#(i am trying to get an actual brace. eventually.)

[hopepetal]

My friends, fellow creators, watching me write: You should really get some sort of brace if you're in that much pain and writing so much

Me, broke, using a hair tie as a makeshift brace: Like this?

My friends, horrified: no-

[oatmilk-vampire]

Steve Harrington needed hearing aids.

He wasn't born needing them. In fact, he was just about as healthy as a young man in his social class could be. But numerous head injuries eventually led to gradually worsening hearing loss, leading him to needing mostly useless hearing aids.

His damage was so severe he actually needed cochlear implants but his parents kicked him out of their house and off of their insurance plan when he got caught kissing his teammate back in high school. With his minimum wage job and splitting rent with his roommate Robin, he currently did not make enough money for such a luxury.

So he did the next best thing: he learned ASL.

It was free, other than his time invested, and Robin was the one to suggest it. After all, she was already fluent in five languages and had been in band for twelve years. If anyone could teach herself and a hard of hearing person to sign, it was Robin Buckley.

The only bad part was, they were the only two who seemed to know the damn language, leaving Steve to strain to hear or read lips lest he get (mostly) silently yelled at by some deranged customer.

So when he spotted a guy around his age with long, dark curly hair and perfectly round black glasses with side shields, he knew he had to act.

He knew what it was like to have people gloss over the fact that you exist, or even berate you for it; so he took a page out of Robin's book.

He learned braille.

Sure, technically Steve could still speak to the boy, but wouldn't it be more special if he could read what Steve wanted to say?

So he practiced and practiced until he was happy, bringing the card to work where his crush appeared to be a regular.

As Steve sees him walk in, he knows today's the day.

⠓⠊ ⠊ ⠁⠍ ⠎⠞⠑⠧⠑ ⠎⠕⠗⠗⠽ ⠊⠋ ⠞⠓⠊⠎ ⠊⠎ ⠺⠑⠊⠗⠙ ⠃⠥⠞ ⠊ ⠚⠥⠎⠞ ⠺⠁⠝⠞⠑⠙ ⠞⠕ ⠎⠁⠽ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠁⠗⠑ ⠗⠑⠁⠇⠇⠽ ⠉⠥⠞⠑ ⠁⠝⠙ ⠊ ⠺⠕⠥⠇⠙ ⠇⠊⠅⠑ ⠞⠕ ⠁⠎⠅ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠕⠥⠞ ⠕⠝ ⠁ ⠙⠁⠞⠑

Hi I am Steve sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you are really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

Steve is giddy when he wanders over to the boy in dark clothes. He had on black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a Metallica band tee, a leather jacket, and a denim battle vest. He's perfect. He's hot.

Steve's footsteps must be louder than he expects because the object of his affection immediately turns in his direction.

"Hi," Steve greets as he presses the thick stock paper into his hands.

The boy angles his head down with a frown as he traces an index finger over the raised dots, before looking right at Steve behind those dark frames.

He takes them off, and Steve learns after so long that his eyes are brown.

"I'm sorry," his crush says, Steve recognizing those syllables easy enough, "But I can't read this. What is it you're trying to say?"

But now that response is too much, Steve can't keep up. All he knows is the card he worked so carefully punching little holes in with a special tool he had to buy was now being pushed back into his hands.

Steve doesn't try to answer, he just wants to get the hell away before his tears spill over, but a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

He tenses, squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact, but when a familiar hit doesn't land on his face, he cautiously opens his teary eyes to find him staring right at Steve.

"Are you okay?" He asks, but Steve can't be quite sure if he's checking on him or asking if he's gay.

Steve's own frown appears on his face as he points to his ears.

"Can't hear too good."

His mouth drops open, rushing to spiel something Steve doesn't catch. He must realize this because he's taking Steve's card back from him now as he mimics writing something with raised eyebrows.

Steve nods his head, more confused that the guy he thought was blind seemed to be understanding him perfectly.

He fishes out the little pad of paper and pen he keeps with him for moments not quite like this, passing the two items over.

He scribbles for a moment before letting Steve read what he's written in big loopy letters.

Hi, I'm Eddie. Sorry, I can't read braille. What did you say?

Steve furrows his brows.

I thought you might know it. Aren't you blind?

Eddie shakes his head with a little smile.

The glasses? I have killer migraines. Never go anywhere without them.

Steve smacks himself in the face. He's been such a fool!

Eddie taps him to gain his attention once more before handing him the notepad and pen.

What did you say? I'd like to know :)

Steve worries his bottom lip.

Hi I'm Steve. Sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you're really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date

He's nervous as he hands it back, but Eddie's wide grin and eager nod does wonders to knock back those worries.

I thought you'd never ask, Steve.

[eoieopda]

FINE I'M HERE TO REQUEST PART 3!!! In which Chan better really GET that promotion!!!!!!! Contract signed, payroll amended!!!!!

You can make it angsty if you like, AS LONG AS you promise there will be a happy ending (in this part or........ Another 👀)

the one with chan and the promotion (iii)

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free. now, being free is the last thing he wants.

part i. part ii.

pairing: bang chan x reader au: fuck buddies to lovers, hurt/comfort type: drabble (angst, fluff) rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my content. wc: 3.1k cw: mad!chan makes a brief appearance but otherwise remains the best boy; gn!reader (no gendered language used); reader may or may not show some degree of emotional availability (gasp!); due to the nature of their relationship, sex is referenced but not actually depicted; very briefly/incompletely edited, oops. a/n: i love you completely and am so fucking sorry it took four (4) months for me to finish this 😵‍💫 i have an epilogue i can offer in penance, if you want it! everyone else, please read the first two parts before reading this!

Chan may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.

He knew it was a bad idea to get his hopes up; to expect that things would change quickly between you, if at all. Even though he saw the letdown coming from a kilometer away, he didn’t do a thing to brace himself for it. It’s his fault, he knows, for exaggerating his place in your life — but that doesn’t make the disappointment bruise any less when the week after your wisdom teeth removal flies by in radio silence.

The lack of conversation isn’t for lack of trying. As he scrolls through your half-vacant text thread now, Chan feels all his efforts staring back at him. All those attempted check-ins marked delivered but not well-received. Swings and misses.

Prior to sending each one of them, he spent minutes upon minutes agonizing over the tone — and the use of emojis — and the possible implications of the proposed emojis — and the fear that he’d just come off clingy, not invested. Reading the finished versions back now, he can recall with perfect accuracy the drafts he typed out and immediately, feverishly deleted. Considering the way they litter his brain, there may as well be a trail of crumpled-up notes in all that metadata.

Does it make Chan cringe to look back and watch himself flatline? Absolutely.

Does that stop him from salting his own wounds? Nope. It never has and likely never will.

Maybe, he figures, he’ll spot where he went wrong and find a way to un-dig this ditch he’s seemingly made.

[Sent 2024/7/23, 15:22] Just got home. Have you fallen back asleep already? Lol 

Naver says your swelling might be kind of bad tomorrow. Do you need ice packs? I have the gel kind that you can mold. Might be more comfortable than a bag of ice cubes 🤔 Lmk!

[Sent 2024/7/25, 08:03] Hi, Hamtori 🐹 How are your cheeks?

I made too much gamjaguk again. I can drop some off if

[Sent 2024/7/26, 17:49] Graduate to solid foods yet?

I hope the antibiotics aren’t making your stomach upset

DON’T LAUGH but I made you a super chill Spotify playlist with healing vibes to

Idk if you remember, but I promised to take you out for pork belly next week. If you’re up for it, are you free on

I miss y

[Sent 2024/7/29, 00:16] Hey

Or maybe, he thinks, he’ll just beat his head against his bedroom wall instead; and eventually, he’ll forget what it felt like to be yours for the day, rather than a night.

Four more days pass without a word from you. Under normal circumstances, one of you would’ve invited the other over at least twice in the eleven days since your dental appointment. No matter how infrequently the two of you chatted outside of your recurrent trysts, neither one of you has ever gone this long without summoning the other.

Something is wrong.

At this point, Chan sees two explanations for the way you’ve fallen completely off the grid: you’ve either succumbed to some tragic, post-op. complication and died, or he’s irreparably fucked something up with you without knowing how or when he misstepped. Neither one of those is an outcome he’s willing to accept. 

The voice in his head nags him so forcefully and consistently that his body eventually gives in. Undeterred by his better judgment, Chan lets it guide him up, out, and onward until he winds up on the sidewalk outside his building.

On the walk to your apartment, he mulls over the foreseeable consequences of the actions he’s already set in motion. It’s certifiably insane to pop in you like this, and once again, he only sees two options: you’ll slam the door in his face, or he’ll confirm once and for all that you’ve left this mortal coil. Bad on all counts, really, but anything is better than nothing.

His timing, as it turns out, couldn’t be better. Right as he lands at the front door, when he needs to think of a way to get in without buzzing you, a neighbor he’s seen once or twice before opens it to leave. Politely, they hold it open for him, likely mistaking him for someone with any right to be there — someone whose proximity to you actually makes sense. Chan thanks them with a nod of his head and a sheepish smile before slipping through the opening.

As the elevator ascends, his fingers move of their own accord, anxiously tapping out a rhythm on the stainless steel wall he leans against. Every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. There’s a flash of something else there, too, though. Something even more nerve-wracking than all his catastrophizing; something that makes his stomach flip.

Hope.

“Oi, none of that,” he mutters to himself.

It doesn’t work. When Chan approaches the doors in the second before they open, he makes eye contact with his reflection and sees that easy, ill-advised smile creeping up on him.

As he exits that giant metal box, he shakes his head with an anxious laugh. If he’s this embarrassed by himself when he’s alone, the chances of him living through the way you’re about to look at him are…

Well…

Abysmal.

But that doesn’t stop him from powering his way down the hall towards your door. Coincidentally, neither does the fact that he doesn’t have a plan for what he’ll do when he reaches it.

Figuring knocking is as good a start as any, that’s precisely what Chan does, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to appear more nonchalant. 

Then, he waits.

And then, he waits some more.

After thirty seconds pass without a response, Chan knocks again, carefully balancing the weight of his fist against it so the sound of it isn’t too assertive — or too eager — or too desperate — or —

“Left about an hour ago,” a voice says from a few meters away.

Chan turns towards the sound. Several units down, an old woman’s head pokes out of an open doorway. He can’t tell if she’s intentionally frowning at him or if it’s the weight of her jowls pulling the corners of her mouth down. Either way, it feels bad.

Running an anxious hand over the back of his increasingly warm neck, he coughs, “Oh?”

The ajumma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You young people never put those cell phones down and yet you still wind up like this.” She works herself up further; her nostrils flare as she rambles, “In my day, it was rude to show up unannounced. We called ahead, and when we called ahead, people were there to answer the door.”

Chan isn’t above arguing with some personified wrinkle, but he likes to think you would be. Even though you’re not here to witness it, it feels important to be the person you might like him to be. 

So, he bites his tongue. 

He nods yet again with a polite smile.

He turns on his heels.

And when he shuffles back towards the elevator, there’s a hell of a lot less of a spring in his step.

Two days go by after Chan’s little fieldtrip. Just like the previous several, they slip away quietly. This time, however, he doesn’t check-in — doesn’t type out his thoughts just to immediately erase them; doesn’t stare at his phone and wait to prove it to himself that it won’t chime.

Lesson learned, really.

It was a bad idea to bet the house on maybes. He knew it on the front end and still chose optimism; now, it serves him right. Played stupid games and won stupid prizes, as you like to say. If only he could stop thinking about what you like to say and instead focus on the fact that you haven’t said anything at all.

Chan grits his teeth and tries hard to focus on the game lighting up his monitor. Whatever Yongbok talked him into playing doesn’t make him feel any better about fumbling you — in fact, it’s proving to be yet another thing he’s terrible at — but it’s sufficiently distracting to have his friends swearing each other up and down in their Discord voice channel.

Actually, he stands corrected. This is also terrible, albeit a different flavor of garbage than his hopeless mooning over you.

Maybe radio silence is better.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes against the surface of his desk — three long taps bookended by three short ones. 

Before Chan reaches for it, he lets the poetry of it all sink in. SOS, his phone declares whenever you text him. Originally, although he’ll never fucking tell you so, he chose that text tone because hearing from you salvaged his day, every time. Now, it reminds him that he’s in over his head with no life preserver in sight.

Not bad, he thinks. He should write that bit down in the notebook of lyrics he ruminates over but never puts to music, let alone shares.

The lack of action on his part prompts his phone to vibrate again for emphasis. 

SOS!

Beaming white light bores into his retinas when he finally opens his inbox, and Chan refuses to think about the million times you’ve told him to switch to dark mode or the infinitely-brighter shit he’s been roasting under since he started this game several hours back. All he thinks about instead is the first grey text in an ocean of blue:

[2024/8/04, 23:37] you up?

You tilt your head to the side, smiling coyly when you crack open the door and find Chan standing on your doorstep with his hood up and hands in his pockets. Outside the windows behind you, the downpour he just trudged through continues to dampen his mood.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you lilt, like nothing has changed at all.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?  

Chan lifts his chin slightly as some half-assed nod to let you know that his ears work, if nothing else. Either missing his stony expression or ignoring it, you simply open the door wider, beckoning him to follow you with a gentle wave of your free hand.

He wants so badly to smile back at you as easily as you smile at him — really, he does, but fuck, he can’t make his face do anything but harden.

Once he toes off his shoes, he expects you to lead him straight to your room — or your couch — or any of the other various surfaces the pair of you have misappropriated along the way. You don’t, though. With your lips pensively pursed, you shuffle a bit closer; and as soon as you can reach him properly, you raise both of your hands. One flattens against his now rain-soaked sweatshirt; the other goes for his zipper, tugging gently until there’s nothing left to hold him together.

Carefully, Chan eyes you; watches while you slip the fabric off his shoulders, as if it isn’t twice as heavy as it was when he put it on. Like it’s easy, you turn away, open the nearby closet, and toss that wet mess into the top-half of your standing washer-dryer.

“I think…” Your tiny, upward curve returns while your sentence peters out. Softly, you reach up and brush a damp curl off his forehead. “An umbrella would be a worthwhile investment.”

He should join in on the bit. He should banter right back. He should smile, too — for fuck’s sake — because you’re finally right here. You’re talking to him within touching distance, radiating warmth he wants to live in, and he should touch you the way you want to be touched — the way you summoned him here to touch you.

He should do a lot of things, none of which include snapping at you, and yet —

“Why the hell am I here?”

It catches you both off-guard. You, because Chan has never once spoken to you any other way but kindly. Him, because you don’t actually look all that surprised by the sentiment, even if the presentation isn’t what you expected.

Somehow, that’s the thing that stings the most; not the way your face falls at his gruffness but the inkling you must have had before you asked him over that things between you aren’t sitting right at all.

Chan doesn’t get a response, so he asks another way: “Did you notice all of those unanswered texts when you sent yours, or did you ignore them all over again?”

It dawns on you — and him too, if he’s being honest — that you’ve still got your hands resting delicately on his chest. You reel your arms back in and cross them, not defiantly but diminutively. You shrink right in front of him; and regret hits him like a fist to the side of his skull.

“I didn’t know what to do with them.” Your head lowers while you do your best to look anywhere else.

That’s —

“Bullshit. I’m sorry, but it’s really not hard to keep up a conversation, especially when someone is just asking how you’re feeling.” Instantly he feels terrible for snapping. Softening his tone slightly, he sighs, “I know you know how.”

You look up at him without tilting your head much at all. Peering over that brick wall of yours, he figures. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know.”

The face he pulls must convey what he’s thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? But you’re quick to prevent him from jumping to any further-out conclusions, amending, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Chan opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. It’s rare for you to open up to the extent you might be about to; and it’s a miracle that you might be willing to now, given the fact that he’s come at you blindly at 160 kilometers per hour.

“I don’t like needing people.” 

Your attention is drawn to your fidgeting fingers and the drawstring of the sweatpants they occupy themselves with. The overwhelming urge he feels to grab them, to hold them still, goes ignored and makes his own hands tense. He focuses hard on your face instead; the crease between your eyebrows while you plot out your next steps.

“I didn’t want to need you, but then I did need you — and you just… you came, no questions asked.” You laugh, either despite your visible discomfort or because of it. “Held my hand and all that, didn’t just drop me on the curb and say, hit me up when you’re down again.”

Chan feels as if he’s been punched, although it’s not offense he takes from your statement. Judging by that flicker of hurt in your eyes, the expectation you had wasn’t for him, personally. It was history. 

You shift where you stand from one foot to another, like that weight on your shoulders is changing. He doesn’t know if it’s getting heavier or lighter until you finally lift your chin to look at him squarely. 

“It scared the shit out of me, honestly — how easy you are to need — so, I did what I always do: I bailed.” Sighing, you finally seem to register how much anxiety you’re holding in your hands. You drop it, then drop them to your sides. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”

You smile slightly, and suddenly, he feels lighter. “I’ve been conflating them, but they’re completely different things, aren’t they?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. Truly, he’s at a loss. He can’t predict which direction you’re about to turn in. Seeming to sense this, you answer his unasked question, “Wanting to need you and wanting you.”

While this makes his brain pause, his body moves. Cautiously, he steps forward and watches you counter him until your back is flush against the wall behind you. 

“Can I have a definition, then, please?” He pleads, voice low, while his hands gently claim your hips. “Because I thought it was want behind the booty call that brought me here, and I don’t want to find myself on a completely different page again.”

You link your arms around his neck and eye him carefully. “It was,” you acknowledge with a small nod. “Different kind, though — a shallow one.”

Chan finds his mouth curving up at the corner, all on its own. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back again. It’d be so easy to kiss you now, but he can’t unless he gets some sort of confirmation. “We’re in the deep end now, then?”

“Moving that way, at least. I spook easily, though…” You’d probably love nothing more than to look away when you admit that bit out loud, but to your credit, you don’t. Instead, you run your fingernails softly through the hair at his nape. “I’m not entitled to any more of your patience, but would you be willing to take it one day at a time?”

Chan wishes that he’d at least pretended to consider this. He doubts you’ve ever had a vision of him as someone nonchalant — in fact, he’s the poster boy for chalance in whichever reality that word exists — but it would’ve been infinitely cooler of him not to respond immediately and wholeheartedly with a rushed sigh, “Fuckin’ right, I am,” before leaning in to kiss you absolutely stupid.

Whatever gratification he can’t find by licking into the mouth you open eagerly for him, he finds in the way you keen when he presses his body more fully against yours. The payoff is even better when he stops short, divorcing your respective lips entirely.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he announces, breathless. His grin widens; meanwhile, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “No! Not, like, never — I don’t have that kind of resolve — but not tonight.”

The sudden switch makes you dizzy. Thankfully, it makes you laugh, too. 

“Don’t tell me you just want to enjoy my company,” you warn. You attempt to say it earnestly, but a smile cracks you wide open. “I’m still too prone to bolt when I hear cute shit like that.”

Chan shakes his head. “No, I’m telling you to plant yourself on that couch —” He pulls his right hand off your left hip and gestures blindly over his shoulder. “I’m also telling you that I am getting takeout.”

You narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. “I wonder what you could possibly be ordering.”

“Belated pork belly is better than no pork belly.” He narrows his eyes to mirror hours, then kisses you quickly, murmuring, “One for the road,” against your lips.

Then, he dashes off towards your front door. As he goes, he just barely catches you nagging him through your laughter:

“If you’re not going to wait for your sweatshirt, can you at least take an umbrella?”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz taglist. multi taglist. navigation.

due to tumblr being ass with tags lately, i’m going to be tagging people in the comments for the time being!

[solarnomoon]

ice ice baby - park sunghoon

the first time you went ice skating you almost fell. thankfully a taller guy was there to catch you. surprise surprise, of course it had to be sunghoon, king of the school, ice prince, whatever.

pairing >>> sunghoon x male reader

tags >>> college au, fluff, strangers to friends to more than friends (lovers?), ice skating, falling, idfk, sunghoon being a little forward

author's note >>> LOL hello i apologize for dying. i realize how much i miss this account and ive just been itching to come back so here i am

you knew coming to the ice rink was a mistake to begin with. i mean, come on, your ass was a fucking ice skating virgin: you'd never been before, so why would you even bother starting now?

alas, your best friend had stayed up all night watching yuzuru hanyu videos and all of a sudden, he felt the urge to begin ice skating, compelling you that it's "a calling" and if you guys didn't "drive to partake in the artistic media form that is ice skating" then you'd "lose the individuality that the human spirit guides us with."

...whatever that means.

at least he paid for you! a win's a win sometimes.

"c'mon y/n, you have to get off the railing at some point!" sunoo calls to you, skating in reverse to watch you. the edge had become your safety net, allowing you to actually move somewhat on the ice. sunoo on the other hand had somehow become a pro within the 15 minutes since you guys arrived, being able to skate forwards, backwards, eyes closed, anything possible. he even started gaining an understanding of how to spin, and was attempting to learn how to execute an axel.

you were still just trying to walk normally, not knowing how to know the difference between skating and walking. "sunoo, unfortunately i cannot let go of this fucking railing or i will die."

the boy just laughs at you, eyes rolling back. "you're exaggerating, just let go for one second!" you watch as he leaves you, gliding along the ice as if it was simply made for him.

building up the confidence, you finally stray away from the railing, letting go of your one protection spell from you upright and you on the floor. as you float along the ice, you feel that sense of freedom that sunoo was pestering you about, and you speed up, the skates on your feet becoming an outlet for your vitality.

but unfortunately, you were not yuzuru hanyu, nor were you kim sunoo. you misplace one foot, causing an imbalance in your body. you knew this was it. in front of all of these people, atleast 4 500 for sure, you were going to literally eat shit and die.

as you begin to fall, you brace for impact and close your eyes, but the collapse never happens, and instead, you feel someone's body holding yours, catching the impending descent to the ice.

"you okay?" the guy asks, and only after he said it was when you opened your eyes and looked up at him. though it takes you a moment, a flash of recognition eventually appeared in your brain. park sunghoon. king of the ice, king of the school. the renowned ice prince, the ice skater that competed in the olympics. "oh, y/n. are you okay?"

"y-yeah, sorry," you cover your face with your hands, muttering under your breath, "oh my god i almost died."

apparently it was in fact, not under your breath, because this gets a snicker out of the man, responding to you, "you did not almost die. maybe fall, but death is too much." he grabs you by the arm and skates you both toward the edge again, allowing you to grasp onto your lifeline once more.

"thank you, sunghoon. i'm sorry again for... i don't know. maybe it was a good thing, now you know that i'm shit at ice skating, i don't know how you do this." you observe him with your full attention now, noticing how he's dressed in a basic outfit with a beanie and headphones as if he knew that this would be a simple activity for him. not only this, but he has sunglasses on, presumably to hide his demeanor: he's kind of a celebrity around here.

"it's alright y/n, i told you already. plus, you're not that bad. you're just... learning." he seems like the last part was an afterthought, and you assume that he was going to say something more negative before changing his wording. "are you here alone?"

"nah, i'm here with sunoo. what about you?"

he flashes a quick smile, lifting his sunglasses to make eye contact with you. when he does, you look at his face closely, and realize he really is as cute as people say. you never really cared to notice him, as to you, he was just some guy that happened to have an expertise in ice skating. seeing him up close, you understand why people could develop crushes: his face was perfectly symmetrical with the only thing varied was the mole on his nose, but he has an extremely aesthetic face. his body was also perfect, broad shoulders with a smaller waist.

huh.

"just here alone. now i'm with you. so not alone." when he smiles, you could see how cute he really is, his fangs on both sides of his teeth accentuate his cuteness, offering a tinge of fierceness if he was focused. you both stare at each other for seconds too long, neither of you wanting to break the gaze. eventually, he looks away, saying to you, "wanna see something cool?" obviously you nod, and you watch as he skates away, accelerating before jumping right into a double axel, landing gracefully before coming right back to you.

you clap quickly, not wanting to let go of the edge for too long, "wow, impressive! i could do that too probably."

"oh yeah, cause you're like the best skater right? i think i've watched your videos before online." he motions a rectangle in front of him like a screen, "y/n l/n, triple axel, into a hydroblade, ending with two flying spins."

you scoff, flicking your wrist in front of him. "you know it bro, real recognizes real."

"for real." he looks at you with a straight face before bursting into laughter. "you're pretty funny you know, i'm surprised we haven't talked much before."

you scratch your head, "well, it's pretty hard when you're just the coolest, bestest, sexiest, beast of a skater." you joke with him.

"you think that of me?" he asks, one fang turning visible as he smirks.

"i was actually talking about me, thank you very much."

he hits his head in faux stupidity, smile not faltering from his face however. "oh, silly me. i should've known, like you said."

"what did i say?"

"real recognizes real." he removes his gaze from you to check his watch quickly before looking back at you. "you know, it's getting pretty late for a guy like you."

you whip your phone our from your back pocket. "sunghoon, it's literally 5:32 in the p.m. i can literally see the sun still."

he laughs awkwardly, "well, still late for a pretty boy like you."

"p-pretty?" you stare at him, wondering whether or not he meant to tell you that or not. "what are you talking about dude?"

"i said what i said. i meant that it's late, the ring closes at 6 today because of some hockey players wanting to run scrims before their tournament," sunghoon explains, leaning on the railing next to you. "i'm probably gonna leave soon anyway, so maybe you and sunoo can join me in getting dinner? if you want of course, i don't know if you have plans already."

"honestly, me and sunoo are supposed to get dinner with just each other, so maybe-" you begin to tell him, but then you notice sunoo talking to his crush on the other side of the ring, and a second later a text from said boy shows up.

[5:34 PM]

ALERT. CODE BLUE.

OK LOWKEY I REALIZE U DONT KNO WHAT THAT MEANS WEVE NEVER DONE CODES ANYWAY ICU TALKING TO SUNGHOON SO GO HANG OUT WITH HIM I WILL HANG OUT WITH MY MANSSSSSS XOXOXOOXO

"-you know what? let's get dinner. sunoo is actually busy all of a sudden." you roll your eyes when you make eye contact with sunoo, him giving you two thumbs up and a cheeky smile as his crush types something down on his phone.

"perfect. i wanted it to just be us. maybe i'll kidnap you and put you in my basement." the confusion on your face must've been evident, because he immediately follows up with "i was kidding. let's just get dinner." with that, he leaves you once again, skating around the rink with a few more tricks before coming back to you, signaling for you to follow him.

you do, getting out of the rink walking along the edge before sitting down next to him. you reach over to untie your laces, before sunghoon ushers you back, simultaneously getting on his knees in front of you, holding your right skate in front of him. "what are you doing?"

"untying your skate, why?"

"i can do it myself, you know?" you look straight into his eyes, tilting your head slightly.

"pretty boys shouldn't have to do anything," he suggests before giving you a little wink, causing you to turn away, not able to meet his eyes after his stupid flirtatious comment.

"w-well, what about you then!"

he removes your skate before moving on to the next one. "oh, so you think i'm a pretty boy huh? good to know." he unlaces your other skate before sitting down next to you, untying his own with haste. it clearly comes from experience, because it's no less than 15 seconds before he's up again, grabbing his sneakers, along with your own to your surprise. "here. so you don't have to get up."

"how do you know what my sneakers look like?"

"i saw you come in."

you lightly hit his shoulder. "so you were watching me the whole time?"

"cute boys deserve attention, wouldn't you say so?"

he goes back down to your feet and signals to put on your sneakers again. "i mean yeah but... you? finding me cute? hard to believe i guess."

"can't be that hard," you allow him to finish tying both shoes before helping him off the ground. you didn't even notice but he also had switched shoes with dexterity, leading you to wonder how much experience he has with these kind of things. "i've been watching you for a while honestly." he waves with his hands in front of you. "not like that, but more of like you're kinda like my school crush in a way."

you can't believe your ears. park sunghoon, king of the school, ice fucking prince, had a hallway school crush on you? y/n l/n. you didn't even feel like you stood out that much, just wanted to get your degree and leave. "school crush? there's just no way." you begin to walk away, not being able to face him without embarrassment flushing your face.

however, he clearly had other plans. "y/n." he grabs your arm, forcing you to look up at him. his eyes bore into yours, keeping you in a trance as you look at his face. "you're one of the cutest guys i've ever seen in my entire life. and i've seen a lot of people in my life already. please, just trust me when i say this."

and that was all the validation you needed. "oh. okay sunghoon. i trust you."

"good boy. now let's go get dinner, alright?"

and with that, he led you to his car to drive to dinner.

maybe the ice prince wasn't so cold after all.

[frownyalfred]

Hey Res! Please ignore this ask if it's too troublesome or bothersome

I saw you had an guide for non-drikers writers that wanted to write about a character who drink. I was wondering if you could the same about guns?

I read synchronicity and I loved it how you used Jason's knowledge with guns to control the narrative and pacing. I don't know if you have actual technical knowledge on handguns (I think it's a no? But maybe you do?) But any tip is nice

Thank you a lot 🩷

Hi anon! This is such a fascinating question and I hope I can provide a somewhat plausible answer. I am familiar with some guns and have shot a few in my lifetime, but I am far from an expert.

Some things I think writers need to keep in mind while writing their firearm-related scenes. For clarity, I'm just going to call them guns below.

Are you thinking of a specific gun? Make sure you know its full name but ALSO make sure you know its nickname. Your character might think of it as "the Berretta" instead of its full name, etc.

What does your gun fire? Does it take shells, bullets, cartridges, etc? Shotguns, for example, don't fire bullets. That's a common mistake I see.

How do you reload said gun? Is it easy? What parts of the gun do you have to touch? Reloading a shotgun is MUCH different from reloading a handgun, for example.

Most guns get hot and release gunpowder residue when shot. They're LOUD. You can have several cascading things happen to a character who fires a gun or is near a gun when it fires: ringing ears, the smell of gunpowder, the hot feeling of the gun's muzzle, etc.

Even the best sharpshooters miss shots. IRL shooting is HARD, especially when moving. Different guns have different benefits to shooting style, stance, targets. Firing a handgun willy-nilly will rarely result in accurate shots, even if you dual wield (which is silly, this is SO hard).

Stance MATTERS. If you've ever seen Hannibal, there's a scene where Will talks about his choice of shooting stance with Beverly. They bicker over Isosceles and Weaver, which are two standard stances. One uses a triangle between your arms and the gun to brace for the kickback of the shot, while the other moves that brace to one side with a different grip. Will eventually chooses the latter stance because of a past shoulder injury. (GIF of Will struggling with his original isosceles stance)

If a gun isn't properly braced when fired, it will kick back and hit you. Sometimes in the face. Yes this has happened with me and a rifle. My first day shooting cans, I had a huge bruise on my face AND on my chest where the rifle butt kicked back.

If your gun uses bullets, there are different calibers. If you've ever watched Mythbusters, you can see why caliber matters -- it depends what or who you're shooting. Are you trying to penetrate armor? Are you sacrificing accuracy for power? Different guns use different calibers for numerous reasons, and guns can be altered to use other ammo as well.

With respect to discussing caliber while writing: It's all VERY complicated if you don't know guns, so make sure you're not giving too much detail if you can avoid it. That's a very easy way to spot a lack of experience with guns, in my experience. Your reader doesn't need to know the caliber just because the character is shooting a gun -- but in an autopsy, sure, the caliber is relevant.

You will lose your hearing eventually if you fire guns close to your ears unprotected. It's not sexy, and it also causes something called tinnitus. The real pros wear ear protection.

In terms of realism for writing, here's a couple rapid fire busted myths: You can't dodge bullets unless you're superhuman. Bullet wounds to the legs/arms/shoulders can absolutely still be fatal. Cardiac arrest caused by being shot is usually fatal, and CPR doesn't really help on its own. "Running out of shots" depends on the gun AND the modifications someone has made to it. You can't always tell just by looking at a gun what it will do. Silencers are rarely "silent" and are heavily regulated.

Injuries: Some bullets tear through bodies. Some aren't high enough caliber to do more than go in and lodge in some tissue. Some fragment and bounce around in weird ways. Depending on how gruesome you want to get, there's a lot of different ways to describe gunshot injuries. I've always been the kind of person to google images for better understanding, but I understand that's not for everyone. I think NYT or WaPo did a good piece on traumatic gun injuries a few years back, complete with an interview with an ER doc from Chicago (?). One thing I learned there -- sometimes people lose their legs, or both legs, after being shot in their leg.

In terms of describing how someone uses/fights with guns, I know the John Wick movies are a little cheesy, but they are staged by people who REALLY know their guns. They talk about what he's using usually before the scene starts, and there's very few frills when it comes to stance, firing, etc. John does a cool trick in the first or second movie where he ejects a casing one-handed away from his face, a notoriously hard maneuver that most people usually do with two hands to avoid getting burned. I highly recommend watching the John Wick movies for blocking ideas.

Which reminds me -- holding a gun sideways is a terrible idea. For many reasons. Stance, casing ejection, stability, etc. Someone can use it against you.

Never point a gun at something you're not willing to shoot. Well-trained characters should follow this rule religiously. If they were soldiers, agents, etc, they will know this rule.

Similarly, multiple people with guns will "clear" a room before entering. They will be trained for something called crossfire, which is when someone is downrange of their gun and could potentially be shot. A group of characters bursting into a room without clearing their shot is a nightmare. This is how people shoot their friends or random civilians.

I hope someone more knowledgeable can add onto this! These are just some big things that stick out to me when reading. I highly recommend checking out Mythbusters, John Wick, and even Hannibal for some semi-realistic shooting references. Good luck!

[rs-hawk]

I really like your monster fucker stories

if you feel like it, I’ve always wanted to see a story of a male reader and a female werehyena meeting lol

Cismale Reader

You always loved meeting new people, so when your best friend invited you to a staff party, you decided to tag along. After all, you hadn’t been back in town for very long, so it wouldn’t hurt to make new friends.

“Y/N, this is Nyi,” your friend said as he introduced you to one of his coworkers. “She’s the big boss lady.”

“That I am,” she smirked as she looked you up and down in an almost predatory way.

Your face flushed as you stammered out how nice it was to meet her. The party went on, and each time you looked around, you saw Nyi eyeing you like you were to be her last meal. Your face stayed heated, and you couldn’t help the hardening of your cock each time you caught her staring at you.

Eventually, the staff party was winding down. “Hey Y/N. Do you wanna get out of here?” your friend asked.

“Actually, I was hoping I could steal him from you for a little while. I wanted to talk to him about a… position we hopefully have opening up soon,” Nyi cut in, grabbing your shoulder and tugging you back slightly.

“Oh yeah?” you asked excitedly, perking up. “It’s fine dude. I’ll catch a Lyft or something.”

After a bit of back and forth, your friend reluctantly agreed to see you in the morning. You could tell he was disappointed you wouldn’t be heading out to a bar with him, but the chance to be alone with Nyi was so exciting your body was basically tingling.

“Why don’t you go wait in my office? I’ll clear the rest out,” she whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You did what she asked. You waited in her office, sitting in a plush covered wooden chair across her desk. It didn’t take long for her to come into the small room, though she did seem displeased with how long it took. Before you could even get a word in, she sat on the edge of her desk, crossing one leg over the other.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” she asked, looking down at you.

“Yes ma’am,” you blurted out, your ears burning. “You’re gorgeous. Stunning.”

She chuckled then smirked, showing off a glint of her canine teeth for a moment. She was still looking at you like prey, which forced you to swallow the lump in your throat. “That’s good,” she almost purred as she tilted her head as if taking more of you in. “Come here.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then did as she asked. You stood from the chair you were sitting in, and closed the distance between the two of you. She took your hand, tugging you closer and wrapping it around her waist before grabbing the collar of your shirt, almost yanking you to her as your lips crashed together. You were basically aching between your legs. She was so gorgeous. The way her lips worked over yours was making your knees feel weak, leading you to brace yourself on her desk with open palms.

You’d been so focused on her lips, her tongue, that you hadn’t even realized she had started shifting until you felt a… furriness to her lips. You cracked your eyes open, freezing when what could only be described as a beast staring at you. You knew it was still Nyi. While Shifters were uncommon, you still knew they existed.

She chuckled again, and the sound reminded you of something in the back of your brain. What was it? She laughed again, and that’s when you remembered. A hyena.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now,” she taunted, her ears tilted forward as if waiting for your response.

You shook your head slowly, trying to ignore the huge pseudo penis grinding between your legs. There was another lump in your throat as she smirked at you, her claws easily tearing your clothes to shreds. Before you knew it, you were on your knees, her girlcock stuffed down your throat. It was taking everything in you not to start gagging, even as your eyes were watering. She was panting, her tongue hanging out of her mouth as her eyes fell half-lidded.

Your throat was stretched to capacity as you tried to take as much of her down your throat as possible. She grabbed the back of your head- well, as best as she could with her half paws- and forced your head even more down your throat. Your own cock was aching and throbbing between your legs as you felt her twitching inside of your mouth.

She suddenly yanked out of your mouth, yanking you to your knees and shoving you over the side of her desk. In moments, her huge pseudo cock being crammed into your ass. One of her paws was racking claws down your back, and her other was teasing your cock, slowly sliding up and down it.

“You like being stuffed?” she growled in your ear as she finally bottomed out inside of you, making you groan in response. “What a good little hump toy you are.”

All you could do was press back against her, eager for more of her. She teased your cock until you finally came, then whispered in your ear, praising you for cumming with her cock stuffed inside of you like a good boy. Her sharp teeth broke the skin of your neck ever so slightly, letting the blood bleed there before her hot tongue lapped at it. The fur from her body made you feel hot in every place it touched, making you whimper excitedly.

This went on for hours until you were both spent. Finally she pulled out of you, sinking into the plush chair you’d been sitting in before. You sank to your knees, leaning your head back to rest it in her lap.

“Thank you,” you muttered, looking up at her with sleepy eyes.

She just smiled, racking her slowly turning back to fingers claws through your hair. “You’re welcome Pup.”

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : SECRETS AND REUNIONS

At age ten your parents had taken a job offer that paid more than what they were used to seeing. That offer resulted in moving from your hometown and to Louisville.

Starting school in the middle of the year was never fun, kids were always mean but a certain curly boy with blue eyes had stepped in and taken you under his wing.

It was a beautiful friendship that blossomed into a high school love.

A love with so many first evers.

Jack was the first boy you held hands with.

He was your first kiss.

He was your first everything.

You were there besides him through everything. You supported his dreams, and his drive to get out there and get noticed with his music.

Him, alongside his friends- they were hustling to get their music out and be something. Of course being the supportive friend and girlfriend, you were there at every little show, every little project they had around town, until eventually it meant traveling back and forth from Louisville and Atlanta.

Everything was going well, everything Jack had dreamed for, he was making it come true and you couldn’t be more proud.

You had moved with him to Atlanta, and that’s when he started getting noticed. His song What’s Poppin had been a hit and that just opened up more opportunities for him.

You were happy for him, you really were. But as he got bigger, that meant getting the attention of girls all over the world.

He never made you feel unloved or unhappy, but you just couldn’t understand the need for him to be too friendly with women.

You’d fight more, more often than usual and it was driving you both crazy. You knew he wouldn’t end things, too afraid to lose someone he’s familiar with. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I- I don’t understand babe.”

“You don’t have to.” You shrug, “It’s what’s best for both of us.”

“How is leaving me best for both of us? What happened?.”

“Jack, look around.” You lift your arms, gesture around you. “This isn’t a home, it hasn’t been for a while.”

“So we try, you don’t give up.” He yells.

“I can’t, that’s the problem.” You whisper out.

“Y/N, please don’t do this.”

“This is for our own good. You can focus one hundred percent on your music and your career. I could start focusing on what I actually want to do. I can't follow you around all my life.”

“So that’s it?” He asks, glaring at you, his chest puffing in and out. “You’ve given up on us, on me?”

“It’s not that I gave up, Jack.”

“That is exactly what it sounds like.” He yells, making you jump. “If I walk out that door right now, I’m not coming back.”

“Jac-“

“Are you done then?”

You nod. “Y-yeah, I think I am.”

He scoffs, grabs his keys and heads to the front door. “I love you, I loved you since the first day you walked in school rocking pigtails and braces. You broke us, not me.” With those final words he walks out, slamming the door behind him.

With a broken heart you continue to pack your stuff. You honestly thought this would’ve gone better since it felt like Jack had already checked out from the relationship.

You weren’t just moving out from your shared apartment, you were actually moving away from Louisville. You were going to leave without letting anyone know, and it was bittersweet but you knew Urban, Clay, even Maggie would try to convince you to stay and you’d give in.

That’s why you packed in silence, a few tears running down your face and having second thoughts about your rash decision.

****************

When you moved away four years ago you didn’t think you’d be back here. But here you were and you wore more nervous than excited for so many reasons.

Throughout the four years Jack was very well known now. He's been accomplishing everything he once dreamed about and you were always happy and proud of him.

You’ve had no contact with him or anyone in his circle whatsoever. You know coming back will be the talk of the town and you were not ready for all of that.

You were taking down boxes from your car when you heard someone calling you. “Y/N?” A voice comes behind you. “Is that you?”

You close your eyes and mutter a quick “fuck” and turn around. “Clay, hi.”

“Oh shit it really is you.” He comes up to hug you. “What are you doing back?”

“I came to spend some time with my grandpa.” You tilt your head to the side “What are you doing here?” You notice that he’s carrying a few bags.

“Oh, we always bring him groceries and we try to have lunch with him.”

“We?” You asked confused, but deep down you have a feeling you know who he’s referring to.

“Jack.”

You nod, “Since when?”

“We’ve been doing it since you left.”

You nod, “I appreciate it, thank you.” You close the door to your car and smile at Clay. “I can take the bags in.”

“Na it’s okay, we have a game of cards to continue.” He shrugs.

“I don’t think that-“

Clay nods, understanding. “Okay fine, I’ll give you the weekend to settle in and get your story right. After that, I’m resuming my schedule with your grandpa and telling my brother.”

You smile, “Thank you Clayborn.”

********************

“You can’t open the door, you have to wait for me to come.” You tell him.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You open the door and freeze on your spot. You can’t believe he’s here in front of you.

You knew it was only a matter of time the news of you coming back would reach him. But you thought since he just had an album release and a movie, that he’d be busy and it’ll give you enough time to settle in.

“Who that momma?”

Jack furrows his eyebrows and looks behind your legs, then looks back at you. “He yours?”

You nod, “Y-yeah”

He kneels down. “I’m Jack, what’s your name?”

Jack smiles at him, stares at him, studying him, looking at his face and his entire body.

“A-Anthony.” He answers behind your legs.

“Toni, go see if grandpa finished building your fire truck papi.” You push your son inside the house and close the door.

“What are you doing here?” You’re both standing outside on the porch now.

“Clay told me he saw you moving in and your grandpa told me to come over.” He answers you, confused as ever. “He said you’ve been wanting to talk to me.”

“Viejo metiche.” You mumble. “Look I don’t know why he’d tell you that.”

“He’s mine isn’t he?”

“What?”

“Anthony” he points behind you, “That boy inside is my son huh?”

You shake your head, “N- he’s mine.”

“Y/N, you left four years ago and he looks around that age.”

“Jack, don’t do this.” You shake your head

“You left and didn’t even bother to tell me I have a son? How could you do that to me?.” He raises his voice. “Wait, is that why you left?”

“N-no of course not, I found out a few weeks later after I left.”

“You didn’t think to tell me? To pick up the phone and let me know?”

“Honestly? No, you were busy with your career and I wasn’t going to be the reason why you stopped chasing your dreams.”

He laughs, nodding his head. “You’re something else.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I knew it was wrong but I just didn’t know how to tell you.” You wrap your arms around yourself, you can feel a wave of emotions flowing through you.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” He pulls out his phone, types something quickly and places it back in his pocket. “You’ll hear from my manager soon, she’ll contact you with my lawyer.”

“J-Jack, what do you mean lawyer?”

“I’m never going to forgive you for keeping him away from me.” He heads down the steps, into the lawn and you’re quick to follow him.

“Please don’t, don’t take him away from me.” You’re sobbing now.

He turns around to glare at you, his nose flaring “I would never.” Pointing a finger to your chest “I’m not like you.”

With those final words, he makes it into his jeep and speeds away. Leaving you a crying, worried mess.

*****************

TAG LIST

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 32

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Lloyd Hansen is a storm. You can’t stop him, you can only brace yourself for the eventual rain of his presence. For the time being, he is calm and you will let it last as long as you can. But you will keep the windows boarded and the doors shut tight.

His bruises are a pale tint of yellow though he was just as reluctant to leave the bed. You are not more eager to be awake and on your feet but you know you must. You find it harder by the day to stay active but if you slow down, the pain will catch up to you. 

So you follow him, after ten minutes of internal turmoil, strapping on your pregnancy belt over a tee and some leggings. Your usual attire as it’s the only thing that fits or offers a degree of comfort for your growing body. You smell cinnamon as you descend, leaning on the banister heavily as you take careful steps, barely able to see your feet past your stomach.

You follow your nose to the kitchen and find Lloyd in a whirlwind, but not his usual tempest. He flips a pancake in the skillet as he looks over his shoulder, a crooked grin under his mustache. He still hasn’t shaved. Is it a new look or neglect? The stubble is getting pretty long.

He wears an apron over his briefs. Nothing else. Not very safe but you don’t mind if he gets a spatter of hot oil. You almost wish you could throw some on him yourself.

“I made decaf,” he announces proudly, “and I have blueberry syrup for you, baby cakes.”

“Blueberry syrup?” You squint as you near the counter, brushing a hand over the curve of your stomach.

“That was a you thing, wasn’t it?”

“A me thing? What are we talking about?”

He uses the spatula to remove the pancakes from the pan and puts them onto a plate, covering them to keep them warm. He sets down the utensil and moves easily to pull down a mug and fills it from the carafe.

“You had some in the crappy old fridge back at the hellhole,” he shrugs, “hidden behind the ketchup.”

You bite the inside of your lip and tilt your head. How did he know that? Besides, why would he even remember that? An overpriced bottle of organic syrup that had Colin halfway down your throat.

“I guess,” you answer nonchalantly, “I don’t mind it.”

“Hm, sure,” he seems disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm, “icing sugar too, if you like.”

“I’ll just have the pancakes,” you accept the mug as he slides it over to you, “thanks.”

He faces you, watching you as you watch him. Your eyelids slit as you warily sip your coffee. His blue irises sparkle menacingly.

“Stop,” he says, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” You utter dully.

“Like I put poison in the decaf.”

You pause and pull the cup away from your lips. You give it a long look. Now that you think of it…

“I didn’t,” he huffs, “I can be nice. I’m being nice. Baby,” he puts his hands on his hips, “you gotta let go of old grudges. Once the kiddo is here, we can’t be fighting like cats and dogs. We’re going to be too tired.”

“We’re?” You scoff and carry your cup past him, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“What?”

“You. Doing anything for anyone else. That has no benefit to you.”

“I’m making you breakfast–”

“You’re getting on my good side so I don’t try to sleep on the lawn again,” you roll your eyes, “and so I don’t smack you every time you touch my ass.”

“Peaches, you’ll see, I’m taking this serious. I’m gonna dad so hard–”

“Mmhmm,” you wave him off without looking back, “and I’m gonna go water the tulips.”

“Tulips? What about breakfast?” He whines.

“It won’t take too long,” you dismiss him, “it’s nice out and I’ll forget.”

He exhales heavily, “since when do you garden?”

“There’s a lot more to me than the contents of my fridge, Lloyd,” you toss back at him as you approach the back door, “some of us have dimension.”

“What? I have–”

You don’t hear his argument. He’s about as dimensional as those pancakes. Flat. Just a mustache that talks too much. Even if he uses that mustache to your advantage. You know him. He pretends to be complicated but he’s really rather simple. Maybe his complexity is that he’s simple in more ways than one.

You balance your coffee tenuously as you go down the back steps. You near the corner of the house and unwind the long house from around the plastic wheel. Harlen installed it while he was there. You take the head with the trigger and tug it around the east wall with one hand. Your progress is slow as you try not to spill the decaf.

You stand before your little plot of blooming stems and aim the hose, pushing down as you sprinkle water over the dirt. You should do some weeding but it’s getting harder and harder to get down that low. Even before you were this big, your back could make bending, squatting, or kneeling a task.

You turn the hose head back and forth, sending an even shower across the patch. Content, you let go of the trigger and gulp back more coffee. You’re going to miss the peace you found in the garden now Lloyd is back. You were ready to let it go for the baby, but you really weren’t prepared to do so this soon.

Footsteps hit the pavement on the other side of the gate and you peek over. You narrow your eyes. You should get those checked. You recognise the figure on the other side as he stops and waves.

You let the hose hang off the iron rooster ornament sticking out of the soil and waddle to the path. You follow it down to meet Andy at the iron grate. You’re slightly confused but don’t mind wasting time.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Just out for a run,” he says, cheeks slightly tinged pink as he catches his breath, “I saw you out here and figured I’d ask.”

“Ask?”

“You know, I got some of Lori’s things still, thought maybe you might want some. I’ve been meaning to do something with them but I haven’t made up my mind.”

“Lori? Your wife?” You’re slightly taken aback. You’re not really in the market for a dead woman’s earrings.

“It’s only taking up space. I’d be happy to know they went to a good home.”

“Mm, I don’t know, there’s not much I need…” you shrug but notice the way he stares, expectant, hopeful. It might not be about the stuff, maybe just about the company. You can’t say you aren’t lacking for that as well. “Well, I guess I could have a look through, see if there’s anything I’m missing.”

“Great, I can bring a box over later,” he offers, “tonight or tomorrow, if you’re not busy.”

“I…” you glance back at the house, “we’ll have to see.”

“Yeah, you must be busy,” he wipes his glistening forehead, “getting ready for the baby. Well, you know where I am. You can always come knock on my door.”

“Thanks, Andy, that’s… very nice of you.”

You force a smile. You never really were a neighbourly person. Mostly, you’ve lived next to people even more miserable than yourself. Those who can only afford shitholes don’t typically tend to be optimistic.

“So, you didn’t say if it’s a boy or a girl. Do you know?” He prompts.

“Uh, oh,” you look down at your stomach, “a girl.”

“Wow, I always wanted a girl. Jacob was a good kid but… maybe he wouldn’t have gotten in so much trouble if he had a sibling or two.” His cheek tightens and he turns his head slightly, “Lori couldn’t, you know? She just had him. Her body just couldn’t handle any more than that.”

“I’m sorry, Andy–”

“I told you, don’t be,” he shakes his head, meeting your eyes, “I should be sorry. I try not to talk about them but I can’t help it.”

“You have every right to talk about them. We can’t help who we miss,” you assure him, “hell, sometimes I miss my ex-husband.”

“Ex? Lloyd’s–”

“Number two,” you sigh, “yeah.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s not really the type to settle for being the second choice.”

You nod. He’s right but he also has no idea about how fucked Lloyd really is.

“It’s complicated,” you say, “anyway,” you look into your nearly empty cup, “I think I should go back before breakfast gets cold.”

“Sure thing, neighbour,” he grins and for a moment, you hesitate. Beneath his thick beard, there’s an odd reminder in the cut of his jaw, you’re reminded of Lloyd’s overgrown stubble, “you need any help with that garden, let me know. I’ve got a bit of a green thumb.”

“Will do,” you say as you raise your mug awkwardly and turn on your heel, “see ya.”

You set off back towards the house. The door is open as your husband stands watching you. Even from a distance, you sense his impatience. It’s in his posture and his steady gaze. You can’t handle an argument over cold pancakes. Not with only decaf to bolster you.

[goformoony]

Remus and his braces

disclaimer i have braces i wear everyday so this will be inspired by it, but obviously everyone is different. but this isn’t technically also sorry if it doesn’t sound british i am in fact an american.

“I don’t know are these even really needed?”

“Yes.” James, Sirius, and Peter say in unison as Remus sits on the edge of his bed getting ready.

Remus sighs as he slips the left one on setting it in place tightening the velcro. It feels weird having them on, extra support he’s not used to having he doesn’t understand how braces can help him.

“They don’t look that bad Moony.” Sirius says eyes scanning him making him feel more vulnerable than usual. “They’re going to help especially since the full moon’s in a couple days.

“Won’t people notice? I mean it’ll become a pattern.”

“Mate, I think you’re just overthinking it. You’ll get used to them and if people do start asking questions we’ll come up with a cover.” Peter assures him.

Remus just swallows and nods not knowing what to say.

some time later

He feels very vulnerable, like everyone is looking at him all the time and he has to be constantly be reminded by James or Sirius that it is in fact just his mind being afraid.

Although the braces are helping a lot more than Remus wants to admit, he doesn’t feel like he’s gonna fall all the time, he’s not limping as much, and the pain has lessened dramatically. Its not like the braces are super noticeable because they’re black and Remus doesn’t necessarily wear bright close, but he feels like they’re screaming to look at him and it’s annoying.

Sirius hasn’t needed to carry his textbooks like normal, but he eventually did when Remus just felt exhausted because yes, the braces help, but they don’t get rid of every problem.

He’s also overly aware.

Remus saw a boy staring at him for way longer than he would like and on a regular day he wouldn’t deem to care, or maybe he wouldn’t even notice. Instead of sinking into his chair like he wanted he snapped.

“What are you looking at?” His voice was firm with irritation.

“N- Nothing, sorry Lupin.” The boy busied himself with his work while trying not to squirm, but miserably failing.

“Moony!” James hissed quietly under his breath you can’t snap at people like that!”

He felt a pang of guilt rise through him, but quickly pushed it down with a heavy sigh. He knows he needs to let up, but Remus can’t help it, he doesn’t like the way he needs these braces now, that it got so bad that everyone that knows his secret was pushing him to do it. That it would be good for him, but Remus didn’t want even more accommodations than he already had.

But as the weeks went on he gradually felt less conscious of himself, the braces becoming a daily routine to the point he doesn’t even think about it as he goes on with his day. Peter told him it actually made him look pretty cool, though he couldn’t exactly see what Peter saw it made him feel less abnormal.

Yes Remus still needs help, but with the braces it genuinely helps him feel less shitty those times during the month with the moon.

[rose-riot-johnson]

Hey Tumblr Peeps 😃I just decided to finally write a fanfic pertaining a Hunter x Hunter character for the 1st time ever😁👍And it's about non other than Leorio😃👍

*This fanfic contains 1 or more long paragraphs😅

💙💼There's No Need To Give Up💼💙(Leorio x Female Reader)

Genres: Angst and Comfort

After Leorio passed his entrance exam at the medical university that he was attending, he ended up meeting you that day. Even tough you could see through him about this, he secretly thought you were very cute and seem like a very happy (and nice) person, so he's trying to hide his thoughts about you and he seems to have a "secret" crush on you, either in first sight or in first conversation, so instead of taking the risk of possibly embarrassing him (even tough you might not realize it might be in a good way) by telling him you know he's crushing on you, you smiled at him, as you decided to exchange contact numbers with eachother, inorder for both you and Leorio to be able to keep touch with eachother. Once the both of you finished having a conversation with eachother, Leorio decided to head off to Yorknew, as the both of you said goodbyes to eachother, knowing there will be a next time for both you and Leorio would meet eachother.

The next time the both of you meet eachother, you have been (low-key) looking forward (actually you've been excited) to spending time with Leorio, as much he's really looking forward to spending time with you (which is very easy to tell from his facial expressions and body language). Both you and Leorio knew that the second time meeting eachother would be the both of you being able to spend more time with eachother than the first time. As time went by the both of you began to get to know eachother more and more each day. Leorio even decided to let you travel with him the next time, he went on another journey, which you became more than happy to come with him.

However as weeks went by, Leorio notices you became less and less of yourself. You have been trying to fake a smile, as if you're trying to keep a brave face in front of him, while you've been pretending to be fine or doing great, however despite of not seeing you having negative emotions (nor thoughts), until recently, he seems see through your "brace face". He just knew he has to come up with a plan to have some alone time with you.

One night, while everyone else (especially Gon) were asleep, you were still watching the fire, which Leorio figured might be the perfect opportunity to do have a chat with you. He went to sit next to you, as he said, "I see, you're watching the fire, (Female Reader Name)... It's kinda cozy there... I can't pretend to not notice this... It's just you seemed to be very troubled in the matter of weeks... I'm not trying to pry anything out of you... I just am concerned about you and if you need to talk to anyone, I promise you that I will be there for you..." before wrapping his right arm around you.

You needed a minute to process what Leorio told you, as you explained, "I guess, you do have the right to know how I'm feeling, Leorio... I really wasn't going to talk about how I've been feeling, however I will put my trust into you... I'm sorry, I pretended to be okay or even pretending to in the best mood ever... The truth is, that alot has been bothering me in recent weeks... I have been very afraid that everyone will eventually find a reason to abandon me or even turn on me...". He was very shocked to hear about what you said, as he then asked, "Would you like to talk about why you felt this way and if there's anything else that could be bothering you, (Female Reader Name)?".

You were hesitant at first, however you knew you had to tell Leorio sooner or later, as you then answered, "It's complicated... People always finding a reason to mock me, or push me away, or be angry with me to the point of not forgiving me, or complain about when I'm being myself, you name it Leorio... I just have been, so scared as late, to the point where I'm always wondering who will give up on me next... I'm just not sure if I should give up...", as tears began steam down your face. He was frightened, as he asked, "What do you mean, you're not sure, if you should give up? On what or even who?". You then told him what you meant, as you began to hug him, before starting to sob on his chest.

Leorio felt sad for what you've been through, so he hugged you tightly, as he calmly said in your right ear, "There's no need to give up on yourself, nor anything you enjoyed, nor anyone who cares about you that you care about, hun... I'm here to tell you that just, because people found any reasons to give up on you, discriminate against you, push you aside, get upset for being yourself, and even decide to never forgiving you over not accommodating fast nor good enough for them, it doesn't mean everyone will be like this... Unfortunately most people are like this, however there are people who aren't there to hurt you like that... I'm actually one of these people who is living proof that there are people who can assure you reasons why not to give up…". You then looked at Leorio and said, "Do you really mean that, Leorio? Are you sure you can fully promise that?". He then looked in your eyes, as he answered, "(Female Reader Name), I will let my actions speak for me, as I will even assure you and reassure you to keep showing you that I mean it... I can promise you that I will let my actions speak for me... I'm making sure you never give up, especially for the sake of pleasing others... The only things you could do to please me are you being yourself around me, not giving up, not doing things just to make others happy, and seeing you full of joy... I don't want to sound awkward nor scare you away... I just wanted you to know I'm saying all this, because this is how I truly feel and I love you, (Female Reader Name)...".

While you knew Leorio has felt that way about you, since you both first met eachother, however you became surprised that he would ever confess to you. You then replied, "I'm surprised that you would ever confess to me, Leorio... I guess this is mutual then... I love you too, Leorio... And thank you for being there for me...", before you decided to kiss him on his lips. When you noticed him blushing, you tried apologizing, as you thought you were pushing him, however he smiled at you, as he cooed, "No need to apologize, (Female Reader Name)... I was just caught by surprise and I really didn't mind honestly...", as he decided to show you his bashful (in a good way) side of him.

Eversince that night, with Leorio assuring you (and reassuring you), day by day, you have been able to be yourself around Leorio without judgement from him. Considering you're his girlfriend now, he will defend your honor (just like would for any if his friends), as he genuinely cares about you, just like you genuinely care about him, as you shown him that you trust him (and if he's being honest he always has trusted you). With Leorio in your life, you felt more free, than ever had been.

💼The💙End💼

I will admit, I have been thinking about writing a fanfic about a Hunter x Hunter character for a while and I thought Leorio as 1 of the characters to write about for the 1st Hunter x Hunter character to write about😎👍However some point last week I really have thought about him, character wise and last week has been busy and overwhelming for me, so it took me a little time to think about what to write about pertaining writing a fanfic about any Hunter x Hunter character for the 1st time ever, so some of the stuff I have written was last minute😅😃👍I knew I was going to have the comfort genre for the fanfic, while the angst genre was 1 of the last minute ideas for the fanfic, my Tumblr Peeps😁👍 Hopefully this Hunter x Hunter fanfic pertaining Leorio helps make your day and/or night🌞☀️🌕🌝

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

Trick or treat 👻🦇

I shake up my treat bag of writing goodies, reach inside, and pull out your random prize . . . a new fic idea! Congrats, trick-or-treater!

Brace yourself, I swear I tried to keep this short but I wanted to give you a good idea of what I kind of have in mind for the fic without spoiling anything too major, so it ended up a lot wordier than I initially intended:

My newest fic idea is my Alpha (2018 movie)/F1 AU. For those not familiar with the movie, it's basically a survival drama about how the first human and wolf partnership may have been formed thousands of years ago, leading to the domestication of dogs. The idea really hit me out of nowhere, considering I haven't watched the movie in like 2+ years. I honestly don't even remember what triggered the fic idea to spawn in the first place. But I do know that once I acquired the seed for the idea, I started pulling up YouTube videos of some of my favorite scenes from the movie, reminiscing about how much I like it, and thought, "yeah, there's a fic here!"

Leo is, arguably, the cutest addition to the paddock this year, so it's not surprising that he was the first dog to pop into my mind to play the role of the wolf character. I did briefly consider Roscoe, and maybe spinning the story to include some sort of Brocedes arc, but it wasn't really panning out so I shelved it for the time being (I may try to revisit it at a later date, though I make no promises). Leo and Charles as the main wolf-and-human pair held a lot more appeal to me, mainly because I found it a lot easier to come up with potential relationships and ideas to include in the story. I'm definitely including Charles' father, and I apologize, but this is not an AU that changes his fate. (you're also not gonna like what I do to Anthoine, I'm sorry in advance) We'll also have Twitch Quartet shenanigans, a few other drivers as fellow hunter-gatherers, and, of course, some Charles and Max interactions!

As far as Charles and Max go, I am still slightly on the fence about making this a Lestappen fic, but I am admittedly leaning more and more towards including it as I think about the idea more. I think it could be an interesting dynamic to explore in the setting of a prehistoric wilderness where humans are decidedly not the dominant species and they either have to work together, make tough decisions, or die. Plus, it gives me an excuse to introduce Max into the story and have him actually stick around (he's originally from a different tribe than Charles; his father leads it, and he doesn't look too kindly on Max forming friendships with "enemies," so he has to choose between the tribe he's always known and the boy who kind of gets on his nerves at first but also seems to understand him more than anyone else ever has).

The basic plot of the fic more or less follows the general plot of the movie, and is as follows: we introduce Charles and his tribe, which includes his family and friends. His father's health has been declining, so Charles and his brothers are being trained on how to lead in his stead. They set off on the annual bison hunt and meet up with another tribe along the way (Max's tribe). Charles and Max hit it off, and Max chooses to stay with him when his father issues an ultimatum about his relationship. Then tragedy strikes when Charles is seemingly killed during the hunt . . . only he doesn't actually die. He then has to try and survive on his own and get back home to his family and Max. Max, meanwhile, is trying to find a way to go on after Charles' "death." Along the way, Charles encounters an injured wolf, nurses it back to health because he can't bring himself to kill it in cold blood, and eventually ends up bonding with it and naming it Leo (another reason I'm considering adding Lestappen - Charles could name him "Leo" as a nod to Max, the one he misses and wants to return home to the most). They work together to survive until, finally, Charles makes it back home. He gets to say goodbye to his father before he passes and reunites with all of his friends, including Max. The story ends with Charles gradually settling into leadership, with Max by his side, and Leo aiding him and ushering in the beginning of wolf domestication.

Admittedly, this current loose outline sounds more Lestappen-centric than Charles-and-Leo-centric, but I promise that the bulk of the actual story will be about Charles and Leo! They spend a lot of time on their own in the wilderness, so they'll have lots of time to bond and have adventures before Charles sees another person again. Leo is gonna take his role as "man's best friend" very seriously!

There are some other little details and ideas I'm still pondering too, but I think the most important one for now is that yes, I am including Norrix in this AU! It'll be a bit more in the background since the story is meant to focus on Charles' journey, but it will undeniably be there. Lando is part of Charles' tribe and is the tribe healer, having trained as a healer when he was too small to join the other boys in hunting and fighting as a kid, though he has since filled out significantly and he is a great fighter should the need arise. Martijn sticks with Max when he defects from his father's tribe because he's his friend, and honestly because he doesn't like Max's dad either, and meets Lando when they first return to Charles' tribe. They meet, more or less instantly fall in love, and live happily ever after. :) (Well, as happily ever after as they can get in the Stone Age, anyway.)

[scoops-aboy86]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

I didn’t actually get any words so I’ve just been grabbing prompt words from my Co-Star app horoscope, which I’m pretty sure is ai generated garbage but it’s funny. Anyway, same deal, I used the letters to start each sentence. 

The sani-strips came off last week and I am not enjoying being able to see my surgery scar. Touching it kind of makes me feel physically ill, so I probably have to practice doing exactly that, bleh. Something for Steve to “look forward to.” 🙃

FIEND

First thing the next morning, Steve wakes up to his usual alarm and blearily shuts it off before Robin to his side or Eddie in a sleeping bag on the floor so much as stir. It’s not the kind of thing either would’ve thought of turning off the night before, being more ‘roll out of bed whenever seems right and hopefully that’s not (too) late’ type people… but Steve is a little relieved to have the time to himself. Even if it means less sleep, and more time conscious of his throbbing wrist. 

Next to his alarm clock is the open prescription bottle, a pad of paper next to it with a note that he took his last pill at 4:45am in Eddie’s jagged scrawl so it’s too early to be able to take more. Dim memories of waking up and nearly kicking Eddie in the head trying to get to the bathroom bubble up in Steve’s brain—and at least he hadn’t needed any help peeing, that would have been worthy of fleeing the state on foot in embarrassment.

GOLDEN

(Gratingly, though, he knows that the next time he needs to shit it will be that bad, because he’s not, he doesn’t… he usually wipes with his right hand, alright? Only that’s not an option, not with a broken wrist, and he’s been a lot less flexible on his left since healing from the bat bites on his sides and vine-related road rash on his back from last spring, so… fuck. Definitely going to be a problem. Eventually. 

No one must ever know, so hopefully nobody will ever ask.)

RICH

RIIING!

It’s the phone. Cursing under his breath, Steve rolls out of bed and carefully makes his way to the phone in the master bedroom down the hall. He almost forgets to expect to feel the bad wrong hurt radiating up his arm even more when in motion, but it’s weirdly just as bad that his fingers feel numb in some places, like they’re no longer properly connected. 

WHOOSH

Who could be calling at this hour is never a question in Steve’s mind. He wakes up around this time every morning and has ever since he’d been conditioned by school on weekdays and sports on weekends; his parents know that. Or at least they expect it, which is possibly the main reason he has kept up the habit. Oversleeping is never met with approval on the increasingly rare occasions they’re home. So he braces himself, one deep breath before he picks up the handset, because he knows he’s committed the cardinal sin of letting the phone ring too long. 

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking, how can I help you?” he recites, careful not to muddle any of the words despite the general fuzziness of sleep and painkillers and pain still clinging to him. 

HAPPENING

“Hello Steven,” comes his father’s voice, already hard with disapproval. And that slight but infuriating emphasis on his full name, like a correction. Plenty of people go by nicknames, but Richard Harrington is very firmly not one of them—something Steve stopped being baffled by the day he’d learned the many versatile uses of the word ‘dick.’ “Patricia Cunningham gave your mother a call yesterday about some sort of party at the house, is there anything you’d like to tell me?” 

Even as part of him cringes on the inside out of habit, Steve rolls his eyes. Nothing Pat Cunningham has to say is ever first hand; she’s a gossipy housewife who doesn’t even live on their street. If anything, she probably heard about his trip to the ER from her husband, who’s a doctor. “Not a party, sir, just a barbecue with some friends and their families.”

Grumbling something under his breath, the older Harrington scoffs. 

DEVOTION

“Don’t think I don’t know that’s still a party, Steven. Especially since I also know that I’ll be receiving a hospital bill sometime soon! Very soon, considering that billing at Hawkins Memorial is the only department that knows their ass from their elbows. Once would be plenty, but this is the fifth year in a row that you’ve persisted in this desperate cry for attention and I’ll not have it anymore. This is your last warning, Steven, understand? If I hear about one more party or drunken accident, a broken wrist for god’s sake—”

“O-oh come on, Dad!” Nothing could make Steve loathe himself more right now than stuttering, but this is the kind of thing that always brings it out. 

NIGHT SWIMS

“No one was drunk, Chief Hopper was there grilling the burgers. I just slipped and landed wrong, that’s all!”

“Go ahead, keep making it worse for yourself by lying, son. Hell, it was probably drugs again, can’t wait to get that call once the tests come through. This is really it, Steven, one more toe out of line and your mother and I will be forced to cut our trip short to come home to deal with you.”

Steve clenches his jaw. Wishful thinking had always gotten him as a kid, thinking that if he was hurt or sick his parents would rush home to take care of him; they would, technically, but never without his father’s resentment at being forced to change his plans. It’s almost like nothing’s different, but Steve is all too aware that now he’s a legal adult, his parents coming home to deal with him would probably either mean house arrest or kicking him out. 

“Maybe that’ll be enough to motivate you to answer the phone promptly next time,” his dad says firmly, and hangs up.

So much for hearing from his mom, then. 

AFTERGLOW

Although a bit of a hit or miss, he can at least usually count on her to say something nice, maybe even sympathetic considering he broke an important bone this time. Fucking radius. 

“That sounded brutal,” Eddie says behind him. 

Everything in Steve’s body tightens at the unexpected voice—including the muscles and tendons in his wrist, making him flinch harder, which makes it hurt more, and he clutches his stupid splinted arm to his chest. Robin would’ve known not to eavesdrop on a call with his parents, but it hasn’t happened often enough lately for Eddie to have been read in on that common courtesy. 

“Great,” Steve grumbles out loud, turning to shoulder his way past and out of the room. “Least I don’t have to make up some excuse for being in a shitty mood, I guess.”

“Oh, dude, you don’t need an excuse,” Eddie replies, trailing after him at minimum safe distance. “When you have an asshole for a dad and a literal broken bone, that actually constitutes a reason.”

LOVE BITES

“Look,” Steve says, stopping short in the hallway and rounding on him, bringing his bad hand up to point for emphasis but thinking better of it and waving it around vaguely instead, “I don’t want to talk about my dad. Once a month is enough, and this counts, alright?” Vitriol bubbles up in his tone but he’s helpless to stop it, and doesn’t care enough to try. Eddie doesn’t deserve it, not really… 

But Steve doesn’t want to think about whether anyone deserves what they get right now. It’s a can of worms that, with his history as a high school douchebag, is best not opened. (Though, to be honest, some days he’s not sure it has a lid at all.)

Eddie seems to take his bad mood in stride, shrugging and stifling a yawn. “Sure thing, Stevie. 

FAWNING

For future reference though, I’ve got one of those too, so I get it. Anyway—” his face brightens and he claps both hands together “—what do you say to some breakfast? We can eat, and then by the time we’re done you can have another pill.”

“Not really in the mood for cereal or toast,” Steve grumbles, because that’s all he feels even vaguely capable of preparing right now.

“If I were a weaker man, that would wound me,” Eddie tells him with a theatrical pout, then bounds around to pass him in the hallway. “Never tried my hand in such a fancy kitchen before, but if you like eggs I can whip up a decent meal for us.” Grinning, not even waiting for Steve’s reaction, he takes the stairs two at a time. 

FANTASIES

Funnily enough, it had never occurred to Steve that Eddie could cook. Almost all of their hangouts had involved ordering pizza or raiding the nearest grocery or convenience store for snacks, and the rest—usually the occasions that involved the kids and therefore required greater volume—Steve was in charge of food. Not counting yesterday’s barbeque, because he hasn’t quite figured out grilling. At no point had Eddie volunteered, so Steve had just assumed. 

Something he feels stupid for now, watching Eddie bustle around the kitchen like he owns the place. Is it a guess when Eddie finds the frying pan on the first try, or did he scope things out the night before, or has he just been paying attention when Steve cooks? Eggs go in the pan, not by themselves but each in a whole cut into a piece of bread; he didn’t know you could do that. 

“So this is eggs a la Munson,” Eddie announces as he slides one onto each plate he’s procured and brings them to the breakfast bar where Steve is perched. 

ENDORPHINS

“Egg in a hole, eggs in a basket, whatever you want to call it… but that’s what Uncle Wayne always made me before school, before he started taking night shifts. Nice and filling so those drugs they gave you launch you to the moon at something slower than the speed of light.”

“Don’t try to make me laugh, man, it’ll hurt,” Steve grumbles. Or tries, anyway, because he has good reason to be in a bad mood and isn’t ready to let go of it yet. Right now he’s barely holding onto a grimace, though. 

Probably because there’s just something about Eddie—his sense of humor, his lopsided smile made more crooked by his demobat scars, those big doe eyes that are currently broadcasting a twinkling sincerity, something—that makes things feel just a little bit lighter. He’s a reassuring presence, like Robin is. 

“I’m, uh,” Steve says, ducking his head to keep from zoning out while looking at Eddie because that would be too much like staring. “Not sure how to eat this. ‘S it something I pick up like toast, or cut up, or…?”

PILLOW FIGHTS

Pathetically, he remembers after asking that he can’t hold a fork and a knife at the same time right now, and he’s not sure if his left hand is coordinated enough to do the job on its own. It makes his face go red and he hates this, he hates it, this forced helplessness after being basically self-sufficient since he turned twelve. 

“Let me check the yolk,” Eddie tells him, either oblivious to his humiliation or polite enough not to make it any worse. “Looks like… yep, soft but not runny, just what I was going for!” One glance up from his own plate, fork poised after testing the center of his egg, and his expression dims a little as he takes in whatever Steve’s face is doing. “Wait, are you one of those guys who only likes their eggs runny? Fuck, or scrambled, I should’ve asked—”

“I like it both ways,” Steve rushes to tell him, and… Great, now he feels like even more of an idiot. His wrist throbs and part of him just wants to take his pill early and go back to bed, but he’d barely eaten anything yesterday and he's hungry. “That’s, uh, I mean, I’m not picky… about eggs.”

Something about the whole situation seems extra charged, from the relief uncurling in his chest when Eddie smiles again to the first bite of toast and egg, the perfect combination of crispy, soft, and just a little bit greasy. 

SWEATY PALMS

Steve makes a point of smiling as he chews, worried it comes off a little wooden but he means it, goddammit—or he’s trying to, at least. 

When was the last time someone had made him breakfast? Every part of him hurts. Aches, from the broken bone to his jarred shoulder to where he’d hit his hip going down, but he has a warm, home-cooked meal that he didn’t have to make himself. That he didn’t even have to go over to the Hendersons’ to get. 

“You’re a good cook,” he manages to say around his second bite, using that as an excuse for why his voice might sound funny. Perfectly believable, as long as the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes do as they’re told and stay put. All of it is just so… overwhelming all the sudden, the slip-fall-crack and the ER and the slip-fall-crack and the shower and the slip-fall-crack and the pills and the slip-fall-crack—

“—Look at me Steve, it’s okay, just look at me,” Eddie is saying, steady but urgent, stretching across the breakfast bar to put both hands solidly on Steve’s shoulders. 

“My wrist is broken in two places,” Steve whispers. Swallows his mouthful finally and goes to scrub the stupid tears off his face because they shouldn’t be there in the first place. 

READ

Right when he thought he’d had his shit together—he hasn’t been stuck in a reliving-it loop in his head like this in months, and the fact that it’s happening over this, after all the times he’s nearly died, is ridiculous. 

Eddie is taking his hand, the one that isn’t splinted and strapped to his chest by the sling, and nodding. Against the backdrop of slip-fall-crack Steve can barely focus on the guy’s face. Doesn’t want to dredge up the moment he barely remembers from the ER, when someone had told him whether or not he needs surgery would be the octo… ortho… the bone doctor’s call, but can’t stop thinking about that rather. 

RECEIPTS

Robin hadn’t been in the curtained off little ‘room’ for that part; she’d stepped out for more water or to go to the bathroom, and he hasn’t repeated it out loud in case that might jinx it into being real. 

“Eds, I broke my wrist,” he says again. “Christ, I’m such an idiot—”

Eddie’s grip on his shoulders tightens. “It was an accident, Steve, it could’ve happened to anyone.”

Probably. That floor is a goddamn hazard. Steve is all too aware, though, that it hadn’t happened to anyone; it had happened to him. 

If you want to do this too, your word is SWEATY PALMS because I enjoyed doing that one lol. No pressure and/or just drop by and read some new words tag:

@hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @thecatkingsthrone @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

[strange-and-off-putting]

Smegtober Prompt Sixteen: Future

Also on AO3. Tooth-rottingly sappy:

“Knew you’d make it up here eventually,” Lister says, not turning around from his vantage point at the railing.  Rimmer can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Oh?” Rimmer tries to keep his voice dismissive. “I’m that predictable, am I?”

  Lister turns, his lips curled in a cheeky grin.  He is holding, in each hand, what appears to be a glass of champagne.  He offers one to Rimmer, who stares at it slightly slack-jawed before taking it and raising it to his lips gingerly. “Might’ve lost a bit of its fizz,” he says, as means of apology, with a penitent shrug.  “Knew you’d be coming, but wasn’t a hundred percent on when, so I took my best guess.” 

He chuckles as Rimmer takes a sip and lifts his brows in surprise. “Yeah, I nicked a bottle of the good stuff,” Lister says.  “Figured if it was really good stuff, it could hold its own even if it went a bit flat.” He raises his glass. “Cheers,” he says, taking a generous sip.  Rimmer steps forward, left hand wrapped around the stem of the champagne flute, right hand gently supporting the base, and looks at Lister suspiciously. “So you know me well enough to know I’d come up here,” he says, eyes scanning the observation dome, “but not well enough to know I don’t want to be reminded of my birthday?”

“Who says this is for your birthday?” Lister says slyly.  “Just ‘cause it happens to be your birthday–”

“You know I hate when you play games like this, Listy.” “Ok, well, first, I don’t think you do hate it actually,” he sniffs, leaning his hip against the banister, “and second, a day can be two things, ok?” A pause.  Lister twirls the champagne flute in his fingers.  He looks down. “This isn’t about your birthday,” he says quietly.

Rimmer watches him closely as he turns back out to the vastness of space and beckons him over.  Rimmer hesitates, the old patterns of mistrust and paranoia still hard to break.  But this is Lister.  He moves to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and stares off into infinity. “It’s not how I envisioned spending my sixty-fifth,” Rimmer sighs. “Stuck on an aimlessly floating rust bucket with you lot.  No offense.” Lister bows his head.  “Thought you didn’t want to talk about your birthday.” Rimmer scoffs. 

“Well, clearly you do!” he says, exasperatedly.  “You get me alone up here, you bring champagne–” “Rimmer, this is not about your birthday,” Lister says placatingly. “Then what are you playing at?” he says irritiably.  Lister shrugs.  “I thought maybe it’d be nice if you had something different to celebrate on this day.  In the future, I mean.” He goes quiet.  Rimmer stares into his champagne, the soft hiss of bubbles all but dissipated, the pale liquid catching the soft ambient glow of the under rail lighting.  Lister bends to place his empty champagne flute on the floor, groaning as he pulls himself back up to standing.  He stands slightly breathless, bracing his hands on the bannister, and staring out at the darkness ahead of them.  He seems, suddenly and uncharacteristically, slightly nervous.

“You know, when I met you,” Lister says slowly, “I didn’t actually like you.” “Oh, don’t drop too many bombshells on me all at once, Listy, I don’t think I can take it,” Rimmer snarks. Lister rolls his eyes. “Look, man, I’m building a certain kinda atmosphere here, ok?” he sighs.  “I’m trying to create a bloody heartfelt moment, so could shut the smeg up for five seconds, please?” Rimmer rolls his eyes, but does, to his credit, shut up.  Lister scrubs his face with his hand. “Smeg,” he mutters.  “When I first met you, I didn’t like you, right?  I thought you were snobbish, neurotic, cowardly, self-serving, and petty.” He sighs.  “And that hasn’t changed.” He slides his hand across the banister, nudging Rimmer’s hand with his own, and linking their little fingers together. “But the way I feel about you has.” Rimmer stares at their hands, at all the lines etched in their skin, at the faint blue of his simulated veins, and the ragged edges of Lister’s nails, at Lister’s finger, crooked gently around his. “Lister…?” “Here,” he says, digging in the pocket of his leather pants with his free hand.  “Now, it’s not a birthday present, all right?  I told you this wasn’t about your birthday, and I meant it.  This is something else.”

He pulls his hand out.  In his palm are two plain gold bands.

“Nice, ain’t they?” he says softly, pride evident in his voice.  “Nicked them from one of the officer's suites ages ago; had to.  Couldn’t say why at the time.”

He grins.

“Think I know now.”

“I…” Rimmer stares at the bands, clearly flustered.  “I’m not sure what this is…?”

“Well, it’s not a birthday gift,” Lister says.  He lifts their linked hands and gently turns Rimmer so his fingers spread.  He slides the gold band over Rimmer’s ring finger and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Christ, I was so worried it wouldn’t fit,” he laughs.  “Pretty sure mine’s gonna be a tight one.”

He runs his thumb over Rimmer’s knuckles, admiring how the gold band catches the light.

“Rimmer, whatever else the future holds, the reality is, we’re going to spend it stuck with each other,” he grins.  “And at some point --I'm not quite sure when -- but at some point, I realized that that started sounding less like a prison sentence, and more like a promise.”

He shrugs.  “So that’s what this is.  A promise.”

Rimmer stares at their hands and slowly extends his free hand, palm up.  Lister furrows his brow.  It takes him a minute to understand.  He laughs.

“Oh, smeg, sorry,” he says, dropping the gold band in Rimmer’s hand.  He studies it for moment before slipping it on.  It’ll only slide on Lister’s little finger.  Rimmer shakes his head disapprovingly.

“It’s you and all those damn curries,” he grouses.

“Lagers, too,” Lister grins. He turns back to the sky, to the endless darkness, pinpricked with light, and leans heavily on Rimmer, his head resting against his shoulder.

“So next year, instead of your birthday, we can celebrate out anniversary,” Lister says with the air of someone who has done something very clever.  “Better?”

“Better,” Rimmer agrees.  He looks down at his hand, the band a pinprick of light in the dark.

“Infinitely better.”

[revryebread]

yadda yadda everyone else is out getting donuts or something this aint about them

“I wasn’t born under a rock!” He tried protesting, but was only greeted with jeers and a shove backwards. Alphonse Elric reaches back with one arm to brace himself and bumps soundly into a beanbag chair. 

Rachel was standing above him and shaking her head. “It’s worse than a rock, you were born in like- 1890 or something.”  She stood over him like a large playful dog cornering something much smaller. There was no ill will, but Al could tell he did not have an advantage here. 

“It’s not- I was born in 1910.” Factual accuracy did not win him any points, and a prolonged raised eyebrow was used against him like a torch. He backed down- “Fine. I’m uncultured.” Rachel nodded sagely. “We agree. Make room.”

It was the arts and crafts car again, Rachel had wheeled out a black box on a trolley- Al had been around long enough now to understand a TV. Not how it worked, necessarily, but that it would show images and sound. He had seen them in the Casino, and a shopping mall car that he had visited with Rachel and the gang earlier.

Occasionally, there were times when the- was it an age difference? No, they were both the same age, it’s just the time between them, the worlds they’re from. Those things were so different it made him feel ancient compared to Rachel. But he tried to roll with the punches of new technology, especially when others seemed so confident about it.

He scooted in the beanbag, which was its own feat of strength and contortion, and Rachel plopped down next to him with the remote and turned on the TV. He could hear a loud click, and a thrum. An image slowly lit up the screen- green text on a forest background, and the kind of music he imagined Shigeo would listen to started to play.

“They didn’t have much in here but I got what I could.” Rachel explained, not looking at Al but the TV. She gesticulated with the remote and Al watched her as she talked. Until her gaze moves from the television to him, and she holds his eyeline for a moment. In a moment of what is read as irritation, Rachel makes a motion with her shoulders and eyebrows that makes Al flinch, and she nods at the TV like she’s chiding him. “You need to watch. I am not going to sit through Shrek by myself.”

Sheepish- he turns his head back towards the screen. There was something impressive about the technology at play, and the scientific part of his brain was trying to understand it. Eventually though, he just gave way to actually watching the story play out infront of him.

----

It was about thirty minutes in when an intrusive thought wormed it’s way into Al’s head and out of his mouth.

“Do you think he’s here?” Al asked, Rachel’s head jerked up from the resting position it was drifting towards and she looked at him. “Michael Meyers?” Incredulous. Absurd. 

“No, no- Shrek. That guy.” Al pointed at the ogre on the screen freeing fairy tale animals.. “He’s troubled. We’ve seen adults. This is a story, right? We’re from stories. Is he on the train?” His brain was  Rachel looked between him and the screen, mouth agape. “That’s ridiculous. He- He can’t be right?” It was clearly enough to break her cool demeanor, and she looked off into the distance for a moment to mouth the words, deciding they tasted foul in her mouth. Is Shrek on the train…

The two of them sat there in silence for a moment- the sounds of Shrek and Donkey arguing about whether or not waffles will be made filling the space between them, and they both start to laugh. 

“He makes it out of this better- but Donkey, I think he’s on the train.” Rachel speaks in a voice that offers no chance for questions, Al responds with giggles. 

“Could you turn into Donkey?” 

“I could turn into a Donkey right now.”

“It wouldn’t be an animated Donkey though it would be a donkey like you.” 

“Do you think I can differentiate between animated and not?”

The two of them cackle and push each other on the bean bag,  and the way they watch this movie changes for the rest of it. Lord Farquad is definitely in the Apex. Fiona got on the train right when she goes Ogre for the first time. They switch to another movie after that and the same thing goes, slow piles of popcorn containers and soda cans growing around them as the night moves on.

--------

Eventually, Rachel is on the beanbag alone and Al is looking through DvD’s on a shelf behind her calling out titles to get her opinions. 

“Jurassic World?”

“What do you mean world? It’s a park.”

“Star Wars?”

“That’s for nerds- I am not going to lower myself to that.”

“So-” Al pauses, reading the box of a blue dvd and squinting at it. Rachel notes the cut off- “So what? What’s the title?” She turns around to see Al holding the case. “Sonic 2.” He looks at the blue little hedgehog on the front and looks to Rachel. “Shadow knew this guy.” He said softly. Carrying it over and sitting back down.

“Is he in it?”

Al looks at the back of the box, “I don’t… I don’t think so? He’s not on here at least. He would have made them give him top billing.” He smiles a bit thinking about it. 

Rachel can tell he’s getting in his head, and so asks the obvious question. “Want to watch it?” He sighs, flipping the box back over again. “It’s weird when it’s someone I know, right? Or I mean- It’s his life, kind of.”

Rachel shrugs and sinks into the cushion, looking up at the ceiling. “I mean, it could just be an interpretation of his life, right? He said he was from a video game.” Al nods, as if he’s just choosing to accept this. “Hmm. This is a movie. You’re right. I think.”

They choose to watch it,  and during the credits scene Al is on his feet and yelling.

[ourtearsofrain]

Slow It Down (D.R.W/S.F.K)- Chapter 14

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka, (background) Josh Kiszka x Male O.C.

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count:  1.8k

Warnings: capital “A” Awkward between Sam and Danny again

A/N: Austin’s finally making an official/actual appearance :)

--------------------------------------------------------

October 2nd, 2:14 PM

“Alright so Danny shouldn’t be home yet, so you should have a few hours to prepare for whatever you want to say to him.” Josh closes the door behind him, shrugging some of Sam’s bags to the floor noisily.

“Sounds good.” Sam cracks his knuckles nervously, his eyes darting around the apartment. “Oh, and Austin, thanks for picking me up at the airport with Josh.”

“No problem.” He leans in towards Sam with a small smile, dropping his voice so his boyfriend couldn’t hear. “And between me and you, the main reason I came along was ‘cause I was worried y’all’d end up on the wrong side of town. Josh’s been livin’ here for about six years and still gets lost on the subway.”

Just as Sam laughs, he hears a door open on the other side of the apartment, heavy footsteps soon heard heading their way, causing his heart to jump into his throat. With Josh and Austin in his sight, there was only one other person that could be there.

“Hey Josh, didn’t know you were having company-” Danny cuts himself off as he enters the room, his eyes going wide as they land on Sam. “-over.”

“Danny!” Josh slaps a smile on his face to hide his nerves, his voice higher than usual as he walks towards his roommate. “I thought you had a lecture until four.”

“I usually do. Professor’s sick so canceled class.” His tone is flat, barely concealed anger lurking beneath it as he forces his focus on Josh. “Why is he here?”

As Josh tries to find any excuse, Austin comes to his rescue, moving to his side to gently grab his arm. “Hey, darlin’, weren’t you gonna go help me with that… thing.”

“What thing?” Josh’s face twists in confusion before he finally understands, his eyes going wide as he lets Austin begin to pull him towards the door. “Oh right! That thing! We’re uh… gonna go do that.” Before Danny can call them out on their bullshit, they dart out the door, closing it roughly behind them before the lock clicks into place.

Danny turns around without a word, walking back down the hall towards his room and hoping Sam wouldn’t follow. Unfortunately for him, he hears Sam’s remaining bags fall to the ground before quick footsteps echo against the walls behind him. “Danny!”

Nope, nope, I am not doing this right now. I don’t care that he flew in from another state, I refuse to talk to him. I can’t talk to him- He slams his bedroom door behind him before Sam catches up, locking it quickly as he rests his forehead against the wood, his breaths panicked as he tries to keep the tears from his eyes.

“Danny, please. Open the door, I want to talk.”

“I don’t. Go away.” He crosses the room, putting as much distance between him and Sam as he could.

“I’m not leaving.”

Fine. He’ll get bored eventually. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he hears Sam’s back lean against the wood, sliding down to what he assumed to be sitting against his door.

--------------------------------------------------------

4:27 PM

He has to be gone; he can’t still be sitting there. Danny gets up from his desk chair, having spent the last two hours with his eyes glued to the faint shadow under the door, praying that it wasn’t caused by Sam. He takes a deep breath before flinging the door open, causing Sam to fall back into his room, flat on his back as he looks up at Danny. “Fine. What the fuck do you want? What was so goddamn important that you had to cross state lines to tell me? Huh? You came here to talk, so fucking do it.”

Although he was wounded by Danny’s tone, he knew he deserved it, scrambling off the ground to come to a stand before him. Danny stares daggers at him, his hand still braced on the door as if he was trying to prevent Sam from entering the room any more.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Danny.” Everything Sam had rehearsed in his mind vanishes as his voice breaks, tears coming to his eyes as he curses himself for crumbling so quickly. “That doesn’t even begin to cover or make up for what I’ve done, what I’ve put you through all these years. I have been such an incredible asshole to you. You’re my best friend, Danny, and I can’t- I can’t lose that, I can’t lose you again.”

“What?” Danny takes a step backwards in his confusion, only for Sam to close the distance between them, his tears trailing down his cheeks as Danny tries to keep his own at bay.

“I should have talked to you after you kissed me years ago instead of running off, I should have told you I loved you then. I shouldn’t have ignored you for years because I was too goddamn afraid of losing you, that only pushed you away even further. I shouldn’t have toyed with your emotions all summer by so openly flirting, I should have just told you how I felt. And I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have chose staying in Frankenmuth where it’s safe over you. I’m so, so sorry. I wish that I was better than I am. I- I’m working on it I swear.”

In his surprise, Danny stays silent, barely registering the tears flowing down his cheeks as he backs himself into the edge of his mattress, sitting down to prevent himself from falling. Once again, Sam closes the distance between them, kneeling in front of Danny and bringing his hands up to hold his. “I don’t know why I am the way I am; I don’t think I’m strong enough to be your man, and I’m just lowering your expectations. But I’m here now, I’m here. And I’m trying, I promise. If- if you still love me, if you don’t hate me, which would be completely reasonable, I’m here now. I know now why I was so scared, why I refused to leave Michigan, but I now know that I need- I need to leave. And I need you, Danny. Tell me to leave and you’ll never see me again, but if you still want this, us, tell me to stay and I will, I won’t push you away again.”

Danny’s mind races at his words, not knowing where to start. “You’d move here? For me?”

“Yes, Danny. I would move across the world for you.”

He shakes his head slightly, beginning to pull his hands away from Sam’s grasp. “I don’t want you to uproot your entire life for me, I don’t want to be your only reason.”

“You aren’t, I swear.” Danny pauses his motions, allowing Sam to keep his hands in his own while he waits for an explanation. “Josh and I talked, and it helped a lot. He helped me realize that my future isn’t in Frankenmuth, that my ‘reasons’ for staying are just excuses. I’ve been afraid of so many things for so long and I refuse to live in fear anymore. I need to get out and I’m going to either way, whether you still want this or not. You may be a large reason for me leaving, but I don’t want you to choose keeping me in your life just because you’re worried I’ll rot in Michigan if you don’t. I need to take control of my own life. I need to do things that will make me happy.”

“Like what?”

“Like this, apologizing. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to apologize. Wherever I transfer to for school next, I’m changing my major. I’m going to study astronomy, Danny. And I don’t care if it isn’t as ‘safe’ of a choice as business, I don’t care if I need to restart by taking completely different classes, I know I’ll be happy and that’s all that matters.”

Before Sam can try to find his next words to fill the silence, Danny tackles him around the middle in a crushing hug, sending them both to the floor. Danny buries his face into Sam’s neck, feeling his racing pulse beneath his cheek as his tears soak into his thin t-shirt. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, Sammy.” They stay this way for a few moments, each man reveling in the feeling of the other in their arms. Finally, Danny pulls back to look at Sam, his hand coming up to cup his jaw as they sit up. “I’m still really fucking mad at you for what happened, but this is definitely helping. I can’t just forget the years of hurting, but I know that I could have tried to communicate better, and if you’re being completely honest with me, if you’re actually going to try to work on this, I can’t hate you. I could never hate you, Sammy. I love you, always have and I always will.”

A new flood of tears stream down Sam’s face as he closes the distance between their lips, pulling Danny towards himself briskly. His hand tangles in his hair to impossibly deepen their kiss, his other hand finding his thigh as he drinks him up.  After a few minutes, he finally pulls away, trying to keep his eyes on Danny’s as they drift down to his lips again. “Does this mean we can be an ‘us’? That I can- that I can call you mine, my boyfriend.”

“Yes, Sammy.” Danny laughs, bringing the pad of his thumb to wipe stray tears from his cheek. “If you’re serious about moving here, trying to communicate better, taking control of your life. If you mean it, I’d be happy to call you mine.”

Excitement and relief flows through Sam as he leans in again, bringing his lips to Danny’s. Once more, they lose themselves in each other for a few minutes, only breaking their kiss when Sam leans back slightly, resting his forehead against Danny’s. “Does this mean I can move in with you? It’ll bring down your rent, I know that shit is expensive here.”

Danny barks out a laugh, his hand still cradling his cheek as he gazes at him with adoration. “Yes, you can move in with me. Have you talked to Josh about that yet? Not that I think he’d have an issue with it.”

“No… as far as he knows, I’m still making my mind up about moving here.” As if he was summoned, the two men hear the front door close quietly down the hall, Josh’s tentative footsteps crossing their front entryway following it.

“Tell him together?” Danny offers.

“Yeah… together.” For the first time in years, Sam felt nothing but hope, his entire body alight with the feeling as he finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel; a new beginning, a new life, excitement for what was to come next. And Sam knew that with Danny at his side, he could be happy like this for the rest of his life.

--------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Go listen to 'Ready Now' by Dodie and think of them

taglist: @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @sanguinebats @theres-a-tvjoe @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @currentlyfangirling10

[inkandpaintleopard]

Look at that, an Introduction Post!

Good morning! And in case you’re staying up like I am, good afternoon, good evening, and good night.

I am ████████, I draw so much I have a wrist brace now.

As anyone could tell from one quick look at my blog, I love Spooky Month. It being my main fandom on here was not the plan, but I’d be surprised to see something change that now. However, any piece of media, be it shows, movies, games, books, or anything else, that I even so much as mention, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ABOUT IT. If I bring it up at all that indicates that I am willing to talk about it, bordering on desperate to, please I’ve been alone for so long-

Old Things

Anything I have ever done, anything I have ever drawn, any idea I have ever had is totally up for grabs as long as I’m credited. You can go into my old archives, please go into my archives, please reblog my age old posts, PLEASE build on my ancient ideas. I give my thoughts specifically to be built upon, to spark new concepts, to one day be turned into drawings, and if you can do any of that, DO IT. It’s not like once it’s old it’s gone, that’s what an archive is for. It’s still there, use it.

Also,

I’m gonna say that you can use my stuff for anything. Again, as long as I’m credited; but even if I’m not, what’s mostly important to me is that something I made is out there being enjoyed by someone. Also, please put my posts on Pinterest if you want because I didn’t even know it was its own social media until like a few months ago and I sure as hell won’t be doing it myself.

DNI

As for a DNI list, I don’t really have one. If you do identify with anything on a standard list (proshippers, looking at you mostly), let’s just agree to exist around each other as Minecraft wolves, ok? As long as neither of us attack each other for no reason, everything should be fine. This is a blog run by a child and is mostly about children and children’s media, keep that in mind. Honestly even if you are problematic, I likely won’t care unless you do something bad to me personally.

Don’t betray me or you’ll be integrated into all my stories through allegory characters and when you die I’ll search your grave for cool stuff.

I try to remain as neutral as I can on most touchy subjects and am generally pretty sympathetic, which may or may not be my downfall one day, but for now you can rely on me to just be your funny little art poster and AU flesher-outer.

Asks N’ Stuff

I look at every single notification/ask I get and I love receiving them. If you send an ask and I don’t answer it, chances are:

I just can’t think of a response (may be answered when I do, could be insanely old by then but eh)

It sprouted an idea in my mind that made me go “Ooo, I should draw that!” and then I never did

I am specifically keeping it in my inbox for quick access

I did have a response and I just. Forgot. I think about it constantly but only when I can’t actually post anything

I may have legitimately just missed it. Trust that I’ll eventually look in my inbox, go “Oh BRUH I NEVER SAW THAT ONE,” and then one of the above will occur

Sometimes I also just look at ‘em and smile cause they’re nice

So Uh, Yeah

Interested in characters, interested in people, interested in the future, and interested in the past. Too much is on my mind at any given time. You need fandom stuff? I got it. Something drawn? I got it. Someone to talk to? Sure, I’ll try. But for now, I’m going to bed man.