#����rach is actually writing

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s okay. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m okay.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m okay.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were okay!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Okay…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Okay.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s okay. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—?” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor, shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—?”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, okay? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—?”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—?”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, okay?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys okay?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[sxfterhearts]

i have a confession to make…

warning: 18+ mdni, explicit content ahead

ok so for the longest time i’ve tried to keep my blog super wholesome and PG with the rare exception of one or two suggestive/smut fics here and there but honestly. i’ve reached my limit 😭 i’m gonna have to do it guys im sorry i disappointed you

(fuck im so dramatic i can’t even)

(it = write that jiung smut fic that’s been living in the back of my head for the past few weeks but has been rudely awakened due to Recent Events IYKYK)

(IM SCARED OK I SUCK AT WRITING SMUT BUT I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS WHAT DO I DO WITH THEM RAHHH)

in the words of my moot — jiung you need to tone down your fanservice and visuals bc youre really making the chocochips act up 😭😭🫠😩

[whimsicalcotton]

Also I started getting into the namesake song of polluted marrow (Spiracle by Flower Face) and it's so good... I wanna give you the green light to ramble about how you think this song relates to the fic/the characters/etc bc I'm very curious to hear how it inspired you 😊

[cracks knuckles] Okay so,

for starters this AU is kinda old. i think i started toying w the general idea in 2016ish, and the want to write it got hardcore resurrected when i decided to watch an lis1 playthrough for the first time in fucking ages last year. i happened to find Spiracle recently after finishing up so there was already like a 60% chance i'd start associating it w lis through just that, but then i was smacked in the face specifically by this last line

so hard that i was immediately like Oh God I Need To Write That Timelooper Max AU Right The Fuck Now. (like seriously. "i want you butterfly, i want you sailor." what am i supposed to Do after hearing that if not wail over pricefield)

as a whole for me the song is about The Devotion (tm) and how Max loves every last little part of Chloe, good or bad, for better or worse, so goddamn much that she's willing to put herself through all this fucking bullshit several times over. Yearning On A Cosmic Scale kind of vibes.

but then after a few listens i Realized. that some of these lines are really good for Rachel + the admittedly unhinged amberfield dynamic i have brewing. imo Max is definitely not immune to the whole putting the idea of Rachel on a pedestal problem, but she does it Different than everyone else bc her image of Rachel is informed mostly by how important she was to Chloe. which is to say i read some of these lines in an "and i want you, too. i want every part of her and you're a part of her," sort of way.

also this one line is very Max @ both of them

and to bring it back to that last bit again, i feel like the butterfly/sailor line is pretty self-explanatory but "i am your lover, and i am your jailor," to me is the crux of all those conflicting gnarly gay timelooper feelings. no one loves you like me, no one hurts you like me. i'm saving us, i'm keeping us trapped here. i'm the one who pulls you from your grave, i'm the one who throws the first shovel of dirt onto your coffin. i'm your lover, i'm your jailor.

also! even the title easily lends itself to lis imagery bc A) english is stupid and there are too many words that look the damn same so i think of spirals every time i see it. and more concretely, B) spiracles are little holes in an insect's body that they use to get oxygen and ofc,, both butterflies And the chrysalis itself have them. i'm mentally unwell about this actually. truly i wasn't aware i could be emotionally damaged by looking up caterpillar facts but that's what writing does to you i guess.

and lastly i picked out 'polluted marrow' as a title for the whole AU because

could be Any Of Them.

for Max it's "i'll still want you if you're nothing; i'll still want you if your insides are rotting." for Chloe it's "i want to know what's hurting you; i want to take it away." for Rachel it's "i want to see the depth of your sickness; i want you to hold it to my throat like the weapon you've made it into."

[how-the-feathers-have-fallen]

Dumping the start of the tags here cause tumblr has a tag limit of 30 :/ sorry op

Okay hold on

also more things I couldn't fit in. after cuddy bails out choreman chase gets assigned a bunch of clinic hours as Punishment TM. But mom-dad wilson (house is dad-mom) keeps him company till house gets angsty and comes to bail him out pick him up.

More I couldn't fit in at the end so I dumped here outta order:

wilson teahces the ducklings to paint since obvi house passed down his musical talents

rich kid chase got assigned clarinet at age 6. he's ok but has 0 heart. house jokingly points him towards a lyre in a music shop and he takes to it instantly. house go to tease him (baby angel lookin-) but chase looks so overjoyed and he says something like "look just like David played for Saul" so he melts on the spot (and convinces wilson to by him a kinnor so he doesn't know its his idea. he sings like a screeching alterboy tho)

I think cameron can sing but she's quiet and stumbles so she refuses to get formal training. she's tear rendering on a cello tho. surprisingly she can dj like all hell too. she had a wild college life before her 1st husband

foreman can sing smooth as silk. but he can't play an instrument to save his life (no patient for it). his dancing though? stage worthy. can be convinced to show off after a couple drinks.

Obsessed with the whole vibes of early season one of House. The ducklings have the energy of dysfunctional siblings along with their insane Vicodin-addict father. Wilson isn’t shown to have an office yet so he just lingers at House’s side while constantly and giving him fuck-me eyes. Wilson will just sit in on diagnoses and give his advice like he doesn’t have any responsibilities in the world. When the team needs to (illegally) shrink a patient’s tumor so it’s small enough to operate on, Wilson just says “alright” and does it along with Cameron. Chase does a silly American accent to fool a patient’s mother and it WORKS. Foreman is new and already despises everyone. House comments on how fuckable Wilson looks when Wilson is simply wearing a green tie and nice shoes. An old woman says that House has the same bedroom eyes as Ashton Kutcher. At one point the team, House, Wilson, and Cuddy all gather together in the small lab room to discuss a patient and are all basically brushing shoulders. Wilson reads a love poem out loud in the middle of the hospital to House. House eats tomato sauce that the team suspected was killing the patient. Wilson ditches his wife on Christmas Eve to go hang out with House and it shows a montage of them laughing and eating take-out. Cuddy greets House and Wilson by saying “hi, boys” like they’re kids. Foreman and Cameron are tasked to search a patient’s home and Foreman eats the ham he found in their fridge because he was hungry. The first scene with House shows him and Wilson walking down the hallway literally brushing hands and shoulders despite the hallway being huge. One of the first things Wilson does is lie to House. Wilson asks House — who rarely ever takes cases unless he finds them really interesting — to take a case and House just takes it. When asked why it was so easy, House just looks at Wilson with a smirk and says “you know why” and then they both smile at each other. This is all in the span of the first eight episodes.

[unknownbl0ggerr]

His shirt

Chandler Bing x Fem! Reader

The group catches y/n wearing Chandlers shirt, y/n and chandler arent out as a couple yet. (Kinda based off of the “rach can i borrow your eyelash curler i think i lost mine”)

—————————————

“Hey Chandler, wheres that white shirt you always wear? I thought you were gonna wear it when we all go to my show.” Joey asked and the rest of the group turned to look at Chandler. Chandler didnt answer for a second, “uh in the washer! I need to run a load soon.” He stuttered through the sentence. Joey thought nothing of it and neither did the others. “Alright well lets go see if y/n is up yet, she needs to get ready too.” Ross said opening the door as everyone walked across the hall to the apartment.

“Y/n! You up yet?” Joey called out. She walked out of her room not paying any attention to what was going on, “give me five minutes to get dressed and i’ll be ready.” Some of the others gasped and Joey just nodded before looking at the others, “what?”

Joey looked back at y/n and eventually noticed her shirt, then gasped as well. Y/n looked confused then looked at the shirt she was wearing, Chandlers shirt. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Chandler who’s eyes were also widened. “In the washer huh Chandler?” Ross asked as the group looked at him. Chandler gave a sarcastic smile before speed walking over to y/n and practically dragging her back to her room.

“Well 1. I definitely need to see you wearing my clothes more often because.. wow.” Chandler started gesturing to her making her smile and blush, “and 2. I guess its time to tell them huh?” Y/n laughed and nodded, “i guess so. I’ll get dressed and then we’ll talk to them okay?” Chandler nodded and sat on her bed as she went and got dressed.

————

After she got dressed she walked out of her closet putting on her earrings, “okay ready?” She reached for the door but got pulled back, “one more thing.” Chandler smiled and pulled her to him, he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. Once they pulled away she wiped the lipstick off his lips but kissed him on the cheek leaving a mark. “Now im ready.” He said smiling wide. She smiled back and nodded as she opened the door.

They were all in the same spot and immediately turned to the door. There was a minute of silence before everyone started talking, many “i knew it!” And “i called it!” And “you owe me that 20 bucks!” Were thrown around and Chandler wrapped an arm around your waist, “as much fun it was being a secret im definitely going to love this even more.” Chandler whispered quietly in her ear. She smiled and looked up at him as the others still argued with each other about their bets, “me too.”

Small one tonight as i finish the other one im working on. i had a dream about this last night actually about chandler and thought it wouldve been a cute prompt so i hope you all think so. Also I might start writing for Joey as well but we’ll see!

[ekrixart]

No idea if someone's already asked this or not, but oh well.

What exactly is it that you work with at Studio Investigrave? I've noticed some of your art on promotional stuff but is there anything you draw that's in the games? I have some suspicions on some art that might be yours from Dead Plate but I can't really tell for sure.

So in short what exactly is your job at the studio? And what work have you done?

I work on writing, most backgrounds, some sprite work, game development [like game mechanic/progress ideas, not any of the actual coding or implementation], some cg storyboards, character animations, illustrations, and other odd jobs split between us while we work. Rach and i are both artists first and foremost so there isn't really a split on jobs, it's just whoever's available to do it- Though Rach works on a lot of the clean up art for CGs and sprites just to more easily keep a cohesive style of the games My portfolio website has a few more specific examples with progress descriptions but a lot of the pages are still wips. A few examples of my work on dead plate would be writing, backgrounds [aside from Rodys apartment], most of the sprite animations [like the cooks and Rodys walk animations [though rach added all the specific food/dish animations, bless his soul because dear fucking lord]], the food dishes you receive, the catalogue/items you can buy, etc- Theres a lot of stuff Im forgetting and Rach Also worked on a lot of these examples so don't take this as gospel but it's just off the top of my head

[inexplicifics]

Is Vesper an OC? Because I have fully adopted her and my head cannons for her are amazing (to me). One day I may even actually write them as fic (adds to my own WIP list :P)

Yes, Vesper is an OC, as is Rach. I haven't fleshed them out as fully as I'd like to, so please do feel free to play with her!

[hyungseos-cafe]

Pairing: P1harmony Jiung x GN!Reader Ft. Theo and Keeho

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Warning: Swearing, Jiung being an idiot lol

Word count: 1.2k +

Summary: When work climbs to the top of his priorities, everything else around him seemed to fall apart, including his relationship with you. They say to never let work get in the way, but when your boyfriend is a famous producer, things get murky.

A/N: i was inspired by rach’s jiung headcanon haha so go check it out! OH AND HI RACH!! SEE IT'S NOT ALL ANGST!! your heart can rest easily. Also shout out to Theo and Keeho for being persistent and saving the relationship. And thank you to those who showed interest in this fic!!!! I hope to write for piwon more 🥹 P.S. there's something very important written in the tags so pls be sure to read it ~

Order for: @sxfterhearts @p1ecesofate @issadumbass @stellxx @classicicarus @halaboyz @chenleluvr @astro-doll-the-star @zynz0 @orangebl0ssoms - unable to tag

(lmk if you want to be removed)

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“You’ve changed” 

Jiung continued to work at his desk, it was like you were talking to the wall. 

“Jiung, did you even hear me?”

“Yeah, I get it, I’ve changed. What’s new?” 

“What do you mean what’s new? You missed all our dates this month and not to mention our 2 year anniversary” 

“I already told you, deadlines have been killer this month. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Oh I don’t know, be my boyfriend? It doesn’t feel like I’m in a relationship anymore” 

It was your last sentence that brought Jiung out of his work. Truthfully he’s been thinking over your relationship too, and you’re right, he has changed. 

“Look, if you’re wanting the reason why I’ve been missing our dates or whatever… it’s work” 

“I get that you’re busy Ji, but it doesn’t feel like I have a boyfriend”

“If you want a boyfriend then maybe you should look elsewhere because I don’t think I can give you what you deserve” 

You sat at the couch in his studio stunned, sinking deeper into the cushion below you, you were speechless.

“So that’s it? This is how we end things? Two years Ji, two fucking years just thrown away because you’ve been ‘busy with work’ you’ve got to be kidding me”

Jiung sighed, his head pressed into the palm of his hands, a headache coming on as he thought about his current predicament. 

“I’m sorry but I tried okay, and I already told you, I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorry if I disappointed you”

You slowly sat up, tears starting to well up as you gathered what remnants remained in his studio; your sweater, your blue blanket and a Polaroid the two of you took together at the Han River. 

“Okay, I’m leaving then. So much for two years Ji” 

“I’m sorry” 

Jiung slowly led you out of his studio, watching you turn the corner as you walked out of his life forever. He never wanted what you had to end, but his greed got the better of him and clouded his judgment. 

A few months later Jiung receives a call from a familiar voice, Taeyang

“Dude, you have to talk to Y/n”

“Why? I hurt them didn’t I? I thought they didn’t want to talk to me”

“They’ve been ignoring all of our calls the past few months. The only person who can get through to them is Keeho”

Keeho was a mutual friend, well maybe best friend. He always rooted for your relationship knowing how difficult it was dating a popular producer. Keeho was more than just your best friend, he was your voice of reason, a true confidant and wonderful listener. 

“Y/n, you can’t just ignore our calls like this. We all care about you so much. You had me worried sick”

“I know, I’m sorry Keeho”

“I don’t think you do, I was so worried you got sick or that you haven’t been eating. You know Jiung would be mad, right?”

“Jiung and I aren’t together anymore” 

It took everything out of him not to raise his voice at you. He knew how much Jiung cherished you and how hard he fumbled when it came to you. Jiung actually called Keeho a couple days ago to air out his grievances ever since he let you slip between his fingers. 

“I know, but he still cares about you Y/n” 

“How would you know? It’s not like you talk to him anymo–”

“Just shut up for a second and listen to me, okay” Keeho firmly gripped onto each side of your shoulders forcing eye contact with you 

“I’m not supposed to say anything, but I can’t watch you tear yourselves apart like this. I love the both of you so much, so listen to what I am going to say, okay? No interruptions!!!”

You nodded as your shoulders drooped and you leaned in to rest your forehead against Keeho’s chest, feeling the reverberation as he spoke. 

“Jiung is going to be pissed, but he told me last week that he still loves you. Trust me Y/n, that boy loves the shit out of you. He wouldn’t leave his studio last week because he was apparently writing you a letter. I told him you liked receiving letters, so he wrote one…”

Keeho gently held your head in his hands, brushing the stray hairs that fell out of place and smiled down at you. You smiled back and wrapped your arms around his torso, taking his every word in. 

“Thank you Keeho, I should try to go see him tonight then” 

“I’ll drop you off if you want? My apartments 3 blocks away from his studio anyways, but only if you’re okay with it” 

“O-okay, I actually really miss him” You felt almost sheepish admitting your remaining feelings. 

A little less than 10 minutes later you stood in front of Jiung’s building where his studio is. You let yourself in with Jiung’s code. Walking down the dark corridors, you felt your heart skip a beat. As you rounded the corner, you could see warm light spilling from the room in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you gently knocked on the door. 

“Theo I told you I was-” His eyes widened as you stepped through the door. 

“Y/n? You’re here… I thought you didn’t want to see me” 

Sadness was evident in his voice as he gently grabbed your hand, guiding you to the couch inside his studio. His touch tentatively lingered on your hand as he struggled to meet your eyes. 

“I’m sorry” you both started, meeting each other's eyes, Jiung let out a quiet breath, smiling as he took in your features. 

“Don’t be, I should be the one apologizing. I wasn’t the best boyfriend and I should have done more” 

“And I’m sorry for walking out on you… I heard from Keeho that you wrote me a letter” 

“Oh, I– Yeah, I have been busy writing this letter to you. I’m not sure if you want to read it though. I don’t want it to seem disingenuous” 

“Ji, you’re always genuine and I would love to read it if you’ll let me” 

He turned around to rummage his desk, searching for said letter that was hidden amongst the stack of music sheets and notebooks. 

Jiung hesitated, letter in hand, he tapped the back of your hand before scooting closer to you, leaning his head on your shoulder, gently placing the letter in your hand and interlocking your fingers. 

“I missed you, I missed this” 

You let go of his hand unraveling the letter Jiung wrote to you, tears threatening to fall as you read his letter, feeling the emotions he poured so purely into his letter. 

The night went on with hushed conversation as the two of you worked to repair your relationship. To say that Keeho was relieved was a massive understatement. As soon as Theo let him know that your relationship was reconciled, he immediately rushed to call you. 

“Hey Keeho, what’s up?” 

“Theo told me you’re back together! I’MSOHAPPYFORYOUTHATICOULDCRY” He exclaimed from the other line

“Awe, me too. Thank you for fighting for me Kee, it really mean–” 

Before you could continue Jiung erupts from the background to thank Keeho for his diligence and persistence. 

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full, Y/n”

“Jiung’s just happy he’s back with me at my apartment, but thank you. I’ll talk to you soon! And next time we get lunch, it’s on us!” 

[hayleythesugarbowl]

rachel green x reader headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • f•r•i•e•n•d•s masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a/n: we’re all a little in love with rachel right? on a mission to write hcs for all the friends characters 💋🩰

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dating rachel would include…

ok so you and rachel first met at her office 

wow, it’s not like she’s ever done that before. *cough* gavin, tag, mark (kinda) *cough*

what i’m saying is miss girl has a type

so you both worked in the same department and she started to develop a crush on you

one night when you were both working late

you started talking and it eventually led to you making out on her desk

aaand you’ve been dating ever since 

her friends were a little skeptical at first of her relationship with her coworker 

but eventually as they all got to know you, you became one of the group 

ross took longer than the rest of them to warm up to you ‘because of the history’

honestly rachel spoils you

always giving you fashion advice and buying you clothes

“oh, honey, this looks so good on you. and, you know, now you can throw out those old ones’

she loves your butt

calls you sweetie 

does that thing when you’re holding hands where she traces your hand with her finger

pillow princess 

she writes little sticky notes for you and puts them all over your apartment and in your pockets

and she always smells so good 

she drags you along to all of these spas places and you guys have spa days

she’s really good at giving gifts 

not so great at receiving them

‘oh, sweetie, i love it. it’s beautiful!’

‘rach, do you want the receipt?’

‘no! …. actually, can i just hold onto it?’

but she tries really hard to return only the stuff she really doesn’t want 

when you all do things as a group you and rach are always sneaking off to go spend some time alone

like once when ross brought all of you along on a muesem tour

and you and rachel were bored 

(you can only make fun of abstract art for so long)

so you snuck off to see if you could find something more interesting

and ended up getting caught ‘frolicking’, as the museum guard put it, behind a sculpture of a past president

‘wow, a public place, (y/n)! i don’t know, it’s kind of thrilling! i feel like joey!’

ross was furious 

‘i can’t believe you two! in a place of integrity and knowledge!’

to which rachel said 

‘i don’t know, ross. i saw a lot of people doing what me and (y/n) were doing in some of those greek paintings back there.’

and that ended that conversation

you guys get to spend almost every second together, what with seeing each other at work as well as outside of it

and sometimes it’s hard pretending not to be a couple at your job

lots of sneaky little touches 🤭

all of her friends love you so much and think you bring out the best in her 

(and joey just likes watching you two together)

you guys couldn’t be happier and rachel loves you so much 

…even more than weekend at bernie’s

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope guys enjoyed!! check out my other friends hcs on my masterlist and have a lovely day!! 🎀🖇️

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

��

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[sxfterhearts]

omg chat why is writing kinda hard???

ok so this is a bit of an aside (warning: this post is long) but @348kg and i talked about this and honestly writing fanfics is a way for us to express ourselves creatively while using our idols as inspo for our work. and it’s fun most of the time.. but like honestly, 70-80% of the time, writing is hard. it’s not easy, like… it’s actually quite hard work.

and i know everyone has seen posts of like “pls reblog instead of just silently reading” or “pls like at least to show your appreciation” etc etc etc and ur probs sick of hearing it but like, it’s so true???

writing is honestly hard. and for most of us fanfic writers.. im sure you know but we have lives outside of our blogs. we are students, or we work normal jobs, we have life responsibilities, we have problems to deal with, and yet somewhere in between our busy lives we manage to find the time to sit down and create these pieces of writing for you, the reader, to read.

and tbh, i don’t really know where im going with this? i just want to let you know this: a typical 1-2k words one-shot probably takes me around 2-3 hours to write (on average, on a good day - sometimes longer or shorter). but it takes you maybe 10-15 mins, at most 30 mins to read depending on your reading speed. isn’t the time gap a little wild 🫠 on a typical work day, i get home from work at about 6, i cook myself dinner and eat, i shower and clean up, and if i know im writing that night, i make sure to clear my schedule (ie no overtime, no phone calls to friends or parents etc) and i sit on my laptop and write from about 10ish to about midnight. then i pause and i edit, and set things up to get ready post (think: pictures, title, word count, writing the warnings, summary, doing the tags) and by the time i post, it’s probably 1am.

i breathe a sigh of relief because it feels good! it feels really good to release my labour of love (literally) out into the world. and honestly, you know who you are, but those of you who constantly read and reblog my work, i see u!! (Alexa play i see u by p1harmony) and those who leave comments or reviews in the tags, i also see u (that’s why i like to reblog and respond to your tags too)!! it honestly brings me so much joy when someone comes and talks to me about something i wrote and how it made them feel. or even when someone recommends a fic i wrote. all these things that are so little and take so little of your time actually mean so much to me and im sure other writers as well.

and so i guess what im trying to say to everyone is: if you are a fic reader, if you read any fics, i just want you to know that the fic you loved reading took the writer a lot of resources to write (brain power, creativity and importantly time). i hope this gives u an insight into the process of a writer/writing a fic because im hoping it might help with whether or not you decide to hit that like or reblog or comment button in the near future!!

(also, i think it’s a shame that as writers sometimes we have to compromise on what we actually want to write vs what to write to get more engagement, likes, rbs etc. personally i have been writing on tumblr since 2020 on and off so ive been on here for four years now and i have a good sense of what is a good formula for a “successful” fic - usually it’s smut, usually it’s for the most popular member in terms of fic reading, and usually it’s of a certain length posted around a certain time etc etc. but i guess i don’t rly care anymore bc im a kinda old tumblr writer who isn’t bothered about the notes as much as i am just grateful for the little comments people send me saying that what i wrote made them feel seen or resonated with them. cos i think that is priceless 🥹)

PS. in no way am i complaining about the engagement or lack thereof that i personally get, nor am i complaining about the mere fact that writing is hard bc yes i am aware that i wanted to write in the first place and so it was my decision haha

[robinbuckleysfringe]

paper rings

a joseph quinn social media au

pairings: joseph quinn x keery!reader

warnings: pronouns for reader vary between she & they, I've tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible even tho I do use female faceclaims

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*a few months later*

*yninstagram has posted to their story*

☆☆☆

*yninstagram has posted*

tagged strangerthings, joekeery, maya_hawke, milliebobbybrown, josephquinn & charlie.r.heaton

liked by florencepugh, tomholland2013, madisonbaileybabe, rudeth and others

yninstagram took a break from filming the boat show to visit the upside down for the night. stranger things season 4, part 1 lands on Netflix May 27th ❤️🦇

View comments

rachelzegler MY BESTIE IS A STAR. SO PROUD OF YOU!!! 🫶🏻💕⭐️⭐️⭐️

> yninstagram love youuuu rach 💕💕💕💕

madisonbaileybabe yesss y/n!!! get it girl!!

> yninstagram love you bby 🫶🏻💕

carlaciagrant so proud of you girl!!

> yninstagram aww, love you lacy 🫶🏻💕

madelyncline slay queen!!!

> yninstagram 😘🫶🏻

joekeery can't believe maya got 2 photos and I got the one :((

> yninstagram how could I not when she looked so amazing?? 🤷🏻‍♀️

> joekeery are you saying I didn't???

> yninstagram I didn't say you did

rudeth she's a star ⭐️

> hichasestokes 2 Netflix shows??? she's the biggest star

> yninstagram aww, love you boys 🫶🏻💕😘

josephquinn the prettiest girl at the party :)) ❤️

> yninstagram oh, shush 🫶🏻❤️

> user AHHHH

> user joe's comment!!! omg!!!!

milliebobbybrown love you y/n 🫶🏻🫶🏻

> yninstagram right back at ya mils 🫶🏻🫶🏻

user may 27th can't come soon enough!!

user you're so pretty!!!

user I'm so excited for this season!!!

user season 4 is gonna be so good!! but I'm so scared for your character!!

☆☆☆

*6 months later*

*yninstagram has posted*

liked by josephquinn, rachelzegler, maya_hawke, madelyncline and others

yninstagram treated myself to a lovely little holiday with my love ❤️

View comments

nattyiceofficial hope it was the relaxing holiday you deserve, you little worker bee 🐝🫶🏻

> yninstagram it was nat, thank you for suggesting a truly beautiful place 🫶🏻🫶🏻

madisonbaileybabe actually so jealous of you two gorgeous humans 🫶🏻

> yninstagram omg you should take Mariah. you'd love it!!

rachelzegler STUNNING 😍😍😍

josephquinn the beach looks good on you 😉😘

> yninstagram I could say the same thing 😉🫶🏻

> user wait, what does this mean???

> user2 Y/N!!!

> user3 is this them confirming that Joe's the guy in the post??? are they together???

> user4 freaking out omg!!!

user y/n, who's the guy???

> user2 I reckon it's joseph quinn. I mean, did you see his comment and y/n's reply??

> user3 that doesn't necessarily mean anything

> user2 yes, but the guy in the photos low-key looks like him. so??

user can we talk about that last pic??? whoever this mystery man is, you can tell he's down bad for them

> user4 they're so cute together it's unreal

user I want whatever it is that y/n and their mystery man have 🥰🥺

☆☆☆

whoops, accidentally just stopped writing and posting this story (and a few others tbh) for a while. anyways, I'm back, hopefully with some regular updates.

[genericpuff]

Turns out it's been a while since I've talked about Rachel's medical fetish art so it came as a shock to people when I mentioned it in the last post (I've got quite a few asks about it lmao) So I'm gonna enlighten y'all real quick on what I'm referring to, and yes, it's probably exactly what you're thinking of when you hear the word 'medical fetish'.

CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF MEDICAL FETISH ART AND DEPICTIONS OF NEEDLES!!!!

So the name "used_bandaid" is one Rachel started using back in the early to mid 2000's. She went by a LOT of different pennames back then, including but probably not limited to:

Pepper_maid

madame_issue

Usedbandaid/used_bandaid

Rach Alex

Rachel Royale

Raquel

Medical Tophat/Medical_Tophat

Frill_house

Gingerbreadcoffin (? this one's kinda weird because the link itself with this username just goes back to her used bandaid MySpace account , so idk if she ever actually used it or if it was even affiliated with her lol)

Now you're probably about to ask, "Puff, how do you know these are all her?" and that's because Rachel still had all of these accounts interlinked through her projects, primarily The Doctor Pepper Show. She seemed to change up usernames often just for the hell of it.

Anyways. I'm not gonna show much of it here because I do think it's better to leave certain things in the past, but there's a LOT of her old work that implies the stuff that's questionable/problematic in LO has always been a part of her identity as an artist (DDLG, hot pink self-insert MC, etc.)

One such example is "madame issue":

This is such a 3-in-1 smoking gun for everything we see in LO. The reference to bandaids (see: used bandaid, which was part of her URL slug for her old flickr where this drawing comes from), the hot pink color palette, and of course, the fact that this character is almost DEFINITELY a self-insert of Rachel, thanks to that shared name.

She's also stated in old commission/print posts that Madame Issue was the one print she wouldn't sell.

She doesn't explicitly say why but I think it's pretty safe to assume it's because Madame Issue is her.

We also have Eva, "the queen of medical fetish". And the tags are... pretty self-explanatory.

That said, that's as much as I'm gonna go into with her old art, because a lot of it does get quite personal with her and I don't really think it accomplishes much more to continue digging up old skeletons, at least not unless they can be seen as parallel to LO (which some of them are and I'll likely be sharing more of those ones in a later post).

That said, there ARE still pages that are accessible without the use of the Wayback Machine that advertise her as a medical fetish artist without the need for extensive digging. If you search up The Doctor Pepper Show on Google, you'll actually find a reddit thread asking what happened to Rachel's old work, and there are comments with loads of resources to access her pre-LO content. You'll also find the listing for The Doctor Pepper Show on The Webcomic List, which literally describes it as a medical fetish comic: "This is a comic set in a world where evil doctors rule, girls wear frilly underpants and people use their manners. *May I please blow your f**king head off?* This comic features Gothic dandys, EGL (Gothic lolitas) and medical fetish fashion. (Neo victorian setting)"

I'll let y'all do your own digging from here, there's a LOT to unpack honestly and while I can't keep you from doing your own research, practice due diligence with what you choose to share. Again, I don't think it's a crime in and of itself for Rachel to want to distance herself from her past as a medical fetish artist, so I think it's only really relevant to show the things that are clearly still influencing LO (like her love for the movie Lolita or the very clear sexualization of youthfulness). While we can try to leave the past where it is, she does still write LO with a lot of the most problematic features of her former identity, and it makes it all the more bizarre that if she is trying to distance herself from it all, then why would she stick with one of the pennames that's the most easily tied back to medical fetishism?

TL ; DR: Rachel started off online with medical fetish and gothic lolita art (at least as far back as we can trace it) and elements of that past are still present in LO today. Use that info responsibly lol

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Day two: Contemporary

Ao3

Kurt wasn’t supposed to be baking today. Sure, it was Black Friday and he could’ve been up at 3 am and gone with Rachel and her new boyfriend to line up outside of some store. But frankly the deals being dished out aren’t the same as his childhood. Where is his 75% off televisions, America? Long gone are the days of waking his dad up to go to the mall on Black Friday. The sales just aren’t worth it when you can get a much better price thrifting or learning to sew your own clothes, which is exactly what Kurt has been doing since he got his sewing machine. Ironically, one of his last Black Friday purchases when he turned 16.

Plus, cooking Thanksgiving dinner is exhausting. Rachel is little to no hope in the kitchen. Kurt even cooked tofurkey for her and a small real turkey for himself. All Rachel added to the meal was a store brought pie; “Kurt the little grocery up the block is so cute!”

So, he wasn’t supposed to be baking but the apartment was empty and he was putting off writing an article for his internship at Trend-Z, a fashion magazine trying to appeal to the younger generations. This week’s topic “Fashions of Old Yore in the Contemporary World” was supposed to be a transitional piece from everyday wear to holiday. But Kurt doesn’t believe simply using the word “yore” makes it holiday themed.

Anyway, he’s baking and avoiding. The oven is well heated and his first batch of Christmas shaped sugar cookies actually look like trees and reindeer; a huge improvement over last year’s dicks and blobs.

It’s nearing 3pm when Rachel and Charlie (the new boyfriend) emerge from her bedroom. They came back from shopping around noon and gone straight back to bed but not without stealing a fresh sugar cookie.

“Good you’re up!” Kurt says, “try this.”

He hands her a spoonful of batter.

“New recipe?” Charlie asks.

“Experiment more like it,” Rachel replies, “needs less flour and I think you should add honey.”

“We don’t have any honey.”

She shrugs unhelpfully.

“I can run to the store,” Charlie offers.

Kurt shakes his head but is grateful for the offer. He kinda hopes Charlie sticks around because he’s the nicest of his roommate’s boyfriends thus far.

“I’ll go, just do me a favor and take the cookies out of the oven when the timer goes off in seven minutes.”

Charlie salutes him.

That’s how Kurt ends up doing a little shopping on Black Friday. Hopefully the grocery stores aren’t full of crazies.

Speaking of crazies, Rachel texts him the minute he steps into the store.

Rach: can you please get me heat protective spray I just ran out

Rach: oh and dental floss!

Rach: and apples! I think the ones in the fridge are bad

Kurt tells her “sure thing” and puts his phone in his back pocket. It vibrates again while he grabs a basket. This time it’s her boyfriend.

Charlie: Rachel is also requesting semi-sweet chocolate chips for the experimental cookies. But didn’t want to bug you again

He rolls his eyes but replies back that chocolate chips were already on his mental list.

Lining his items up makes Kurt realize just how bizarre they are: semi-sweet chocolate chips, flour, heavy cream, honey, apple sauce, apples, dental floss, heat protective spray, orange juice, and lemons.

He barely looks at the cashier, slightly worried to see his reaction to such items but the cashier, name tag says Blaine, starts up a casual conversation with him. Having worked in retail himself, Kurt knows how rough the job can be especially after a holiday so he’s polite and keeps up the conversation.

It’s nice to talk to someone new. It’s easy and over a little too quickly. Plus, Blaine is unarguably adorable.

Kurt wishes he wasn’t worried about cookies burning in his oven or maybe he could’ve asked Blaine when his shift ended and if he liked coffee.

[pensat-i-fet]

Shared insecurities (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**So I recently got a request to write about the reader being slightly insecure because of being flat chested and that would lead us to some fluff. As a fellow flat-chested gal, I found the idea pretty good. So I hope you like it as well ❤️**

Word count: 2240

Masterlist

Wattpad

"I'm going shopping!"

"Can I come?"

"I'm going with Rachel, sorry".

Rúben pouts, making me laugh.

"Are you buying clothes for our holidays?"

"Of course, everything I have looks terrible all of a sudden so I need to fix that".

"Buy something sexy", he winks and I shake my head.

Something sexy…sure, one actually has to feel sexy in order to look sexy. And I can't say that's the case for me right now. But I try to forget all that when I meet Rachel to go on our shopping trip.

"Hear me out. I know we're not going to travel together but how cute would it be if we both had this matching set? We could be twins on different sides of the world".

I laugh and pick up the clothes she's showing me. Rachel and I have similar taste, so it's not surprising to me I actually really like this set. What we don't have in common is our body shape.

"I don't know, Rach. This top would look great on you but what do I do wearing this?"

"You look hot. That's what you do", she shrugs.

"How?", I say, pointing to my chest.

"What are you even talking about? You wear tops like this all the time even if you don't have much to show. At least you don't have to deal with all I have to show", she says, pointing at her own chest.

"But people like what you have to show. They look at me and wonder if I went through puberty yet".

I leave the top back where it was and move to see other clothes. Of course, Rachel follows me, frowning.

"Has Rúben made a comment about it?"

"About what?"

"About your boobs being small".

"No", I sigh. He's never made me feel like my body isn't good enough or pointed out any flaws. I'm good at doing that myself. I don’t need his help.

"Then where is this coming from?"

"I don't know. Of course I've been insecure about being so flat-chested in the past. But I thought I had made my peace with it. And now all of a sudden it's back. I see all these women with their tiny tops looking so good. Or all the bikini photos on Instagram and…well, then look at myself and it's pretty underwhelming".

"Don't compare yourself to others, please. You're perfect the way you are. And just so you know, it's very uncomfortable sometimes to have bigger boobs like mine. I so wish I had yours many times".

"You don't have to say that to make me feel better but I appreciate it".

"I mean it", and I've known her long enough to know she's saying the truth.

But still, whenever I pick another top or bikini, Rúben's words come back to my mind. "Buy something sexy". Because surely he wants me to be sexy. For him. And yet this is what he gets.

**

For our holidays, we go to a small Greek island. Tourism here isn't as bad and so we can relax better.

"Take that off", I hear Rúben say and open my eyes to look at him.

"Take what off?"

"The shirt", he says and I can see he's got a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.

"I'm good. I already put cream on my legs, don't worry".

"How can you be good? It's almost 40 degrees and you're wearing a shirt".

"I'm fine", I tell him, even though it's really hot and I'm not fine at all.

"Is everything ok? Are you ill or something?"

"No, Rúben. Just stop pestering me, ok? I want to sunbathe in peace".

"With a shirt on".

I close my eyes and turn my head to the side so he can't see the little tears in my eyes. Why do I always have to be so emotional?

But, of course, he can read me like an open book and he moves around the sunbed to look at my face and try to find the answers I won't give him.

"Why are you crying? Did something happen when I was out?"

"No".

"Well, you're scaring me then".

"I don't want to wear a bikini".

His frown is even deeper now. "Not what I expected to hear. But why don't you? I mean, we're sunbathing…is it because of the news that people have been filming women at the beach without their consent? We're in a private area, that shouldn't happen".

"As if anyone would want to take photos of me in a bikini", I mutter.

"I do", he laughs, not understanding what I'm saying.

But instead of telling him, I just get up and go back to the room, closing the door before he can get inside. And I know he'll get the message that I need a second to be alone.

Ten minutes later, the door opens and he finds me staring at myself in the mirror.

"Tell me what's wrong, please. I can't help you if I don't know".

"How can you like this?"

"Like what?"

"This", I say, pointing at my chest. "Your boobs are bigger than mine, Rúben".

"So? What's the problem?".

"Well, you want me to be sexy. I want to be sexy too. And this…this is anything but sexy".

"Why do I find you sexy then?"

I shake my head. "I don't want to be treated like a child, Rúben. I have eyes. And I know what men like. You want someone like Rachel. And I want to look like her too. I'm not blaming you".

"If I wanted to be with someone like Rachel, I would be with someone like her. I don't. I'm with you. And I've been for a while. Don't you think that if your body was a problem, I would have noticed already?"

I put the shirt back on, ignoring him, and go back to bed. But soon, he's lying down next to me.

"It's ok to be insecure sometimes but don't doubt me, please. We've always been honest with each other".

"This is different".

"How?"

"This isn't something I can change. It's not ugly clothes or like that time I thought getting highlights on my hair was a good idea".

"And who says you have to change it?"

"I do. I'm usually confident but we all want to fit it. To fit the standard of what people find attractive".

"And you think you don't already", he says, shaking his head. "That insecurity has gotten to your head but once it's gone, you'll see how wrong you were".

"You don't get it".

Rúben sits up and I follow his movements with my eyes.

"I do. Do you think I just go to the gym to be strong? I want to look good. I want to fit in that stupid idea of what attractive is too. But that's not where the insecurity ends", I sit up to listen to him and he continues. "When I miss a header I think maybe it's because I'm not as tall as other players but I can't change my height so I work extra hard on my jumps. When I'm too slow I wonder if it's because all the muscle I have somehow slows me down. But if I don't have the muscle, I lose strength for the one-on-ones with other players. And the list goes on. You know how I feel after a bad match".

"Yes, you're pretty unbearable", I joke.

"And you put up with me and tell me what a great player I am and the insecurities disappear. So let me do the same for you".

"I don't know if you can right now. The idea is too stuck in my head".

He gets up and offers a hand so I do the same. Then he walks me to the mirror and moves to stay behind me.

"Let's take this off", he says, trying to remove my shirt but I try to stop him. "Let me".

I lift my arms and he takes the shirt off. I look at the bikini again and feel the need to cover myself. But he holds my arms when he notices.

"This is what you think is ugly, then?"

"I don't know if ugly is the word. But not good enough".

He then moves to my side and I look at him frowning.

"You're right. My boobs are bigger than yours".

"What?", I say, choking on a laugh.

"Maybe I should wear a bikini too".

"Rúben, stop".

"No no, let me try".

In a move I didn't expect, he removes my bikini top and tries to put it on his body but…he's bigger, in general. So it obviously doesn't fit.

I look at him, biting my lip so I don't laugh.

"Are you done being a clown?"

"No, because I made you laugh. And I also got your top off, which is another win for me. Because I like what I see. A lot".

"Thank you", I tell him, putting my arms around his shoulders and kissing him. "Should I just stay like this all day? You can wear my bikini if you want to".

"But I don't want tan lines", he whines jokingly.

I end up putting my top on again because he's right about the people taking photos of others. And because insecurities don't disappear after a couple of nice words, no matter how much they helped. But I leave the shirt in our room. Baby steps.

When I get bored of just lying down there, I pick up my phone and go on Instagram. Rachel has posted photos from her own holidays and I like the post before seeing all the photos. But then, I look at them.

"Look how great she looks in a bikini", I tell Rúben. "This is what I meant".

"I don't think many boyfriends get told to look at other women's boobs by their own girlfriends, you know?"

"Stop joking. You know I'm right".

"She looks good, yeah. And so do you. Send her a photo of you in that bikini".

"What?"

"It's Rachel", he says as if that explains everything. "She doesn't lie to you. Don't ask for her opinion on how you look. Just send the photo".

He's right so I find a photo we took earlier, as part of Rúben's plan to make me feel better. And I send it to my best friend.

It doesn't take her long to respond and I laugh.

"What did she say?"

"Stop sending me photos of you looking hot while I'm here with my boyfriend".

"Hot? Good word choice".

"I get the point, Rúben".

"I mean, gorgeous would have done too. Maybe even fucking gorgeous if we want to make sure you really get it".

I roll my eyes while he continues reciting all the adjectives he could use to describe me. But I love hearing him say all of that.

After a very lazy day, we shower and get ready to go out for dinner and a drink. I pick one of the summer dresses I bought on my shopping trip with Rachel. The neckline is pretty low but it's not as if I have much to cover so it works well for me.

"No bra. Naughty!", says Rúben when he sees me putting the dress on.

"I can't wear a bra with this dress".

"And that's why summer dresses are my favourites".

"Of course they are. Let's go eat. I'm starving".

The place is packed with people but we find a couple of seats at the bar and sit there while we wait for a table to be available.

We are just chatting, sipping on our drinks when a woman walks towards me.

"Sorry to bother you. Could you help me fix my top? My friends aren't here and I don't want to ask a man, you know".

I look at her, surprised by the request.

"Sure, what's the issue?"

She turns so I can see the back and points at the straps there. "Is it done the right way? Because it's hurting me".

"No. One of them is twisted. Let me undo this quickly so it's done right. The skin is a bit red too. Hold the front of the top well so it doesn't move".

"Thank you. God! I hate my boobs!"

Rúben lets out a little laugh at her words. "Sorry".

"Don't be. I know you don't get it but these can be so annoying sometimes. So many tops don't fit me or wearing them can hurt like it happened right now".

"Done", I say and she turns to look at me.

"Thank you", she says, giving me a quick hug and looking down at my chest. "See? Look at that gorgeous dress you're wearing. You get to make it look good. I'd have to spend the night trying to keep these two in place", she laughs.

"And I would love to be able to fill my tops with something other than air", I laugh too.

"We're never happy with what we got, are we?"

I shake my head and she says goodbye to us before leaving to go find her friends.

"You do look great in that dress", says Rúben, wrapping his arms around my waist and bringing me closer to him.

"And I don't have to worry about keeping anything in place".

"Plus the whole not wearing a bra thing…".

"Oh my God, Rúben. Grow up!"

[inexplicifics]

you know, im rereading the whole accidental warlord series rn. livi's flight from redania probably got a KILLER song out of it. I mean, she was incredibly brave and it has a nice, happy ending. its the sort of thing i think would be wildly inspirational. tbh, you could probably write her three. one for her escape. one for the trip with dragonfly, and one for how much she kicks ass at slaying paperwork. i hope her father hears them. i hope he cries.

Jaskier absolutely writes at least one song about Livi's successful escape from Redania. Dragonfly is portrayed as Livi's knight in armor, aiding the valiant noble lady in her flight, and actually has to go and hide in a linen closet because of the Emotions that causes. Livi blushes like hell.

(Rach and Vesper memorize the song and hum the chorus at every available excuse.)