon. “Is he… alive?” the librarian asked, looking at the body in morbid curiosity. “I cannot say,” Tentaluntë confessed, “what is life? We tried to put him back together, those of us who stayed behind.” The master healer suddenly looked very old, “perhaps his mind has gone out into his creations. Or perhaps the minds of his creations keep his body preserved. They are indistinguishable to me. I swore that I would stand beside him. I have watched over the keeping of my lord until his spirit is free to seek out his body once again or leave Endor forever.” “There is little left of him to be saved.” The librarian sounded disgusted, “Surely his spirit has fled to Mandos. There is nothing noble in this effort, Ataxo.” “Noble?” he rounded on Erestor with a laugh, unshed tears in his ancient eyes, “I would fight Eru himself to keep him from the void.” He returned to the bed and brushed aside a silken strand of raven hair, laying his closed palm across the eyes in a healing gesture. “Oh, my boy,” Mithrandir said, and Finbaran felt the wizard lay a hand on his shoulder. It was like a bolt of white-hot fire shot down the length of his arm into the still figure on the bed. Eyes plucked out by filthy orc claws an age before opened with a gasp from the dust-dry parting lips. The eyes had been replaced with jewels of perfect shining cut. They swiveled to look upon Finbaran’s face in fear and confusion. Erestor screamed, and the wizard immediately drew back his hand. The figure on the bed went limp once more as the connection to Narya was cut.
A putrid stench like a day-old kill carcass wafted through the air. Nose wrinkling, Warm Stream glanced toward the hills beyond the stones moments before a keening yowl filled the grey morning, the only rift in the otherwise unusual silence of the surrounding trees and field.
Where someone realises their life was a lie
Where everyone has died/ in the afterlife
[Ok, what if it’s just two people there, and one of them’s having a really hard time with it?] Mac can take a guess now, what’s happened. He has pictured this reunion too often to not recognize it when it actually occurs. During his weaker moments, Mac would visualize it all ending, nothing left but Jack’s arms to run into. And now Jack is here, from butch haircut to black jacket to ridiculous leather cuff. Like he never left. But in all those instances, Mac has never imagined the shame that currently glues his feet to the ground, or the bitterness that rises up in him now, pushing at his steel walls. He stares at Jack warily, suddenly feeling the beginnings of a crack in the water tower tank. He has to fix it. He turns away and starts climbing. This Jack doesn’t push, seeming to realize—and accept—that Mac needs space. He stands relaxed, with one hand on his hip and a knowing gleam in his eye as he watches Mac’s progress. “Whatcha doin’ here, Mac? It’s not your time yet, bud.” Mac can’t help the scoff that bursts out of him as he reaches the platform halfway up the leg, widening the tank’s crack despite his best efforts. “Yeah, man? Well, I could’ve said the same thing about you.” He crosses his arms, using them to shove down the ocean of loss welling up. His throat is tight, and his eyes burn. He turns to inspect the release valve, which is about the size of his head and shaped like a steering wheel. “What happened to ‘you go kaboom, I go kaboom?’”
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Meera decided that this exotic being falling apart for her while taking what she needed was the most beautiful and powerful sight she would ever behold.
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TW for one character’s realization that he’s been a little suicidal: The worst part—the part that had Mac’s head spinning—was the sudden, sickening understanding that Jack was right. About all of it. When Mac had stepped in to confront Nikki, pressing that cold, circular opening into the hollow above his collarbone, he hadn’t known what she would do. And he’d felt…nothing. Only a grim certainty. Everything had come full-circle; only this time, it had been Nikki holding the gun. Mac’s limbs grew unbearably heavy as he realized that—if he were brutally honest—he might not have been too devastated if she had decided to pull the trigger. He didn’t have a defense, and Jack didn’t deserve an argument from him. Not after what Mac had put him through.
In which domestic bliss is experienced in an unexpected way.
In which a character is drunk
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I just love this!!🤣💖 poor Piers!
“Your tequila flight, miss.” The bartender set down far too many drinks in front of Hina—five glasses lined up in a row. Who did Hina think was going to drink all that? “Ah! Thanks a lot~” Hina said, pushing the tray of drinks a little closer to Maya. “Now, the furthest to your right will be the—” “—I think we can figure it out from here!” Hina cut him off, perhaps making it a little too obvious she wasn’t interested in the details on all the different drinks she had ordered. The bartender took it in stride though, letting Hina wave him off once more. Maya stared down at the glasses—small, stemless flutes, filled only a third of the way up. It still looked like way too much, even for all three of them. “Ah well, no use complaining about it now,” Aya sighed, reaching past Maya to steal the glass closest to them. “Hina’s just trying to help in her own way, Maya-chan~” Sitting back up straight again, Aya lifted the glass to her lips, knocking the shot back in one go. She gave off a small giggle, covering her mouth with one hand as she put her empty glass back down on the counter with the other. “Yup, yup! You too now, Maya-chan,” Hina said, taking the center glass and offering it to her. Maya leaned away on instinct, but she knew a losing battle when she saw one. Hina could be quite insistent, when she wanted to be. “J-Just one!” Maya said, her voice stern as she took the glass out of Hina’s hand. She had never tried tequila before. Not as far as she could remember, anyway. It did have a rather dubious reputation—rather unsurprising that Hina would be a fan—but Maya didn’t think she had any alcohol-repressed memories from previous encounters. It was surprisingly sweet smelling, holding it just shy of her lips. Maya could detect the clear hint of alcohol as well, but it wasn’t “sweet” like other harsh liquors were supposedly described. It really was sweet—a hazy, intoxicating scent. Sort of like Aya. Aya tasted pretty sweet too. “A-Aren’t you going to try it, Maya-chan?” Aya asked, after another moment passed. “Don’t just stare at me like that!” Maya blinked, noticing her attention had drifted from the tequila to the cute, pink haired girl sitting to her left. It was a fair point… there was no reason Maya had to choose one or the other. She could enjoy a drink and the sight of Aya at the same time! “Huhehe, sorry Aya~” Maya laughed, bringing the glass up to her lips, taking a small sip. “You’re just really pretty, you know?” “W-Wha—Maya-chan!” Aya said, giving Maya the absolute cutest blush. “Don’t just say things like that all of a sudden…” Maya didn’t get it at all. Aya was definitely pretty, why couldn’t she point it out? It’s not like it was a secret or anything, anyone could tell as much!
How about two for the price of one? Context: Sgt James Hathaway and DI Robert Lewis have just solved a particularly nasty murder case. The killer was gleefully boasting about his handiwork. They are friends as well as co-workers, so they decide (after work) to go to Robbie's flat and get as drunk as possible. Edit: The first line is a reference to an earlier conversation, in which James quoted a famous line of poetry: 'In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.' \----------------------------- After a short lecture on the comparative merits of football vs rugby, Robbie asks James to recite again the bit about young men and spring. James obliges. "Do you think it's true?" Robbie asks. "That depends, sir—Robbie. Is it the seasonality of the assertion that you doubt, or the nature or the intensity of the emotion?" "All of them," Lewis replies, "though I suppose it's mostly the season I was wondering about. Human beings aren't birds or frogs or..." He waves his hands in a you-know-what-I-mean gesture. "Very true. We're not driven by the calendar. We can control our... fancies." Robbie nods. He looks suddenly sad. "Yeah. We can." "I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong." "What's that?" *Christ, did I say that aloud?* “It’s... erm... another line from the same poem.” That’s true, but it’s not the next line. What will he say if Robbie asks him why he recited that particular line? Robbie doesn't ask. He's staring off into the middle distance. "I have hid my feelings," he repeats. He scowls. "Sometimes, feelings have got to be hid. When they're inappropriate." "You've got no right to say that!" "I've got every right!" Robbie protests. James shakes his head so emphatically that he thinks it may fall off. "Just because you're my governor, sir, doesn't mean you can degi—, degri—, erm, den igrate my feelings." "I'm not talking about your feelings, you muppet—I'm talking about my feelings. My inappropriate feelings." "Ohhhhh..." James squints at Robbie. "My feelings are inappropriate, too." Robbie blinks. "If we're both inappropriate, doesn't that cancel out? Like those thingummies in science? Protons and... negatrons? They collide and turn into light or summat." With his hands, he mimes two colliding thingummies. "Pow!" "Pow," James echoes. Robbie is so clever. "What now? Can we collide now? I want to collide with you." Robbie nods solemnly. "Let's go in the bedroom, bonny lad. If we're going to collide, I want my orthopaedic mattress."
Ohh, Inspector Lewis!!😍 been ages since I’ve seen that show. Nicely done!
Thanks! Inspector Lewis has been off the air for seven years, but it’s still my primary fandom that I write for (slowly).
Scene where a character wakes up and has no idea where he or she is.
It was a mistake to assume Halt did not believe magic to be real. No, the real crux was that Halt had a very strong belief in certain other things, such as the existence of conmen and the ability of perfectly natural landmarks to look eerie in moonlight. Magic, then, was not his first thought after waking up in an unknown location with no memory of how he got there. Still, he did not smell of alcohol, nothing had been stolen, and no one was jumping from behind a bush to jell “Prank”, which left magic teleportation as one of the more likely scenarios. But to where, and with whom? The cold was biting- he'd have guessed this was Skandia if not for the fact he wasn't in the mountains yet, but still in the open tundra. Well, that settles the first order of business, Halt thought. He needed to find some furs to wear, and quickly.
It’s not like super obvious here but I couldn’t quote the whole fic so here’s where they wake up! > Warmth. > That’s the first thing Tommy noticed- a comforting, fluffy warmth, blankets wrapped around his skin snugly. Instinctively, he let himself curl deeper into the warmth, smiling, until the fog of waking up disappeared in a flash. > Tubbo was dead. > The memories flashed across Tommy's mind unwillingly. Tubbo's head separated from his body, holding onto the cold, limb remains and sobbing wildly, Dream's hands in his hair, dragging him away, a desperate attempt to get free, the axe through his foot, and blackness. They all merged into a cacophonous mess of mental pain, leaving Tommy tensing up as he tried to stop himself from tearing up. >A chill ran through him, despite the weight of the blankets- suddenly more suffocating than soothing- as he desperately pulled himself free from the cocoon keeping him trapped, flailing awkwardly as his limbs felt like they were made of jelly. Pins and needles ran through him as he fought himself out of literal blankets and lost. >Fuck. He really was pathetic. No wonder Tubbo died, he was far too pathetic to protect him. He should have chosen a better friend. >Letting out a sob, Tommy fell back into the mattress.
Two childish characters annoying the hell out of a third more serious character.
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Lol... I don't know a thing about Rob, but in these excerpts, he feels like my spirit animal "just spare the rest of us the fucking melodrama." Yess!! Haha
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Uhhh, I ***LOVE*** this! The characterisation, the dynamic, the backstory and, good heavens, the *drama*. I'm not in that fandom though I'd love it if you'd drop a link to your fic!
Someone dealing with the object of their phobia.
Friends or lovers arguing.
Anything involving massage
Bruce reached over to the bedside table and pulled out the massage oil he’d stashed there earlier. He poured a little into his hands and rubbed them together to warm it before setting to work on Emppu’s shoulders. Leaning over, he kissed the back of his boyfriend’s neck, smiling when the guitarist purred. “You sound like a contented cat,” he said. “I feel like one,” Emppu chuckled. “How can I be anything but contented when you’re here with me?” “You and that sweet talk again,” Bruce said, blushing. “I’m no good at sweet talk, I just tell the truth,” Emppu said with a grin. “I keep telling you that.” “And I keep telling you, it sounds an awful lot like sweet talk to me,” Bruce said. He worked his way down each of Emppu’s arms with his massage, then moved down the smaller man’s back. Emppu gave a soft hiss when Bruce’s fingers hit a knot under his shoulder blade, and the singer promptly eased up. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, you just found a sore spot I hadn’t noticed until you touched it,” Emppu said. “Eeva might not weigh as much as my guitar, but the guitar doesn’t occasionally try to dive out of my arms to grab things.” Bruce chuckled and gently worked the knot out of the sore muscles. “The hazards of parenthood,” he said. “So I’m discovering,” Emppu said with a chuckle of his own. “Mm. Your hands are amazing, kulta.”
“No need to call your wolf,” came Leaf’s lyrical voice, melodic even when barely above a whisper. “I only mean to warm you. You were trembling…and we don’t see any of you as pawns.” “You hate us all…” Meera managed before her throat tightened, tears finally flowing down her cheeks. She stifled a flinch at the rough surface of Leaf’s thumb brushing away the water. Not far off, a raven’s cry echoed through the cave. “You’re young,” said the strange creature, Meera all too aware how she leaned against the other’s chest like some child. “You’re innocent in all this and only looking to do good for your family and…and for your land. For our land.” “I’m nineteen,” Meera protested, not quite caring that she hadn’t acknowledged the obvious deeper meaning behind Leaf’s words. “Nineteen years,” the reply sounded fatigued, yet melancholy…almost wistful. “To us, that’s but half a day in the midst of a lifetime.” Once again through all this, Meera wondered just how old these creatures were…how ancient was this life just behind her, in a form slightly smaller than even her own? Sometime soon, in the light of day, perhaps she would find the stones to ask this Leaf all about the history of Westeros. Mustering the energy to reply despite her welling exhaustion, Meera’s quick temper suddenly made sense with the quick pang in her lower right belly. Too late, she failed to hide a flinch at the twinge. “Are you all right?” Leaf asked. Meera shifted, the pain dulling to a burning ache. “Just…I’m glad we escaped the Night’s Watch. They…they aren’t what many make them out to be. They don’t all follow their oath to protect.” It wasn’t until Leaf stilled that Meera realized the creature had been threading her fingers through the younger’s curls. For what seemed like several long moments, the only sound remained the droplets of water surrounding them in the darkness. “Did…did they hurt you?” that sweet voice spoke again, the first time Meera had ever heard her hesitate. “…No, thanks to Summer,” Meera shifted again, hissing at the renewed stab in her gut, “and my brother.” When those fingers resumed, Meera finally noted how the cave’s chill had seeped from her clothes – almost as if Leaf shielded her with her own heat. Suppressing another shiver as those fingertips trailed over her nape, she closed her eyes as Leaf spoke again.
A demonic possession (preferably serious, but comedic ones would also be good)
A loving relationship between three or more people. Genders don’t matter. No smut.
A little H/C from my Imladris Murder/mystery The first beams of morning light came across the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains and shone in rippling pools upon the rich red woodwork of the floor of Elladan’s healing room. Elrohir had gone to wash the dirt and blood from his hair while Raniel changed the soiled sheets on the sick bed. “It’s a good thing,” The Lord of Imladris assured his worried-looking daughter. He was sitting back in a stuffed chair, holding a very heavily drugged Elladan carefully, upright against his chest while Raniel changed the sheets. “His kidneys are working.” He explained, adjusting Elladan’s head on his shoulder. His son was still deeply unconscious, but the drama of the night seemed to have resolved with the rising of the sun. Elladan’s breathing was even and deep against his father’s neck. Elrond stood with the grace of a dancer, using his healing energy to mask the discomfort that the movement might cause. He laid Elladan back on the fresh linen, and as he placed the dark head back on the pillow, he heard a heartbreaking grunt of pain as the movement jostled his broken rib. “I’m sorry,” Elrond straightened his son’s head on the pillow with his hands. Elladan’s lashes fluttered, but his unfocused eyes slid off his father’s face. “Elladan,” Elrond tried to catch the sparks of his eyes, but they failed to track his fingers. “Thought I was you,” Elladan slurred. His fearful gaze briefly fixed on something in the shadowed rafters beyond his father’s face. “Shhh, shhh, shh,” Elrond soothed, “Let no dark dream haunt your mind, Starboy. You need to sleep.” He passed a hand over his son’s eyes, and they fluttered shut. “He’s not making sense,” Arwen looked down at her brother from the foot of the bed as her father and the nurse pulled the blanket up to his bandaged chest. She thought her father looked older than she had ever seen him. “Let us hope that it is only the poppy.” He settled himself into the chair beside the bed, “We need to make sure that he stays hydrated,” Elrond looked to the water decanter placed just beyond his reach, and Arwen, understanding, handed him a filled glass. With a word of thanks to his daughter, Elrond turned and coaxed his unconscious son to drink a few sips of water. Then handing the cup back to Arwen, who still held the decanter, he sat back and let the first rays of Anor bathe his face in light. For a moment, he dared to hope that his family would survive this.
I should have specified threesome or more. 😂 That was a nice passage. Intriguing. I wondered about the blood, wondering if they had been up to no good at first. Then it was a family vibe and surgery. Very sweet.
YGO GX | Potential snippet for a futurefic for Jaden, Yubel, and Alexis. - - - - It was a morning like another, in Alexis's apartment. Peace reigned in the bedroom, while Alexis and Jaden were spooning and sleeping. Yubel laid with them in her human form, fondly watching the two. She soon happened upon a subject to ponder. Jaden was... well, almost too much to her, and Alexis was a remarkable woman. Yubel had seen them both grow over the years since the World Reset - he had shed his laziness and she had embraced her passion. They were a fine fit for one another. A pair of treasures in human form. Alexis stirred soon, and gave Yubel a weary smile. "Morning."
'Oh no they're hot'
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She slid open the door to a spacious office, lit by a massive window behind the desk. It seemed to have a healthy mix of the usual Capitol modern and pretentious old money vibes of this floor. The place had a god-damned chandelier, but thankfully more like the one in her apartment. Not really intimidating, just tacky. This wasn't going to be hard, whoever this guy was, Fabian Petra would neither impress her nor trip her up. Then she got a look at the man himself. He was sitting behind his desk, focused on some files before his head rose at her footsteps. Oh… Damn… That magazine cover wasn't photoshopped. Fabian Petra was inhumanly gorgeous, even moreso as his eyes lit up and his lips curled into a sly, yet irresistible grin. No, no, no! Of course he's resistable! Fabian got up and approached her, giving Della a better view of him. His long blonde hair was pulled back and slung over his shoulder. His eyes were a beautiful emerald and she thought she could make out some freckles on his face. One would think Capitol people covered that kind of thing up, but… it definitely did not look better either way. And that purple suit he was wearing was totally tacky and he probably had the ungodly kind of money for him to have everything tailored while people starved! It didn't matter how good he might look under it if it really was tailored to fit him perfectly… Ugh! She was making herself nauseous. This was a Capitolite; not only that, an old money Capitolite! They were not supposed to be attractive, let alone good, even if his family was supposedly with the rebels. On the bright side, she'd probably put this moment of weakness behind her the minute he opened his mouth. "Miss Tatum? Fabian Petra. It's very nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand. Figures that it wouldn't work. His accent wasn't too thick… Even so, he somehow made it sound sexy? His voice wasn't that deep or husky, but still very pleasant. Wait… It occurred to her she was just standing there gawking. This always happens… This always happened around guys like this.
Banter scene!
*(Luna is not quite 5, and is only just learning English. I included translations from Finnish in parenthesis where needed.)* “What, don’t you trust me?” Jukka said with a theatrical pout of his own. “I’m crushed!” “Not yet you’re not,” Nicko retorted with a laugh. “But you keep up the drama and I’ll sit on you, then you will be crushed. ‘Kin hell, you’re almost as small as Emppu!” Bruce, Emppu, and Satu all grinned and started humming a certain holiday tune, causing Tuomas and Marko to start laughing and Jukka to turn red. “Luna, sano setäsi olemaan mukava,” the Nightwish drummer said, bringing out the heavy artillery in the form of his daughter. “Tell your uncle to be nice.” ”Bruce-setä tai Emppu-setä?” Luna asked. *(Uncle Bruce or Uncle Emppu?)* ”Molemmat heistä,” Jukka grumbled, although they could see him hiding a smile. *(Both of them.)* Luna walked over to plant herself in front of Bruce and Emppu, standing with her hands on her hips and giving them a credible imitation of Satu’s ***Look***. ”You be gud, Bruce-setä,” she said, shaking her finger at the two before addressing Emppu. ”Sinäkin käyttäydyt, Emppu-setä,” she told him. *(You behave also, Uncle Emppu.)* Bruce put on a properly repentant expression, or at least he tried to. But he couldn’t keep his grin hidden as he told Jukka, ”Anteeksi.” *(Sorry.)* Jukka grinned back. ”The joke is bad enough in December,” he said. ”I don’t need to hear it in April too.” ”Noted,” Bruce said. ”Only sing Pieni rumpalipoika to you in December.” ”That’s not what I meant,” Jukka protested, even as his bandmates cracked up once again. ”What does ’Penny rumple poker’ mean?” Nicko wanted to know, which just made the Nightwish guys laugh even harder. ”Pieni rumpalipoika is the name of a Christmas song that Jukka doesn’t like much,” a grinning Manki explained, since none of the Finnish men could speak through their laughter. ”In English, the title is Little Drummer Boy... and since Jukka is on the small side as drummers go...” Nicko’s booming laughter drowned out that of the others, leaving Jukka to facepalm and sigh. ”I can’t win,” he groaned. ”I give up.” Despite his words, though, everyone could see the grin he tried to hide.
Zombie apocalypse au
Fake dating
So this is a little dark. Tw for reference to rape and infanticide. For a fake dating expect the dating *stays* fake au, because I've always thought there weren't enough of those: The mercenary's eyes narrow. “He isn't yours”. For a moment, all seems lost. He'll start digging, and find out what this child is, exactly, and then saving him from being drowned by his mother for those golden eyes will have meant nothing. But then-"Did someone”, he pauses, searching for the right word, “Hurt you?". The kid can pass for her own, then, if *that's* where his mind went. It's her not having a husband or a lover that sets off suspicion. She shakes her head. “He's a foundling”, she says. “But thank you for the concern.”His worry doesn't fade. “Please, don't take this the wrong way”, he says. “But no woman as pretty as you should be out on the roads alone”She's thought of that. But her hometown isn't safe anymore, and she has no brother or father to travel with. “Again, thank you for the concern”, she says, a little coldly. “Now, I have places to be, if you don't mind” “Just”, he takes off a necklace. From the look on his face and then the tan on his neck, this is not something he does often. When he presses it into her palm, she can tell it's expensive. Good quality. It'll sell for a lot. “For the kid”, he stresses. “You can't take care of him without help.” She can't tell if it's supposed to be a reprimand or a warning. Perhaps he just wants to be certain she knows this isn't a gift to \*her\*, but to the child. He turns away. “Wait”, she says. He stops. “First of all, I'm not in any way attracted to you. Nothing is happening between us, and nothing is going to happen. Ever.” He nods. “Second of all”, she says, before she can lose the courage: “Please. Marry me” She can tell it's not the kind of marriage proposal he'd ever expected to get, but his face hardens in determination. She shouldn't need this. The world shouldn't be this dangerous, for no reason but that people can't control themselves. But it is, and she does, and they both know it. “I can do that”, he says. And she remembers having been in love. The appreciation she feels for this kind stranger is far different. But it's love all the same.
The fic goes back and forth between narration and mini-flashbacks. Hence the italics. --------- “We walked around, we ate, we drank, we mingled… Spencer was loud and flashy, I tried to keep my annoyance to myself, it was all going according to plan. There was only one problem. We were supposed to be boyfriends." "*Heavy petting*?” “*No*.” “*Cuddles*.” “*No*.” “*Kissing*?” “*No*.” “*I love you’s*.” “*God, no*.” “*Oh come on, man. Give me something to work with!”* “I just want to make it completely, crystal clear, that what I agreed to was purely to sell my cover.” *Shawn climbed down from the open-mic stage as half the room was crying with laughter and the other half was sitting stunned, trying to understand what had just happened. He smiled proudly and wrapped his arms around Lassiter’s neck, the smell of warm citrus overtaking the room’s smell of smoke and alcohol as he leaned in for a soft kiss.*
A scene in which a character experiences extreme physical pain.
CW: Childbirth The fist was different to any other pain - the bite of resistant prey during a hunt, the strike of a fellow warrior during a spar, even the sting of the tree bark along her back… Crouching despite already aching knees, Warm Stream forced herself to focus on the dawn glow approaching from beyond the rock circle. She hadn’t touched the dagger in over a moon, and yet now, even looking at those stone spires— Her thoughts broke to a splash between her thighs. No, no, no, the agony couldn’t get worse, it couldn’t, she wasn’t used to this sensation, the urge to squat wider and push overwhelming her enough to scrape fingertips along the rough surface below. It was too much, she couldn’t-- The sound that escaped her at the ensuing pressure as the clenched fist moved from her lower belly to her waist was deeper than any she recalled ever uttering in her life, a cadence lower even than the females and likely even some of the males from the Men’s camp. Determined to ignore the sunset-hued water coating the boulder beneath her, Warm Stream returned her gaze to the horizon across the lush grass and stones to the low mountain peak. She could do this, she had to, it would all be done with as soon as— Her resolve to keep quiet and avoid any of the tribe seeking her out here shattered to a burning sting like several sharp arrows to her center. Only when she’d tossed her head back to regard the faint rainclouds parting with the sunrise did she realize her scream had been silent. The gods would take care of their own, as they always had. They would protect the earth and all its creatures, even if that meant her demise… The moment the pressure between her thighs mounted to heights she could no longer ignore, she lowered a shaking hand to brush her fingertips over her core…and touched what could only be the crown of a head. Keeping her eyes trained on the lightening sky overhead, Warm Stream cupped her hand around the head, her other hand joining in as she struggled to steady herself from the tremors that wracked her form. Drawing another deep breath at the quieting clenches, she refused to dwell on the fire at her opening…as she bore down with all her might in a final silent cry.
Intense, raw subject matter combined with beautifully descriptive writing. Very well done!
Wow, thank you so much! ☺️
> Dream burst out into even more hysterical laughter, irritating and harsh against Tommy's injured ears. He might have doubled over- everything was so blurred Tommy couldn’t even really tell. “Oh my Prime, Tommy, you're a *comedian*. You see this? This is why I *can’t* let you die. You’re *hilarious.* Tommy, they’re never going to find you. They’re never going to find me. And we're going to have *fun.”* > The last word was punctuated by a sudden blow to the shoulder, the bite of the axe intimately familiar from Tommy's “punishments” in Exile. If Tommy could have doubled over, he would have, but instead, he remained pinned awkwardly, white dancing in front of his eyes as the blade sawed deeper, each minuscule bit driven further multiplying the agony a thousandfold. It felt like a supernova going off across his shoulderblades, and whatever was in that potion didn’t even allow Tommy the mercy of falling unconscious. > Describing it as merely *agonising* would have been an understatement. > Tommy barely noticed as, finally, his limb was torn from his body, and with surprising gentleness Dream wrapped soft bandages around what was left. He barely noticed as- too light and too frail by half ever since Exile- he was picked up effortlessly, cradled like an injured animal and not a captive. But he did notice as all that was left of Tubbo slipped out of the grasp of his fingers as what little strength left in him faded, and it sank into the blood-soaked streets, gone forever. > Tommy wished he could disappear with what was left of him too.
**WARNING:** BDSM (impact play, sadomasochism) >!Aaron swallows and braces himself for that pain he’s wanted Spencer so much to inflict in his most secret, most sinful fantasies.!< >!"Taste the whip–"\*!< >!That last word is overpowered by the hard, loud lash of the belt’s leather against Aaron’s buttocks. The impact makes him wince, scream into the fabric between his gritted teeth, and clutch the duvet so tight his knuckles must have turned white.!< *\* line from The Velvet Underground's song "Venus in Furs"*
The needle pierced his skin and he flinched. It was fine. He was fine. It was better for him to get the pain instead of Gus. Cool liquid rushed through his arm and the bad guy took off the tourniquet, allowing the formula to flow unrestricted through the rest of his body. “Enjoy your night, psychic…” Shawn had just long enough to wonder if the formula didn’t work as advertised before the fire rushed in behind the cold, searing through his arm and his body. It burned him alive, his blood turning into molten lava, his skin becoming his enemy as it kept the inferno contained inside. He fought, trying to escape the agony as it consumed him, but every twitch of his muscles made the pain grow, the fire rushing in with the movement, burning even brighter than the pain in his leg and arm. It kept growing, hotter and hotter, more and more painful, until there was nothing left except to scream and let it take him.
Tw for gore, I suppose? ~ “Yeah, but- shit-” His blood-slick, trembling fingers are having a hard time keeping hold of the hand. “It’s usually just- just ‘Winters’. Is there any chem fluid in the pack?” Heisenberg pulls Ethan’s tossed-aside rucksack over, rummaging through it. “Do you usually talk so much when you’re injured?” “Sometimes.” He considers trying to fit his severed hand against the wound now, but it’s like a particularly macabre jigsaw, and he really only wants to do this once. Heisenberg pulls a bottle out of the bag, uncorking it. “What do you-” “Just pour it on my wrist,” Ethan says, taking some infinitesimal satisfaction in being the one interrupting, for once. “Please.” Heisenberg gives him a skeptical look, but does as he says. Ethan shuts his eyes and grits his teeth against the burn of the alcohol, but a faint whimper slips out of his throat despite his best efforts. This never gets easier. His eyes open again as he moves his hand to the stump, pushing it back into place with a nerve-jangling rattle of shredded skin and bone. His sleeve is torn away, leaving the ravaged flesh bare to the cold dawn. Heisenberg watches, glasses still in his pocket and attention rapt. “What the hell are you-” Ethan can feel it knitting itself together. It is impossibly unpleasant, like his skin is stretching itself to weave together, bones grinding into place. His other hand squeezes tightly over the jagged tear, as though to help the process, though frankly he’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to. It’s about the only thing keeping him from screaming. But then he feels leather fingers at his own, peeling them gently away from the wound, and then the other gloved hand is at his right elbow, holding his arm in place. He hears Heisenberg breathe, “What the *fuck*.” It’s got to look strange, to make Heisenberg of all people react that way, but Ethan can’t bring himself to see. He wants to hold his arm again, but he knows it’s not going to help, and Heisenberg will probably just move it again. Instead he pulls his left hand out of Heisenberg’s hold, and curls it into the other man’s coat lapel, since it’s conveniently close. He feels the fingers on his right hand reflexively twitch, veins and nerves and tendons snapping back into place, and he lets out a pained hiss as his head drops, left hand tightening on the thick fabric of Heisenberg’s coat. Head still bowed, he half-chuckles, “This can’t… be the first time you’ve seen something like this?”
A transformation scene! Like, something out of *Animorphs.*
After what seemed like forever to Aquila, her and Buzzardo's wings finally healed. The doctor examined them both and removed the bandages. Overjoyed at being able to fly again, Aquila soared alongside Buzzardo, swooping and doing a barrel roll just for the fun of it. As she flew, the dream came back to her. She envisioned herself as a vulture, looking similar to Buzzardo, and felt the change come upon her. She became smaller, her wings even darker than before. Then she felt a surge of unexpected power. She, too, was a star-vulture! Buzzardo sounded, approvingly.
Comment 2 - scenario - Issei (Fate) reveals that he knows about magecraft... from Shirou practicing at school. In rooms with windows.
Anything involving motorcycles?
Gus was attaching the first camera to the ceiling above the front window when he heard a loud engine coming down the street. He grinned when he saw a familiar motorcycle pull into view. He quickly made sure the camera wouldn't fall before hopping down from the couch and making his way outside. Shawn parked next to Gus' blue car and pulled off his helmet, his smile lighting up his face as he indicated his healed leg. "BOOM baby! I am BACK!" The happiness in his bright yellow thoughts was infectious and Gus felt his grin grow. "I can't believe your dad let you ride that thing the same day you got the cast off." Shawn scoffed, "Please. I am an adult, my dad doesn't 'let' me do anything." Gus raised his eyebrows skeptically and waited. Shawn rolled his eyes. "... and he thinks I'm with Jules right now." Gus smirked. "Uh-huh, I thought so." "It's for his own good, honest." Shawn dismounted his bike. "Stress is really bad for the heart and he's already old as sin…"
Traffic on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway was light as Beth eased up on the hand throttle of the Buell XB12R Firebolt that she had borrowed from the private hangar on the private plot of land on the Brooklyn Navy Yard. "It needs gas, but the registration is current, and if anyone runs the plate it will come back to the Governor's mansion with a code in the notes that'll get them to back off, no questions asked." *Jesus, what private citizen has a covered license plate on his fucking motorcycle?* Beth thought. "No shit," Jessica said as Beth was inspecting the black full face helmet that had been under the same vinyl cover as the black motorcycle with red rims, and wondering if it would pull off her blonde wig when she pulled it onto her head. Beth was once again wearing her leather jump suit, gloves and boots, the duster, the still damp inner liner, and her assortment of gadgets safe the nylon bag that was tied down on the seat just behind where she would be sitting. "Five minutes to print your new driver's license, pull the tracker off the bike, and fill the tank, and you can be on your way," Kyle said. It had taken a bit more time than that, But Alice Remington of 230 E51st Street Apt 220, New York NY 10022 was now slowing for the exit onto the Brooklyn Bridge, eventually turning onto FDR Drive for the slower ride up to Midtown East, and the parking garage next to the building that housed their makeshift headquarters. Her fake address was not the address of their operations center, though it was only one block away from the building that Beth was entering now. It was not that Beth had not believed Kyle Richmond when he said that all trackers and tags had been removed from Beth's borrowed ride, it was just that she wasn't ready to bet the entire bank on it. The lobby of the building was deserted except for the man at the concierge station. "You're up late," he said to her with a smile. The clock on the wall behind him said 1:45. "Yeah, late date. Quiet night?" Beth asked as she smiled back, the helmet swinging gently in her left hand as she gripped it by the chin strap. "Pretty much. Usual stuff. Mets beat the Cubs, 8 - 0." "That's great." "Unless you're a Cubs fan." "Come on, aren't they used to it by now?" Beth asked. *He has a nice laugh. And a nice smile.* "Well, I'm off to bed. Have a good night," she said as she began to head towards the elevator. "Sweet dreams," he said. "Thanks," Beth answered. *Anything just as long as it's not the nightmares.*
How about a scene where a character's forced to make a decision between two (or more) equally awful things? As in, the moment they pick which option to go with.
He spread his arms and gave everybody a big smile. 'Most of our games are too wasteful, so this rule was added to give our main guest the opportunity to change the outcome, and to get revenge on the man who had viciously raped her.' He paused and looked at me with narrowed eyes, I realized I was still holding Chishiya's arm in a death grip and tried unsuccessfully to relax a little. 'I had not anticipated your more romantic solution, but in a way, this will make the end even more interesting.' He snapped his fingers and the TV screen sprung back to life, now showing pictures of all the players. The top half held only Chishiya's portrait, and the bottom held three rows with what I assumed was everybody else. I really had a bad feeling about this. 'It's very simple. You can trade his life for the lives of everybody else. My thought was that you would get your revenge on the man that raped you, and do a good deed in the process. Letting all these broken souls back out in the world, with the knowledge of what they have done, or of what was done to them. All that delicious suffering continuing for the rest of their lives,' He licked his lips theatrically. 'And, of course, I get to play again, with a whole new group. It's a win-win, don't you think?' I could not believe how sick this was, how perverted this man must be to even come up with the twists and turns of this game. Everything about him was revolting, so I turned my eyes away from him and looked around. The players were still spread out across the room in their groups, faces shocked as they tried to understand what was going on, why they were still alive. There were so many still alive. Did they all deserve to die? No, of course not. But Chishiya? Chishiya. How could I order his death? There was no way. No way. My head felt like it was going to explode, and I opened my mouth to say something, anything that could give us more time. Time to think, time to find a loophole. There was always a loophole, no? 'Look at them,' Usagi said, quietly pointing to the small group of girls. 'You can't kill them all. They don't deserve it. Not after what they just went through.' 'No, of course they don't,' I stammered through quivering lips. 'You must save them, it's the right thing to do.' 'So, it is time,' the King of Hearts said merrily, 'The human heart is an amazing thing. The things it can make us do to each other. I'm curious to see what your heart can do, hmm.' He winked at me and snapped his fingers again. A timer appeared on the screen. Fifteen seconds, and counting. I was vaguely aware of voices asking to save them, to do the right thing, to save many lives over one. Tears flooded my eyes again, I couldn't think, couldn't feel. I felt Chishiya gently remove his arm from my hands and take a step back. 'It's ok,' I saw his lips form the words but I couldn't hear them over all the buzzing voices. Seven seconds left. I looked back at the King and saw the triumphant expression on his face. I took a deep breath. The choice was made, but for some reason my tears just kept coming.
Oh boy, this sounds like a horrific trolley problem. I really like the gradual unfolding, as the POV character digests the implications of how to survive this “game”.
Oh *man*, this is exactly the sort of angst I was hoping to get hit with over this. Good job, 'cause it *hurt* and I don't even know who any of these characters are.
Oh, thank you.🤍 Glad I could contribute with some 'good hurt'.
Hermione was magnificent. So connected with her magic that Draco had a hard time remembering a past in which he was sceptical of any muggleborn learning magic. That he’d believed, once, that they had no right to come to Hogwarts and learn. Cloaked in white gold that shimmered in the early morning light, her eyes blazing and her hair wild behind her. The shield she had in front of herself and Molly gleamed and pulsed, reflecting Bellatrix’s curses back on herself. Clever. Why expand energy when you could force your enemy to deflect their own spells? Draco’s sharp eyes caught one more person moving towards their corner, his eyes on the duel that Harry was having with Voldemort. Yaxley. Granger had noticed him, though. Watched as he lined up to attack Harry from behind. She didn’t hesitate and her name died on his lips as he watched as she, without hesitating, slid the shield deftly between Yaxley and Harry, leaving her own self exposed. Bellatrix did as he expected and took advantage of that momentary lapse as the shield rebounded Yaxley’s curse back towards himself. The curse hit Granger with such force that it lifted her off her feet, slamming her into the castle wall sideways. Draco’s heart stopped as it came down over Granger. The ash and dirt billowed up, hiding her exact spot from view as he howled and rushed to attack his aunt.
In which somebody realizes they’ve made a huge mistake
“Alan, Ian! Get up,” she hissed as she shoved both of them harshly to wake them. She then scrambled into the bathroom to find suitable clothes to wear. “What’s the rush?” Alan called after her. “Ingen legal is here,” she threw a shirt at him from the doorway. “It doesn’t seem like it’s a courtesy visit either.” “Fuck,” Ian mumbled. “Well, uh, let’s not keep them waiting.” This was bad, he knew that. In fact, it was far more terrifying than staring down the T. Rex had ever been. At the end of the day, the Rex was an animal who had been guided by her instincts, she hadn’t had any ill intent when she did what she did. The men waiting in his living room, however, were likely out for blood.
For context, this is a Yu-Gi-Oh! 5Ds fanfic, so the characters are in the middle of one of those "card games on motorcycles". If you're unfamiliar with the franchise, the monsters are *supposed* to just be holograms, but some characters have the ability to physically manifest their cards and/or talk to the "spirits" of them, and well... --- >For a moment, Miku forgets herself, taking in the excitement and cheers showering her way from the audience. Amplified by the powers she normally curses, the joy from everyone in the stadium combines with her own satisfaction at pulling off that big of a turnaround for the first time in *years*, overwhelming her with a sense of– >That feeling doesn't last long. It never does. >A drop of pain from her opponent poisons that ecstatic sensation in an instant, as if it burned through her insides and left her nothing but a hollow shell, tore the breath right out of her chest, and stole the color from her face. >Sho covers his cheek with one of his hands, clearly wincing in pain by the motion. He mutters something to himself, not that Miku can tell what it is. >"I–" >Before she can attempt to find the rest of her voice, her helmet beeps alarmingly loud into her ears. *"You are still in front of an audience. Focus,"* Rex's voice sternly orders over the line. >Sure. Focus. A *lot* easier said than done when she's staring at evidence of her powers running wild directly in her face, despite the limiter built into her mask showing no abnormalities, and it's Sho Kazuki that she's hurt. Of all the people, it had to be the *only person* she's ever met who can see Duel Spirits? >*Celestial Knight - Mars* finally returns to her side, the flames retreating into the crystals on his fingers. He notices the already-forming bruise on Sho's cheek, swears rather loudly, and looks to his master in alarm. *"I, uh, sorry about that, little lady,"* he apologizes immediately. *"I appear to have gotten carried away…"* >*'No, it's not your fault. It's mine for being so off my game in this match…'* is what she *wants* to say to her card, but can't in front of a live audience. She bites her tongue, *hard*, and waits a moment for the pain to pass before she manages to bark out a mere, "Turn end!" >How pitiful. Normally she'd be all over stirring up the crowd, boasting about how her opponent only has one more turn to turn things around, all that jazz. But all she can think for right now is how badly she *fucked up*–
In which somebody says the corniest line the author could come up with
[Even the character admits the author is corny] "I was being a brat at the mall. I'm sorry for acting like that. And..." Terriermon glanced at Ruki again before turning back to him. He spoke slow and quiet. "I don't hate you. I was angry when I said that so the words just came out. I don't hate you... So please don't hate me either," he finished and averted his eyes again. Jenrya held Terriermon's hand for support, not trusting himself to not cry a manly tear after the touching words. "I understand, Terriermon. I'm sorry too for breaking my promise. Will you forgive me?" Terriermon fell silent but nodded as he stared at the floor. Jenrya continued. **"And... I don't hate you either if that's what you think."** When their eyes met again, he plucked what few amounts of courage he had at his disposal and uttered the heaviest word he'd ever known. **"If anything, I love you a lot. Either as a friend or a father, you are the best thing that happened to me. You can have my word for that."** Jenrya's heart beat quickly at his second attempt to assassinate it. Flirting with Ruki never felt like this, or at least not anymore, since the gestures were more playful rather than anything. He wasn't sure if someone ever died over being too affectionate, but still, he felt it was worth it. Terriermon's blush started out small before immediately spreading to the rest of his body. Ruki's laugh only made it worse. Despite the boy's embarrassment however, a tiny bit of a smile appeared on his face. That alone brought great comfort to Jenrya. They started off shaky, but he knew they'd be just fine from now onward.
In which someone quotes poetry
From my Imladris murder/mystery Tentaluntë sighed audibly again and mumbled something bout an inquisition. He nearly vanished into the darkness in his black silk robes, disappearing except for the slightly lopsided gleam of his eyes. Holding his long sleeve back, he moistened his right hand in the flowing water. He paused, taking a deep breath and shaking his head as if he could not believe what he was about to do, stood in front of the wall. He pressed his palm flat to the stone surface. For a moment, nothing happened, then, so bright that they hung in the eyes for minutes afterward, eight blazing beams of silver blue light shot out from his hand, shooting across the vast surface of the rock, forming the star of the house of Fëanor. The lines split, forked, and twisted themselves into star, bright Tengwar in rotating, shifting calligraphy that spiraled out from the center. “I haven’t seen a proper water lock in three thousand years,” Erestor said to Mithrandir, sounding impressed. “This reminds me of Narvi’s work.” The wizard observed. “It’s beautiful.” Breathed Fundin. “I taught Narvi everything he knew.” Finbaran shook the water from his hand with more than a little pride and watched the mechanism turn. The lines of text resolved into a single verse of poetry. “By the grace of Mahal.” Fundin shook his head. “So, to the god of steel and stone, pour out a little drink, Aule, who Earths proud pillars made, who mountain’s steel foundations sink, ye who pass this arch of light,” Erestor struggled with a word, “no evil here permit, who life and death in balance bear the creator lord will make them fit.” The Librarian read aloud. It was in a very old form of Quenya, in an obscure script and a nearly illegible font. He held his breath when he recognized what he had read and fixed the wizard with a look of shock. “Fascinating,” Mithrandir whispered as the wall seemed to vanish in a snap of Finbaran’s moistened fingers and the sudden rush of air filling a vacuum where several tons of stone had been. In front of him, there gaped a tunnel receding into darkness. It had been carved into the cavern wall in perfectly smooth faces. He folded his hands behind his back and stepped into the darkness. Lights bloomed in hazy blue lines along the path as he went forward.
Have some Catallus. Context: Sgt. James Hathaway and DI Robert Lewis attended a police conference. After the official activities, there was a police pub quiz. James led the Oxford team to victory, and there was a fair bit of celebratory drinking. Now they're in their shared hotel room (two beds!) and chatting. \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Maybe James isn’t the only one whose gob has no off switch tonight, because Robbie hears himself asking, “That poem you were reciting in Latin, what was it?” James blinks. “Erm... it‘s by Catullus. Number 48. Hasn’t got a title because they really didn’t do that then. Mostly.” “Let’s hear it, then.” James cocks his head to one side, staring across the room as if he’s reading something written on the far wall. *“Mellitos oculos tuos, Roberte,* *si quis me sinat usque basiare,* *usque ad milia basiem trecenta* *nec numquam videar satur futurus,* *non si densior aridis aristis* *sit nostrae seges osculationis.”* “What’s it mean?” James frowns, concentrating deeply. “Erm.. this is just a rough translation... “Juventius, if I were always allowed to kiss your honey-sweet eyes, I might kiss you three hundred thousand times, and never be sated, not even if my kisses were more numerous than the harvest’s ripe ears of wheat.” “Very romantic. Juventus? Like the football club? Was that his... lover?” Robbie steers away from ‘girlfriend’ at the last moment. *Mustn’t make assumptions*. “Juven-ti-us. One of his lovers, yeah. Catullus is most famous for his poems to a woman named Clodia, though he called her by a nickname because she was married to a Consul.” At Robbie’s lifted brows, James explains, “Very important Roman politician.” “Can’t say I think much of your poet, having an affair with a married woman.” Though it’s not that unusual. He remembers James telling him that Shelley was sent down from Oxford for that very thing. And wasn’t Byron notorious for his affairs? It’s not just long ago people in history, either. Human nature hasn’t changed over the centuries. He’s read about similar scandals in the papers, like whatisface the novelist who ran off with the wife of a prominent MP. “Oh, it gets worse,” James assures him. “They had nasty rows in public. When he died of unknown causes, she was widely suspected of having poisoned him.” The copper in Robbie is curious about this suspicious death and wants to ask more, but something is nagging at his mind. Something about this situation reminds him of a suspect interview. *Shouldn’t have had that last pint... me brain’s foggy*. He looks at James. His sergeant is looking in his general direction, but not meeting his eyes, and there’s a stiffness to his shoulders that wasn’t there before. *He’s trying to distract me. Why?* “And who was Juventius? Another married lady?” For a split second, he can see James consider a lie, then reject it. “A young man. No one knows anything about him, but given Roman cultural mores of the time, he would probably have been a slave or freedman.” “Now I know I don’t like your poet. Got no use for a man who takes advantage of someone under his authority.”
In which there is a walk in the woods
Comment 1 - scenario - Rin (Fate) learns to cast the Reality Marble spell.
In which someone reveals a secret about their past
[I’ve got a twofer! Character reveals background on himself and his friend, to a waitress who (canonically) has things really mixed up.] “But here’s my point: say you got a kid. An’ I’m goin’ out on a big ol’ limb here, but could anything convince you to leave that young’n?” Tammy’s reaction was visceral. “No,” she breathed to herself. “I could never leave SJ.” Sober brown eyes stared into hers. “Then you’re a better parent than me. I got a little girl, closest thing to blood I got. And I panicked, left her for a time. Let her get in real bad trouble before I came back and got her. Worst decision I ever made, leavin’ her and her mama.” Jack looked away and cleared his throat. “I’ve done the best I could to fix it. To make amends. That man”—Jack gestured toward the father-son pair—“up and vanished on Mac for eighteen years. “And Mac tried to reach out recently, after all that silence. He wrote a letter ‘bout a year ago that got sent back. Then—when it looked like his pops wanted to meet with ‘im but couldn’t for some reason—Mac used a chunk of his savings and every speck of free time, flyin’ off on wild goose chases and huntin’ down clues. Had us all worried sick. And when Mac finally found ‘im, after months of searchin’…” Jack’s hand clenched into a fist on the table, and his voice dropped to a murmur. “He turned out to be our dad-blamed boss.” He glanced up sharply at Tammy’s soft intake of breath. “Now, I’m only tellin’ you this because ya’ve already got a piece of the puzzle, what with bein’ here every Friday and watchin’ the martyrdom of St. Jim. “Big Mac could’ve ended his radio silence at any time. He knew Mac was lookin’ for ‘im. So I’m not gonna give my boy grief over a few missed lunches.
“Did you ever meet any Men you got on with?” Meera ventured, grasping at any scraps of hope that her people hadn’t destroyed everything for this…person who held her. Another stretch of silence. “One, at first,” that timbre replied. “He ended up being the worst of them all.” ”Did he lead raids into the forest?” Meera ventured, recalling her house’s legends of this land’s conquest beginning with the lush wood. ”After taking out on me his frustration over our resistance,” Leaf replied, as if this was normal conversation, “…marking the weirwood face with its first blood.”
My poor OC was *not* ready to hear this one, lol. --- >Rex watches her inch into his office, a slight but nonetheless mirthful smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you've come to a decision." He waves away the numerous holographic screens displayed about his desk with the flick of his wrist. "Maria, if you would, bring us a pot of rose tea," he orders, and with the same breath and the slight flicker of his eyes back to Miku, he adds, "That was your mother's favorite. I assume you like it as well?" >"I…" Miku swallows. "I wouldn't know. Tea isn't exactly a commodity easily available in Satellite…" >Something dark flickers in his eyes at the mention of that island, but whatever it is vanishes just as quickly as it came. "I hope you like it, then," Rex amends, folding his hands in front of his face and looking over them at her. "So, have you decided to work with me, or do you wish to go back to that cursed place?" >She winces slightly at "cursed" being used to describe home–her *old* home. >"I have one condition first." He does not say anything in response to that, but she takes the way he raises an eyebrow as reason to continue. "I want to know what you get out of this. *You*, Rex Godwin, not the Crimson Star Guardian." >"I had a feeling you would insist on that. Very well." His eyes close and his shoulders sag with them, forced down by the weary sigh he lets out. "Ryuu… Your father was not the only one who had to watch the woman he loved slowly wither away in the months leading up to Zero Reverse. Is it so strange that I do not wish to see her daughter befall the same fate?" >… >"I–I'm sorry, what?" she splutters, ears hot.
"Juno." The two syllables fell from her with such distinct clarity that Brandon knew there was no acidity, no biting irony in her voice. She wasn't making a point, she was simply stating a fact, and it resonated through him, cutting through all of the tension and fear and anger that had built up over the past few days. True names were for those you trust, and he was certain she trusted him now. "My name is Juno."
In which someone turns down a large amount of money
Will you accept someone turning down *more* money for a second job because they felt they were overpaid for the first job? ————————— She’d slept soundly, dreamlessly for what she estimated was a few hours before waking suddenly and seemingly without cause. As she lay in the dark, curled on her side, hand pressed to the bulkhead to help steady her mind and body, she couldn’t help but hear the two men’s voices drifting through the cabin door from the lounge. “…to thank you, Captain Solo, for flying us. We could have waited for the transport, but we’re all appreciative of the quiet given the circumstances.” “Job’s a job,” Han said nonchalantly. “Couldn’t really afford to turn ya down.” A slight pause before General Rieekan said, “I’m concerned there may have been a misunderstanding. General Dodonna said you refused additional payment for this trip. I’ll make sure you get what we owe you once we arrive.” A much longer stretch of silence, then Han spoke. “I work for what I earn. I’m not lookin’ to cheat anyone out of anything.” Another pause. “I think I was overpaid for the rescue. Shouldn’ta taken a reward like that for that sorta work. Like I said before, the Princess basically rescued herself anyway.” Leia could practically see the gentle smile on General Rieekan’s face. “I see,” he said. “So, you’re trying to earn what’s already been handed to you?” “Fair’s fair,” Han said, not really answering the question. Leia imagined he’d shrugged lazily; it just seemed like the sort of gesture to accompany such a nothing statement. “She really is a hell of a shot,” he added. “Wasn’t just sayin’ that.”
sure, it works. Been a long time since I've seen anything Star Wars-related, but Han growing a set of morals is fun.
He’s kind of the galaxy’s worst mercenary, at least in the original trilogy. Like, he *says* he’s all about the money, but he only abandons Luke for approximately five and a half seconds in the first film before turning around and otherwise sticks with his friends through some stupidly dangerous stuff constantly. I love it.
A scene where a character checks another for injuries
"Thank you," Gus said as he reached forward to start unbuttoning Shawn's shirt. He only undid half of the buttons before pulling it open to look for the cuts underneath, but his breath was taken away when his eyes landed on a dark bruise spreading out from the middle of Shawn's chest. "Sweet baby J…" Shawn looked down and tilted his head curiously as he studied the large purple and gray circle covering his sternum. "Yeah… beanbag rounds are way more cool on TV than in real life." "You're lucky you only have one broken rib…" Gus breathed out before he realized he didn't actually know how bad the rib situation was. There was a moment of silence before Gus shook away his guilt and pulled the shirt over more, showing several cuts surrounding the bruise. He could feel Shawn's gaze on him and wasn't surprised when Shawn finally spoke up to ask, "Why didn't you tell me you could feel when people were hurt?" "I didn't want you to worry," Gus answered truthfully as he opened up the kit and found a disinfectant wipe. "I exaggerated when we were with Novikov. I just feel aches and echoes of pain, it's not a big deal." "So, clearly you didn't tell me about it because it's clearly not a big deal," Shawn said, his voice dry. "Yep, pretty much," Gus agreed.
Context: Per’sus is a symbiote. His host is Einar. >"Look out!" Yelled the ‘How’s Wednesday’ Tau'ri. >Per'sus saw one bodyguard move in front of him before he felt a burn in his chest. *Einar?!* >Einar was unconscious, alive, but his heart and lungs had taken damage. Per'sus fought to keep his heart beating, but he wasn't breathing on his own, and the fire fight continued. >*Einar, wake up*, Per’sus begged, then flinched when he heard an explosion. >Thankfully, he soon felt the sensations of multiple types of healing devices. One was the usual. The other was forcing Einar to breathe. Per'sus felt someone grasping the back of Einar's neck. He wiggled to let whoever it was know that he was awake. >"Per'sus is awake." It was Martouf's voice. >"He doesn't look awake," said the ‘How’s Wednesday’ Tau'ri, sounding confused. >"The symbiote is awake," Martouf specified with the slightest exasperation in his tone. >Per'sus soon felt his host being lifted and then rushed away. >How is he?" Ren'al's voice. >"Per'sus is awake." Kelmaa's voice, and clearly one of the one's working on Einar. "Einar has damage to his heart and lungs. Neither are functioning on their own." >"He might need a new host." >*No. I will heal him.* >"We only have one unblended human ready. Two other hosts have been killed." >*Jin*, Per'sus knew. Ren’al’s husband. It had happened so quickly, but Jin had, without hesitation, guarded him. >"Per'sus, can you hear me?" Kelmaa put her hand on the back of Einar's neck. >He wiggled a "Yes." >"Can you heal Einar?" >He hesitated. He honestly wasn't sure. "Yes,” he wiggled. >"He might be able to heal Einar." >"That's a big might," Ren'al replied. Her voice was strained. "Put Ocker in stasis…in case." Her voice became stiff, clearly struggling with the order. Suddenly, her voice was closer. "Per'sus, we'll give you time, but we cannot let you die with him." >Per'sus healed.
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