content. fluff. fluffy fluff fluff because that’s all my heart can currently take. reader is gender neutral! luke castellan is bbg.
notes. something small for my first work that i post here! wrote this at like 5am so might not be good. i am such a sucker for luke castellan
Luke hates it when you cry.
It did not matter why you were crying. From happiness, anger, or sadness, the sight made Luke's stomach churn. He didn't know why. It might be how they stick to your eyelashes or the trail they trace down your cheeks. Perhaps it's how your cheeks and nose are dusted red. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
Here you lay in bed, on top of the son of Hermes. Luke has his arms around your waist, rubbing soothing, nonsensical patterns into your back. Your face is in his chest, a damp spot growing on his orange shirt with each tear you shed into the faded fabric. Trembling hands curl into the garment, wrinkling the cloth, but he does not mind.
"Don't cry."
His voice is honeyed, speaking with a gentle warmth that always makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild.
"I can't help it."
Your words draw a light laugh from him, a pleasant tinkling sound that felt like pure heaven to your ears. You would have dwelled on it longer if you hadn’t remembered you were crying, and he laughed. You tilt your head to meet his gaze, sticking out your bottom lip in a pout.
"Don’t laugh."
"I can’t help it."
The bastard, daring to use your own words against you. You huff out a laugh in disbelief and bury your face into the fabric of his shirt again, and the soft smile on his stupidly pretty face grows.
"There’s that pretty sound. Let me see your face."
Luke shifts your position, cupping your chin and bringing your face to his. He leaned in, pressing his lips against your tear-stained cheek. The contact makes your skin tingle and you melt more into his touch. Your eyes sting with the tears they shed, and he pecks a kiss on each droplet that rolls down your cheek. He can taste your salty tears on his lips, yet he doesn’t care.
Luke never ceases, his lips replacing each tear that dares trail down your flushed skin. When they no longer shed, he briefly slots your lips together, and you can taste the tears too. You fight back the urge to protest when he pulls away, brushing the tips of your noses together and resting your foreheads on each other.
Title: Ain't No Mountain High Enough (To Keep Me From Getting to You)
Fandom: Dream SMP
Relationships: Technoblade and Phil Watson | Philza
Summary:
If today were a normal day, Philza would be swooping over the streets of Nita City, sharp eyes locating any criminals from a pickpocket to a gaggle of villains running from a bank. He’d be perching on rooftops, hand to his ear to receive information from his comm. He might have even been stuck in a meeting or two.
He glances out the window of Icarus, and only sees a forest below.
Howzer, Gregor, Rex, Cody and Echo make an appearance too. Howzer picks out reader’s wedding dress because I feel like he’d be good at that.
Warnings: tears. Lots of tears, angst and a lot of fluff. Wolffe and reader are head over heels for each other. Wedding fluffies. No use of y/n.
Tagging @high-ct5555 who requested the original and @alegendoftomorrow who seemed interested
Your hands are shaking as your heart thumps wildly in your chest.
The love of your life is on the other side of that wall and you've never been more scared to face him.
You're not afraid of him, at least. Rather, you’re afraid of the differences that will come because of the chips and order 66.
You flinch as the door to the makeshift medbay slides open…and there's Wolffe, looking so broken. Maker, what happened to your Commander?
“I uh…guess we should probably talk, huh?” He says, absentmindedly rubbing the bacta patch covering the surgical incision.
You nod. You want nothing more than to throw yourself into his embrace; but not yet. You both need answers.
After sitting down in the storage room, he recounts everything that happened after he left. The battle, the order, the general. He starts to break down a little at that point. You lean forward to take his hand in yours. Something clinks on the dainty chain around your neck and Wolffe's mismatched eyes go wide when he sees the two alloy bands that you never got to exchange. His face twists into an expression of guilt and grief.
“Oh kark. I know…I screwed up—” he starts.
“Wolffe-” You try to stop him but he keeps talking.
“What kind of di'kut proposes to his girlfriend and then doesn't come home to her for a year?”
You've had enough, as hot tears roll down your cheeks.
“One who never had a choice!” You cry, gripping his hand to emphasize. “Who would have been killed if he'd refused. Who came back to me because I told him to. And who gets a kriffing second chance because I still love him.” You punctuate the last statement by gingerly cupping his face in your hands. His own tears slide down and meet your palm.
His voice cracks and his lip quivers.
“Will you still have me, cyar’ika?”
You smile sadly.
“I will always have you, Wolffe.”
He surges forward to catch your lips, a hand tangling in your hair and gently tugging you closer.
You all but curl up in his lap and cry for hours. Later, when Rex finds the two of you sleeping—though uncomfortably—he smiles and knows better than to tell.
“Do you think they'll like it?” Rex asks nervously as he checks the makeshift decorations for the hundredth time.
“Relax, vod.” Gregor laughs, setting down a simple white cake with the words ‘just married’ written in dark icing. “Anyone would think that it’s your wedding with the way you keep fussing over everything.”
Rex rolls his eyes. “Well excuse me for wanting to make my adoptive batchmate’s wedding as nice as possible while we’re all fugitives of the Empire!”
Cody and Echo snicker at Rex’s outburst when Howzer strides into the room, a smug smile on his face.
“The bride looks stunning. Turns out the dress fits perfectly.”
Wolffe is the last to enter the room. He looks nervous as he seeks out Rex, hands shaking uncontrollably.
“Rex.” He mutters under his breath, eyes wide.
Rex frowns and takes his brother by the shoulders. “Hey, easy vod.”
“Do I look okay?”
Rex smiles reassuringly. “You look great, Wolffe.”
Everyone’s attention turns to the opening door where you stand, aglow in your white dress with a bouquet of wildflowers in hand.
Wolffe lets out a shaky breath and manages a smile. He doesn't think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his life and he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you chose him.
The others take their seats while Rex stands with you and your soon to be husband.
Through the whole preamble, all you can focus on is Wolffe. He’s barely holding his emotions in check. You just know that as soon as he begins his vows, he’ll break.
And break, he does. Tears are flowing before he even gets three words in.
“Cyare. I don’t know how I got so lucky with you. You’ve made my life better in so many ways and now with these uncharted waters that we’re in, I’ll still have you. I promise to respect you, to always have your back, and support you in everything that we may face.” he squeezes your hands gently. “I love you so much.”
Tears prick at your eyes as you clear your throat. “Wolffe. How can I put into words the love I’ve found with you? Or the warmth that I have in your arms. Or the hope that I see in your eyes. I’m so, so thankful for the second chance that we have. I can’t begin to imagine what my life would be like without you. I promise that whatever happens, my heart belongs to you, as does my trust. I love you more than words can describe.”
At some point, both of you began crying your eyes out, wiping each others tears with shaky hands.
Cody hands you Wolffe’s ring, and Wolffe your ring. The last of the ceremony goes by in a blur and before you know it, you’re sharing your first kiss with Wolffe as husband and wife.
His calloused hands gently cradle your face as his lips claim yours in a sweet and reverent kiss. When it breaks, he pulls you into his chest with a shaky breath.
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ner kar’ta.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics and reblog banners by @dystopicjumpsuit
He was tossed aside and forgotten about so long ago he doesn't recall a time anyone ever thought of him. This boy needed love or at the very least attention, his father was evil surely there was something he could do to stand out. Something this lost child could do earn his fathers love.
He raised an army that tossed him aside. He fought the chosen ninja and that should have been his moment in the history books. It was never meant to be, he thinks. Watching from the shadows as a girl his age just as sad and broken as he, was brought into his uncle's home and given the keys to destiny itself. This girl fought his father and broke Garmadon free from the dark whisper on the blackest night, better known as The Overlord. She even cured him, though not completely. Garmadon's memories under the venom's influence flash in his mind like a dream. He remembers a woman, a father, a child, and a fight that sent him to another world but nothing is clear. And he can't remember their names. Surely if he can't recall the names of people he vaguely dreamed of loving, they must not have been important.
It must have been a dream.
The forgotten son gives himself a new name. The Quiet One, you don't see him until it's over. His hands leaves their mark on his victims and his enemies that don't know they are enemies. Yet no one has seen his face. His influence in the world is gentle nudge, things just just needed something small and forgettable to add to the pot and cause it to boil over. The Quiet One made a list of all the people who wronged him. All the people who had forgotten him.
At this point, it shouldn't have surprised him when no one recognized him. When he screamed into the void "Look at me!" and no one answered. When his father died, and his mother after having disappeared all those years came to the funeral, no one bothered to call him. His own mother passed this forgotten child waiting by the statues in the Corridor of Elders, for just a moment to look into her eyes. But she didn't see him, a polite nod acknowledging the presence of this stranger and proving he wasn't a ghost. His dreams of reunification were crushed to dust as he was overlooked by the one person in the world who was meant to love him.
It didn't surprise him when no one in their wildest imaginations or forgotten dreams guessed that it was him. The welp from the serpentine attacks could never have grown to be so dangerous. Surely if he were evil the ninja, his mother, or anyone would have noticed. In the depths of the faintest recollections this child was harmless so why worry.
Years later, a leather and blood bound faction that call themselves the Sons of Garmadon terrorize Ninjago City. They disgraced his memory with a dark promise to disturb the eternal peace of the beloved Sensei Garmadon as an evil husk to destroy Ninjago. And not a soul, not a one could understand why.
With the rattle of heavy chains, a red lollipop, and an evil laugh they've long forgotten about, they suddenly remember.
A boy with no home, no family, and no love left in his heart. A boy who's goal is to punish everyone for daring to forget his name
Set in the hours before Briar became a Horror, and before she became Jeff’s apprentice. May eventually be integrated into the full Briar’s birth fic
TW: discussion of parent death, implications of neglect
Pausing in the middle of the street, Briar looked towards the two houses. One house now. They'd demolished Mrs. Gillespie's house years ago, that's why she moved north in the first place. But the house that remained looked just like it did when she lived there.
Well, not exactly. She saw the changes as she approached. The flaking paint, yellow-white on the porch, cream tainted to brown on the main building. They'd put bricks on the walkway towards the porch, and now grass sprung up between each one. Dirty windows guarding untouched, homemade curtains. Two stories, plus an attic, and only one person lived there, all alone, until she died less than a week ago.
She should grieve the loss of her mother. She should feel nothing, because she lost her mother years ago. What she felt instead was tired, an ache that went down deep into her bones.
In front of the house, strangers. Some of them were kind of familiar. Vague memories of uncles and aunts and cousins, most not blood related, pressed against the surface of her mind. They brought boxes in and out of the house, and sorted through them, placing items on the plastic tables that now covered the dead garden in the front yard. As she came closer, a man raised his head. Her brother.
"Hello?" He set down the bowl he was looking at.
"Hello," she said, smiling politely as he came closer.
His expression twisted in surprise.
"Oh. Uh. Hey, uh…"
"Briar," she said.
"Briar, yeah." She knew he wouldn't remember it, but she couldn't really care either. "What are you doing here?"
She shrugged. "Wanted to see the house one last time."
He glanced towards the building. "Yeah… it's not changed a lot, has it?"
"It looks worse than I remembered," she said.
Her brother nodded. He looked away, scratched his ear, disturbing the thick hair that fell limp in the heat. "Mom, uh, didn't really take care of the place after Dad died. She just gave up. We're gonna sell it to the governor's and use the money to make a big house for all our families. A nice one, not the cheap places I grew up in."
"Sounds nice," she said. Briar hesitated. "Did you get rid of all my stuff?"
He shifted. "Some of it. Uh, mom gave away some of your old clothes, and your bed stuff. We moved your curtains into the main room after we had to reuse the old ones. You didn't really…" he moved his hands awkwardly. "Have a lot in the first place. Not like me."
No, now that she thought about it, she really didn't. Except…
"Is my old baseball bat here?"
He blinked at her. "... Think so," he said. Tilted his head at her. "You want it?"
Briar nodded.
He raised a finger. "I'll just go…" Turning away, he rushed towards the house. Flew up the porch stairs, past a woman carrying a box of sewing supplies, and into the house.
Briar waited, and ignored the way the family members looked at her.
Not three minutes later, her brother returned. In his hands, the baseball bat. Metal stained red, with a black cloth wrapped around the handle, just like she remembered. He offered it, and she took it, and she held it like a baby.
"Are you sure you want that?" He rubbed his head again. "I mean… doesn't it have really bad memories attached to it?"
She smiled, and it was sad. "Yeah. That's why I left it behind." Briar hoisted it onto her shoulder. "But the cities aren't safe like they used to be. I need protection in my apartment, and I can't afford the training or registration for a gun."
He took the lie down without even questioning it.
"You be careful then?" He said.
"Course I will," she said, another lie. "You too, alright?"
The tension dropped from his body, he seemed to recognize the close of the conversation.
"Yeah," the man who used to be her brother said. "Good luck."
"Good luck," Briar said. She turned her back on the past, and walked away. Her eyes glanced at the bunny carved into the bottom of the handle, and it seemed to smile at her. She smiled back.
She was going to die tonight, but she'd make sure the Killer would remember her forever. Somehow.
He looks up from adjusting the blanket over Kaoru. "Thought you were asleep."
Kaoru doesn't give him a response, staring at the ceiling with something like shame. Something like grief.
Something like love.
"You just got out of the hospital," he continues on, disregarding Kaoru's admission. They're not the type to talk about the obvious. "Get some rest, I'll take the futon since you're injured." He stands, heading for the door. "Let me know if you need anything."
"Kojiro?" He stops mid-step. He's never heard his best friend sound so fragile.
No, not fragile. Broken.
"Yeah, Kaoru?" He returns to his side, where he's meant to be. "What's up?"
Kaoru meets his eyes with ones full of tears. "Stay with me?"
Always, he doesn't say.
"You're injured," he berates halfheartedly, not even surprised when Kaoru still moves to make space.
"You're my best friend," Kaoru mumbles. "Do your job."
"You never change," he says with a shake of his head. He slips in behind him carefully, wrapping arms around Kaoru's shaking shoulders. "So dramatic."
"Shut up and let me sleep."
When the sobbing starts, he doesn't mention it. He stays and holds and comforts. He curses Adam from hell to back. He cries, too, when he knows it won't be noticed.
You're worth ten of Adam, he mouths when Kaoru's cries settle, when breathing evens out. You deserve the world.
