#But like I don't wanna tread that line again

[cripplecryptid]

Mom said the group therapist wants to see me and my sister soon and uhhhh currently having a slight breakdown about it :)

[b-rainlet]

Babe. Babe wake up, I can't stop thinking about Aegond and their weird ass fuck sibling dynamic. Babe.

[skiiyoomin]

HII!! Idk if your taking requests rn but if you still do,can you please do Bakugou having a emo gf?? I honestly don't know if you still write mha stuffs, so ignore this if you don't!! 🙏🙏

ღBakugou having an emo gf

ʚCont: Swearing, fem! reader

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a/n hi!! idk if you wanted it to be texts or a oneshots or wtv so i went with headcanons!! and yess i still write for mha, my inbox is open if you get creative ;)) also, my conception of emo might but kinda stereotypical so i apologize in advance!!

Bakugou had an emo phase in middle school and you can NAWTTT change my mind. Now that he´s older and more mature, he´s become closeted about this phase of his. But trust, if he hears any type of emo music, he knows deep down in his soul that he´s jamming to that shit.

That is why, in terms of how aggressive he is with people, emos are at the bottom of the list, including you.

Of course, when you first walked into class he was still the abrasive person he is. Nevertheless, it was clear to anyone who had known him long enough, that he treated you with just a little more respect than he did with others.

You never understood it, but you never questioned it either. What little bit of peace there was with the blonde was to remain untouched and unshattered. That is until Mina whispered ideas into your head that Bakugou had a thing for you. At first, you tried to convince yourself that it was just Mina gossiping as always. But that didn´t mean you weren´t just the slightest bit more aware of Bakugous mannerisms towards you.

During his infatuated phase, though he would rather die than call it that, he had walked past your room only to stop abruptly when the muffled music reached his ears. The rythm of Panic! At The Disco was heard through your speakers, your melodic voice humming the lyrics. He´d be lying if he said he didn´t know the songs by heart. He did.

And despite his embarrassment of people having this knowledge, his gut told him you wouldn´t judge. Hence why he found himself knocking on your door.

"Bakugou? Do you need something?" You ask, not having expected the sudden visit.

Why did he come here again? His throat suddenly felt dry and his tongue heavy.

"I heard your music down the hallway, it´s too damn loud" Smooth Bakugou smooth.

"Oh. Is it? I´ll turn it down"

Just as you turn back around, he abruptly speaks.

"I like it" Well that sounded dumb "The group I mean. It used to be my favorite"

If you weren´t surprised before you sure are now. Yet you didn´t dislike it.

"Really?....Wanna come in to listen?"

The friendship stage was blurry to say the least. Neither of you knew whether you were treading a line between friends or lovers. But it felt right.

The respect he held for you from the beginning grew the more he learned about you. Between all the dumbasses and extras he was surrounded with, you seemed to be the one with the most refreshing mind. Your passions and views about the world amaze him to no end and he finds himself learning from you.

Of course, everyone else could see the palpable tension between you. It was clear as day yet neither of you made a move. It was infuriating and your dear classmates could only take so much before they intervened. Luckily, a small push was all that was needed for things to go smoothly.

They went with the classic plan. Making plans with friends only to end up ditching you and leaving you all alone with your now crush. Bakugou caught on quicker than you did. And while he wanted to strangle the idiots, he knew it was now or never, he had to stop chickening out.

"What are we?" He asks out of the blue while walking back to the dorms. He could feel your eyes on him, but he didn´t turn his head, too scared to look.

"What do you want us to be?" You counterask, your heart inevitably thumping in your chest.

"If I tell you will you still stay?" You can only muster a nod.

"I want us to stop dancing around our feelings. I want to take you out. On a real date"

With a grin, you lean close and place a kiss to his blossoming cheek. "I´ve been waiting for you to ask"

The relationship wasn´t all that different. Rather, it was more like an upgrade. He still does the things he does but now under the claim of being your boyfriend. And yes, he came out of the emo closet, though it was pretty transparent. Don´t tell him that though.

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter III

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, explicit sexual themes, non-linear narrative, side rainkay, trauma bonding, near death experience, brief mention of child abuse, more tags to be added

a/n: haha don't hate me but I split the chapter up again! that means there's no smut in this chapter either but it was getting long and the place I chose to leave off felt like a natural end. that being said this chapter is entirely you x bjorn-centric and there is a lot of pay off!

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 4.4k

Masterlist Next Chapter

Bjorn is the fucking worst. 

A marginal part of you just assumed that maybe he was an angry drunk following your little exchange in the bar but no—he's just angry.

Despite your previous apprehension you begin to accept Kay’s invites to join her and the others whenever they get together, which is a lot. You know you're treading in dangerous territory, allowing yourself to get close to them, but you're powerless to stop it, unable to recall the last time you had this much fun, almost too much, feels a little wrong, like it should be illegal. 

The only downside is dealing with Kay’s asshole cousin Bjorn, like stepping on a dull thumbtack you can't dislodge when you see him joking around with Tyler, his eyes narrowing as soon as he notices you approach, like he has some score to settle. 

You don't let it get you, not immediately, not letting him run you off out of spite, just as petty as he is. 

You can only hold your tongue for so long however, before reacting explosively to whatever insult is thrown your way, giving him exactly what he wants. 

The others stop trying to intervene after so long, when they realize neither of you are willing to back down, deciding to just roll their eyes and ignore your immature back and forth, splintering off to start a new conversation of their own.

It's another one of those nights, the tension between the two of you thick, thicker than the smoke coming from the bonfire, gathered in the quarry again. It's a regular hangout spot for them, liking the exclusivity of its location, far from the hustle and bustle of the streets alive at night, when the majority of the colonists who’re assigned to work in the mines aren't slaving away underground. 

You and Bjorn have been taking digs at each other all night—what else is new?—cycling between something passive aggressive and flippant, or overt and direct, depending on how irritated whatever he says makes you. 

“Always so hot and bothered, ain'tcha’ sweetheart? If ya’ shut up and c’mere I can give ya’ a real mouthful,” he smirks, grabbing himself through the loose crotch of his frayed cargo pants.

Disgust pinches the bridge of your nose, nice and tight, hissing back, “ugh, you're such a pig. I’m thoroughly convinced the shitty apple didn't fall far from the shitty tree,” words soaked in venom, the aftertaste of acid burning the lining of your esophagus. 

It's like pulling the pin on a grenade, watching the way everyone reacts, a collective gasp shredding through the calm. Your revulsion is replaced by one of confusion, head cocking to the side as your posture wilts, losing all strength in your shoulders. You don't get why, not when you've said far, far, worse to one another, made a little game of it even. 

You don't see the usual anger or arrogance you've become accustomed to. Instead he looks hurt. Wounded. Blinking twice as fast like he's trying to stop his eyes from watering only to catch himself, schooling his face into something neutral, something mean.

Bracing yourself for the fallout, Bjorn does something completely unexpected—he leaves. Doesn't scream or swear or snark back, just silently turns and retreats, gravel loudly crunching beneath the black worn-in soles of his stormer boots, not sparing a single glance your way while he does.

“Not cool dude,” Navarro chides in your direction, slinging the strap of the backpack she bought the beer in over her shoulder before jogging off in hot pursuit of her brother, “Bjorn, wait up man!”

It's enough to kill the whole vibe, everyone awkwardly parting ways not long after. You return to your apartment sooner than predicted, playing the scene over and over in your head as you try and decipher what could've triggered that response, like he was on the verge of tears. And the others, with the exception of Andy, all seemed floored, clearly clued in on some context you're missing. 

But the thing is, why should you even care? For Bjorn and his infantile way of coping with whatever he's dealing with? When he's not once shown you the same consideration in return? You shouldn't. 

At least—that's what you tell yourself as you strip down to your underwear and crawl into the familiar warmth of your bed, cocooning your body in your blankets as the exhaustion and sleeping pills kick in, lulling you into a restless sleep. 

A sharp knock on the front door startles you awake, eyes bouncing off the walls of your cramped room before they're drawn sideways, finding the analog clock sitting on your bedside table. 

It's late in the afternoon, not nearly as late as you usually allow yourself to sleep on days off, still, that's not what's currently puzzling your still-waking brain.

There's a followup knock, reminding you why you're awake in the first place, begrudgingly removing yourself from the comfort of your sheets while you try and figure out who'd be visiting you right now, pulling on yesterday's jeans left crumpled on the floor by your bed. 

Maybe it's Kay stopping by to check on you. She looked like she wanted to say something last night, after Tyler smothered the bonfire and everyone had left but ultimately never did, choosing to run and catch up with Rain, weaving their fingers together once she did.

You swear though, if it’s just some corpo from the council coming to assign you mandatory overtime you might just take the automatic jail sentence.  

It ends up being neither. To your surprise it’s Tyler, fist raised like he’s getting ready to knock again, immediately taking one step down on the concrete steps leading up to your doorway to give you some room, cheeks a little red. 

“Sorry, didn’t meanta’ wake you,’” Tyler greets, probably taking note of your unkempt appearance, from your tangled hair to the rapid flutter of your lashes, trying to blink the sleep out of them. 

“Could—would you mind if we had a chat?” He amends, adding on, “it’ll only take a sec,” after the fact, the porch light above your head just bright enough to illuminate the hope on his face. Well, this is new. 

You’ve grown to like Tyler and the company he provides, always thoughtful and in high spirits, regardless if he just clocked out of a sixteen hour shift or not, hands shaking and wrapped in dirty gauze from the wounds he sustained. 

That being said, you’ve never met up just the two of you, only ever spending time in facilitated group settings outside of the mines. 

Nonetheless you move aside, a nonverbal queue to come in that he readily accepts, maneuvering around you to step into the tiny kitchenette adjacent to your bedroom. You watch as he gazes around, taking in the surroundings like all the apartments the colonists reside in don't look exactly the same. Albeit yours is pretty bare, not seeing a point in decorating when you could be transferred again at a moment's notice.

“So,” you say, shattering the quiet, leaning back against the laminate counter, arms folded out in front of you with one foot crossed over the other, right heel lifted off the tile floor, “what did you wanna talk about?”

There’s little doubt in your head as to what it's pertaining to, suspicion shortly confirmed by the sheepish look in Tyler's eyes when he meets yours again,“it's about Bjorn.” 

“I figured as much,” you sigh, waiting for him to go on, his hand coming up to anxiously rub over the back of his neck.

“Right, so. Is’not my place to share but Bjorn has a lot of baggage there—with his family. It's a super sore subject for ‘im,’ so when you said that it kinda dug all that shit up.”

Tyler continues, cutting you off before you have a chance to interrupt, “And I know you didn’t mean it, that you don't owe ‘im anything, and you certainly don't hafta’ listen to me but would you please just. Talk to ‘im?’

You can tell Tyler means well, that he wants to smooth things over between the two of you and, while you’d never readily admit it aloud, you do feel a little bad for Bjorn. Bjorn. Sunlight must be shining through the perpetual polluted cloud cover from up above.

It’s just, you know what it’s like, dealing with the aftermath of familial trauma, trying to navigate a world that’s taken so much and given nothing back. Learned to bare your teeth rather than your soul, the only guaranteed method to alleviate the emotional damage life on Jackson’s Star brings.

Maybe Kay is right. Maybe you and Bjorn are alike.

And maybe Tyler is too, about talking to Bjorn, maybe it's time you two talk it out, try and find common ground so the others don't have to play referee anymore. 

“Fine,” you agree,“I’ll talk to him.” 

All the tension in Tyler's shoulders melts away, a relieved sigh deflating his chest, like he had been steeling himself for a potential refusal. 

“Lovely, that's—thank you. Really.” Tyler beams, drawing you into an unexpected hug, a quick, thankful little squeeze despite your arms still being crossed.

Tyler pulls away so you can face each other again, “I know he can be a total fuckin’ wanker but he's one a’ the only people Kay and I got left. And Kay’s got you now and—you don't have to like ‘im. Hell I don't half the time, but if you could just try and tolerate each other maybe?” 

A giggle bubbles up out of you, offering a reluctant nod in return, “sure, I can try. No promises though.” 

“S’okay. I don't expect Bjorn to listen anyways but if I can at least get you on board, things should be smooth sailin’ yanno?” 

You doubt it'll be that easy, that Bjorn will even be receptive to talking but you're willing to honor Tyler's request and try, for him, Kay and the others. 

Once Tyler leaves, you decide it's better to just rip the bandaid off and go looking for Bjorn, who's apparently putting in overtime, something he's prone to doing whenever he needs to blow off some steam according to his older cousin. 

You clock in and check out a drill, the only way low-level colonists gain entry down here, lugging it through one of the series of carved paths towards the sound of shrill cogging you hear echoing off the walls just up ahead in the distance. 

Bjorn isn't hard to find. He's the only one laboring on his day off, the only one in this section of the mines at least, save for the lone guard stationed at the mouth of the tunnel, paying you little mind as you pass. 

The drill head Bjorn's wielding bores into the hard rock, heavy handed from the anger he's trying to work through, sparks flying off as a result. 

Your stomach swoops low when he looks at you, anticipating some kind of reaction, his muscles sagging just a little but, like the guard, he goes back to working, drilling a little harder than before. You can tell this conversation will be like pulling teeth. 

“Bjorn,” you call, trying to be heard over the sound of grating metal, pulling your goggles up and your mask down, letting it hang around your neck. “Bjorn!” 

The lean lines in his forearms built over time flex harder, highlighted by the sweat gathering there, gloved fingers constricting around the worn handle of the power tool as he readjusts his grip. Even through the face shield you can tell he's gritting his teeth, grinding them just as hard as the drill against the rock, the muscles in his neck straining from the way his jaw is set so incredibly tight.

“Bjorn!” You repeat, growing frustrated, taking the risk of losing a finger or two by pushing at Bjorn's shoulder, “can you please just—look at me?”

He’s quick to snatch your wrist, startling you, strong enough to keep the drill upheld with his other arm while he thumbs the off switch. 

“Wha’ in the bloody fuck d’ya want?!” He snarls, eyes narrowed and brows pinched, twisting your arm to hold it down in between you, mindful not to actually hurt you.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, avoiding the angry scowl he's wearing, now the one unable to make eye contact.

“Wha’ tha’ fuck was tha’?!”

Your throat feels rougher than sandpaper, finding it harder to swallow than the pills you pop every night. “I said I'm—sorry.”

The laugh he gives in response sounds hollow, bitter, “oh thas’ bleedin’ rich comin’ from you. Come ta’ say sorry so you can sleep a little easier tonight, have ya?’ Well I don't want ur fuckin’ pity.”

Your head whips up at that, doing your best to keep composed, despite your fight or flight urging you to combat his animosity with your own. 

“I didn't come to apologize to make myself feel better, that's not who I am. Whether we get along or not doesn't matter. I realized I crossed a line and you deserve better than that. That's why I came to say sorry.” 

His face softens just a bit, just long enough for you to notice before his expression hardens again, lips parting to say something more but he never gets the chance to, interrupted by a low ominous groan that shakes the entire roof of the tunnel you're standing in. Shit, that doesn't sound good.  

You share a look of dread then, before either of you can react, a crevasse three feet wide fractures up the entire length of the rock right above your heads as the deafening roar of a cave-in drowns out every other noise.

The only thing you feel is Bjorn’s calloused hand still holding onto your wrist roughly yanking you into his body right as everything collapses around you.

The first thing you register is the fact you're still alive. Aching all over and windpipe tight from inhaling the harsh toxins released into the air all at once, but—alive.

The next is the ringing in your ears, a high frequency whine that sounds like a mortar shell just went off by your head, leaving you disoriented, possibly concussed.

And the last is the solid body of muscle you're lying on top of, the same one that just saved you from biting it several moments ago. 

He's sprawled out on his back, the rapid wide-eyed blinking and quick rise and fall of his chest trying to draw air back into his lungs an indication he's in much the same condition as you, goggles cracked and his face shield missing. 

Your breath catches when you notice how close the two of you are, so close you can see the dirt clinging to his goatee and the dried cracks of his chapped lips, breath smelling like rolling tobacco and polar ice gum. As much as you hate it, you can't help but think how attractive the view is.

He seems to regain his focus, looking down to lock gazes with yours, realizing the position you're in. His eyes roving over your face as if he's appraising you, as if he's checking you out. 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, the severely dim lighting disguising the blush bleeding into your cheeks, rolling off and away from him, hoping he didn't feel the rapidity of your heart beating against your sternum like a battering ram. “Thanks.” 

Once the kicked-up soot and debris has settled a bit you take in everything around you—what's left of it. Both your headlamps are busted, both of which you discard along with the goggles and gloves, drills buried somewhere underneath the rubble you just were, the entrance to the tunnel you're in decimated to a cataclysmic degree, the only way in or out. You guys are trapped. 

“Ah fuck,” Bjorn swears, grasping the utterly abysmal situation you’ve both found yourselves in. “This is bad.”

“Thank you for your valuable insight. Where would I be without your brilliant observation skills,” you snark, the two of you sitting up to face each other, backs against either side of the walls that are still intact, knees drawn up to your chests to give each other a little more leg room.

“Shoulda just let ya’ get crushed by them rocks,” he huffs, “woulda saved me tha’ headache. And tha’ oxygen.” 

He's right about the oxygen. In an enclosed space like this with no ventilation, you're both in short supply, aware you'll run out of it soon enough. Even if the collapse didn't initially kill you, the suffocation inevitably will. 

“I seriously can't believe I'm gonna die down here with you of all people.”

“Ah yah,’ cuz this is how I wanted ta’ spend ma’ last moments before I kicked the bucket,” he rolls his eyes, untying the simple knot of his red bandana, which is grimier than usual due to the ash and sediment lingering in the air, setting it on the ground beside him. 

Bjorn pulls a rolled joint out of the breast pocket of his shirt, lighting up as soon as it's in his mouth. You almost tell him to put it out so you can preserve the limited oxygen you have but ultimately you elect to stay quiet. What's it matter anyway? Dying sooner might just be a mercy. 

“How much ya’ wanna bet some synth fuck’s up there right now tellin’ tha' council we're not worth tha' time or trouble?”

“You really have it out for synthetics, don't you?” 

You were aware he didn't like Andy, an opinion he made known every time Rain brought him to group hangouts but you didn't realize it ran that deep, never connecting the dots between his insults and the prejudice he clearly harbors. 

He chuckles, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he does so, a pungent cloud of weed looming over you, “ever tha' observant one, aren't cha babes?” 

“Fuck you,” you bristle, arms loosely wrapping around your shins, fingers lacing together just below the kneecaps. Although, to be fair you did more or less say the same thing to him not even five minutes ago. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” the few oil lamps the cave-in didn't snuff out highlighting the wink he throws your way. “And if ya’ must know—yeah, I do. Every fuckin' last one of ‘em.” 

Deciding to tread carefully you simply ask, “why?” exercising a level of caution you normally never do.

Silence drags between you, expecting Bjorn to ignore your probably invasive question when, to your surprise he replies, answering with a painful degree of honesty that nearly blindsides you, “my mum. She worked in tha’ mines like most o’ us had to. When I was eight, there wuz a collapse much like this one. ‘Cept she was one o’ three miners on one side o’ the tunnel while there were a dozen in tha’ otha. A synth convinced tha’ council her life wuzn’t worth theirs. So—they let her die. Scared. Confused. Probably hopin’ for rescue. She always told me ta' keep tha' light on fo’er when she'd tuck me inta bed before her shift every night so she could find’er way back ta’ me.” 

He yanks out two sets of dog tags tucked underneath his shirt by the chain, one of them his and the other presumably his mother's, just like the ones you’re wearing, the corporation’s way of identifying bodies of miners lost, his thumb running over the engraving etched into one of the nameplates. 

Sympathy swells inside of you listening to him, “that's horrible.” 

You had assumed Bjorn's past was traumatic based on the little information Tyler was willing to share but you never expected it to hit so close to home.

“I get it,” you murmur, head tipping back to stare at the chiseled rock and remaining support beams to hold back any stray tears that might threaten to fall, clenching at your dirty pant legs a little tighter.

“My mom. She was pregnant and forced to work down in the mines until the shit she was inhaling induced her prematurely. Guess toxic fumes are bad for a pregnancy,” you roll your eyes, biting off a sarcastic, watery chuckle. “She ended up dying during childbirth.” 

There's a pause, your words hanging heavy in the air. You've never shared that with anyone who didn't already know. Word traveled fast around each sector, gossip the only news worth spreading, people talking about the girl orphaned by a reckless mother who should've known better. Fuck, it makes you sick just thinking about it.

When Bjorn speaks it's soft, comforting. “Thas’ horrible. So thas’ why you been volunteerin’ for Kay.” 

“Yep,” you confirm, popping the p, head rolling forward to lock eyes again, watching him put out the remnants of his joint on the wall next to him before flicking the butt into the pile of debris. 

“And ur dad?” he asks, the bend of his elbows resting on either one of his knees, leaving his forearms to dangle. 

“Never knew him,” you shrug, becoming detached at the very mention of him, like you’re discussing a stranger, which in a way you are, “he left right after knocking my mom up. Didn't want the added responsibility of raising a kid.”

“Fuck, I wish my old man woulda jus' dipped out from tha’ start. Woulda been the only decent thing he ever did fo'us,” Bjorn spits, words dripping with vitriol, clearly holding a hatred reserved for his father only. 

“What happened to him?” No longer trying to tiptoe around the questions that pop into your head since you're both over sharing. Since you're both dead anyway. 

“He’s still around but 'e's not around if ya know whadd’i mean. After my mom died 'e started boozin’ heavily to deal widit. When he wasn't in the mines 'e was out gettin’ piss drunk. Stupid prick gave fuck all about me and Navarro.” 

There's a growl that rumbles deep in his lower register, rotating his arms so they're pointed wrist-up towards the ceiling. You follow his line of sight, seeing scars littered across his skin, raised and round and purple from healing. Cigarette burns. 

“Bjorn…” you trail off, a level of sadness you haven't felt in a long time settling deep in your skin, “That's—what the fuck. Did Jackson’s, did they do anything about it?” 

“They don't give a rat's arse, yanno that,” he scowls, but not at you, turning his arms back down, “s’long as I'm alright enough to work they'll overlook a black eye or busted up lip. They can all fuckin’ eat shit far as m' concerned.”

“I'm so fucking sorry about earlier. I really, truly am,” You stress, even more genuine than the initial apology you offered, feeling like a total bitch for what you said to him in the quarry. 

He waves you off, combing his fingers through his sweaty, clumped bangs to separate them, “s’alright babes. Already forgiven.” 

You never thought you'd say it but you're actually glad Tyler convinced you to talk things out with Bjorn, even if it inevitably did lead to your approaching demise. If, by some miracle, you both survive, maybe you can be friends. At the very least, friendly. 

“Can't believe m' gonna die a bloody virgin,” Bjorn groans, head falling back against the rock. 

“Really?” You laugh, a full-body chuckle that has you coughing into a loosely curled fist immediately after, your lungs burning from all the shit you've breathed in, “that's your concern?”

“Uh yah! What else do I hafta' be worried about? Dying? That shit’s imminent at this point, hate ta’ break it ta’ ya’ darling.” 

He has a point. Besides, maybe focusing on a smaller problem will diminish some of the fear about the larger one at hand. 

“You're right,” you concede, though you can't help but be surprised by the revelation, with the way Bjorn carries himself he seemed like the type to sleep around with anyone willing to let him, “that does suck.” 

“Oh? So ur not one then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow that disappears under his hair, curiosity piqued. 

“No. Made a few mistakes back in my old sector, had a few one night stands. Nothing serious,” you shrug, indifferent. None of them ever meant something to you anyhow, just a brief period of time when you used alcohol to cope, when you just wanted to feel someone's arms around you. 

“Course—I don't hafta’ die a virgin.” 

His eyes openly roam over you, from your face down to what he can see of your body with the position you're sitting in, tongue parting his lips to slowly lick over them. You feel your stomach flutter, like you'd just swallowed a congregation of butterflies. Okay, he's definitely checking you out now. 

Are you seriously suggesting I sleep with you?” You ask in disbelief, the question entirely rhetorical considering you're the only other person here and he's eyeing you like a prime cut of steak, “what are you, high?”

“Clearly babes. That's beside tha’ point. Wouldn't be tha’ worst thing in tha' world, now would it?” 

“It might be,” you retort, “so was this just your plan all along? Get in my pants?” 

“Ah yah, I collapsed tha' mine so you'd drop ya' knickers fo' me, fucking come off it. And come with me, why don't ya?’” He smirks, doing that signature cocky head tilt of his.

That's not what you meant. Moreso wondering if that was his goal from the start, the tension between you seeming sexual in retrospect. You spear your bottom lip between your teeth, actually considering the offer, always finding Bjorn annoyingly, stupidly, attractive. Maybe you're the one that's high.

“I—” 

As if on queue you hear a familiar rumble, just like the one that trapped you here to begin with, rubble and soot raining down on top of you and Bjorn, looking up just as the ceiling bows.

Bjorn is quicker to react than you are, lunging at you right as one of the wooden support beams gives way and topples sideways, taking another chunk of the mine with it, the both of you avoiding another close call as the tunnel around you continues to shrink and shrink. 

This time he ends up on top of you, the full weight of his body pressing down onto yours, his gaze drawing away from the roof to meet yours again, the intensity of his stare causing heat to pool low in your core.  

Then he kisses you—and you let him. 

[the-one-who-lambs]

uhh hello!! sorry if this is a tall order LOL but I wanna ask, do you have any narilamb fanfic recs? :D I already read yours and I really like bamsara’s and I’m waiting for epicaandk’s to update (that one is my fav ever <3) but idk what to read now lol

Tall order?? Naaaaah, I'm always happy to give recs. Oh boy, I'm gonna go in reverse chronological order.

If you've read all of my narilamb fics (have you seriously? I'm impressed, that's probably well over half the 150k+ I've written for this damn fandom. Also, to anyone seeing this from a reblog, my stuff is over at onethirdofimpossible!) then here we go!

You already mentioned it, but The Rehabilitation of Death is excellent so far! This one is by @bamsara who is new to the CotL fandom but apparently not new to fanfic writing; they have a really popular FNAF fic and I assume the well-deserved attention this fic's been getting is a byproduct of the popularity they've already gotten in other fandoms. :D Welcome, bamsara! Many of the fic writers in this fandom are friends with each other already, but we don't bite if you wanna say hi.

Feel No Evil and Language Barrier, both by @payasita. I always love how payasita portrays this duo (in both digital art and writing), with so much sass and repressed loneliness, knowing they're stuck together for eternity and making the best of it. (And maybe falling in love, depending on how dense Narinder keeps being.) What makes these come alive for me is how well thought out the setting is outside the Lamb and Narinder. The descriptions and weight of emotions really pop here.

LITERALLY ANYTHING written by pavi / @i-eat-deodorant. Depending on how spicy you want your fics to be he has even more here. Character analysis, diction, pacing, etc. are consistently 10/10. Top-quality banter between a sassy Lamb and tired old man Narinder. We constantly bounce ideas off each other and inspire each other a lot but I promise I'm not hyping him up just because he's my friend oh my god please just go bless your eyes.

It Was For You, O Death by blueberry-muffin-massacre (if they have a tumblr, let me know so I can tag!). An intriguing alternative ending to the final battle wherein the Lamb chooses a secret third option by refusing to give up the Red Crown and still observing Narinder as the God of Death. So many details are so well thought out and duality their relationship is nicely characterized-- both genuine care for each other and also quite unhealthy. A fine line treaded well!

Confessional by jusmove (again, lmk if they have a tumblr). Been a while since I've read it, but I love how the Lamb chips at Narinder's very carefully built emotional walls. Their personalities are very well fleshed out here, especially Narinder's cognitive dissonance at being able to process love.

Confession by @thewitchoftheweed. I didn't expect a part two to this one, but my god I was so thrilled when it did update. Narinder and Lamb with their unique and parallel loneliness and their fucked-up sense of everything. Their relationship is very rocky here, and I love how they navigate it: with tension and eventual, pained acceptance. Mind the rating.

Of Character Development and Being Dense by @calliecature. A short and sweet narilamb classic. They're both mutually pining and one of them is too emotionally repressed to realize it. Guess who.

Not An Offering, But a Gift by @checkplzjuliet. Small confession fic. I especially love how Narinder's descriptions twist the knife of his situation here, and how Lambert is a total foil for him! There are a lot of good things happening in such a short span, which is impressive.

Also, if you think you've read all my narilamb fics... I do have a secret one out there too. Just so you know.

Happy reading!

I'm already friends with many of the people here, but if any of the writers I've tagged have been kinda wanting to reach out for a while but feel a little anxious... Don't be. I've made my best friends in this fandom by literally just waiting for some of my readers to get over whatever assumption they have that I'm cool and say hi. Or being the more confident one first.

[allbark-no-bite]

past the texas line.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 2.4k)

summary: the past comes back to haunt him when Jake gets word that your ex boyfriend is back in town. he makes a trip back home to ensure it stays buried.

warnings: mentions of death and blood, swearing

author’s note: this is a little different than what I usually write, but I was feeling inspired by Zach Bryan’s “Crooked Teeth”. definitely recommend giving it a listen before reading!

————————————————————————

He doesn't remember it being so hot.

Jake wipes his perspiring hand off on the back of his jeans after handing a crumbled wad of bills over to the cashier. Sweat rolls down his neck and causes his cotton shirt to stick to his back as he waits for her to unstick them from each other. Her expression says she's got better things to do than count out his damp dollar bills. He wants to tell her that it's more than enough and she can keep the change, that he pocketed just enough cash for two fill-ups and a motel stay to make the drive.

He keeps his head down, hat covering his eyes when he makes it out of the store, boots treading heavy in the dust. The bell chimes out after him, as though chastising him for leaving in such a hurry. Jake doesn't glance back, afraid that if he does, door of the beat up patrol car parked permanently out front will open and the sheriff will stare at him through his dark sunglasses and say, "Don't I know you, son?"

"Where you headed, son?"

Normally in this kind of situation, Jake would lay on the proper southern manners his mama taught him, answer him with a "Yes sir, I grew up a few mile form here" and then,  "No sir, I ain't been drinkin'," and then shake his hand and leave him with a "Thank you, sir. Have a good night." But not tonight.

Jake turns his head away, green eyes squinting as though to avoid the beam of the flashlight—he purposely dips his head down so that the shadow of his hat conceals most of his face. No one comes this far out of town without a reason. By openly showing his face around here, Jake might as well hand him a wanted poster with his name on it.

The tarp in his truck bed flaps persistently in the wind. Jake inconspicuously eyes it through his dusty side view mirror. He can make out nothing but blackness underneath it.

"Camping out by the river for a night."

The sheriff's face remains stoic. He's still shining the flashlight into the truck. "The river?" he asks, sounding suspect about the answer. "Come an awful long away out of town to camp, huh son?"

"Used to go up there with my old man," Jake supplies. It's a another lie. He's only come this way once before and only ever seen the river in passing. He doesn't have to have been to know why people go through the trouble of making the trip out there—why there's nothing alive out there for miles.

Its current is strong enough to drown a man and deep enough to swallow a herd of crossing cattle under its muddy surface, never to be seen again. No one's going to bother to check for a body, not when there's an all too likely possibility of finding more than one.

The deputy sizes up Jake for another moment before seemingly deciding there's not much else he can do to harass him. The kid's license had checked out, there was nothing outstanding on his record, not even a damn speeding ticket—he wasn't surprised to find that he was enlisted in the service, his type usually was.

"Well son," he begins patronizingly. Jake fights the urge to roll his eyes. He's getting the sense that this guy is hankering for a reason to write him a citation. "I don't wanna see you back around here. Understand?"

"Yessir." This time he means it. He has no intention to come back.

Body rigid, hair standing up on the back of his neck, Jake slams the door shut on his pickup and jams the key in, twisting hard as the engine roars to life. He doesn't look back until just before the cruiser fades into the dust in his rear view mirror.

It takes him two days to get down past the Texas line. Jake knows the state like the back of his hand, it's home after all, but crossing back into no man's land causes something dark to settle into his bones. He had buried this place and it's memory a long time ago.

Of course, Jake is smarter than to think that burying something will make it cease to exist. Literally, yes, but figuratively, no. It's only a temporary fix to a problem—a problem that was now coming back to haunt him.

"Buxton's back in town."

The statement had sent him in a cold sweat from across the bar.

He pauses mid conversation, lowering his second beer of the night from his lips. The music is loud and the patrons of the Hard Deck louder, but the men aren't exactly speaking quietly either.

"You sure it was him? Thought he got into some trouble and skipped town?"

"Got into some trouble alright. Can't hardly tell what part of him to look at, he's so fucked up. Looks like someone finally laid into him."

Jake's breathing halts, and although it goes unnoticed by the people around him, his body stills.

"You think so?"

"Dunno, he won't say."

He's straining to hear the exchange between to two men, so lost in the conversation that he doesn't notice you looking at him in concern. "Jake?" Your hand ghosts up his knee to squeeze his muscular thigh.

The sight of your face, delicate brows furrowed in worry, eyes searching—always searching—reminds him to breathe. "Hmm?" he hums, rough hands tugging you into his lap to cover up his pervious distraction. You see right through him—you always do.

"You're distracted," you point out, but the resolve has left your voice now that he's holding you close, lips pressed to your temple. Jake's large hands smooth over your waist, holding you securely to his lap so that he can nuzzle into your neck.

"Distracted by you," he replies while closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath of your scent—safe is the best way he can describe it, home if you asked him to be more specific.

"Jake Michael," you warn, but make no move to stop him. Maybe if your friends had been watching you would have, but they've moved across the bar to watch Phoenix school Rooster at the pool table.

Jake just smiles warmly, relived that you have let the previous conversation drop. He's already planning a way to slip off to Texas for a few days, but for now, he sits back and indulges in the remainder of the evening knowing that you're safe in his arms.

It's strange seeing the land in the daylight. Jake remembers the way all the same. He does suppose that not much change happens to a desert in ten years.

He's been staring at the barren desert horizon through his windshield for close to two hours, watching the heat waves melt off the hood of his truck. He'd seen a mangey looking coyote trot across the road a few miles back, but for the most part there was nothing alive for miles.

Jake pulls off of the desolate road and slows his truck to a stop half a mile from the river. On the off chance that someone finds it, they'll assume it's broke down and pass it by. Stepping out of his truck, he fixes his hat on his head and starts walking.

Every step feels like deja vu.

The heat is almost unbearable, even in the evening. He had hoped by the time he made it this far, the sun would be low enough in the sky for the coolness of night to begin setting in.

San Diego was a culture shock when he was first stationed. He had been terribly homesick and had every intention to move back home eventually. That was until he met you. You and your love for the coast, and an even stronger love for your friends. The Dagger Squad was like family, and Jake came to appreciate your unwillingness to move away from them.

Jake knew he was going to marry you when he met you that first night at Hard Deck, but you didn't always see things that way. It wasn't that you didn't like Jake, really it was the exact opposite. The two of you were attached at the hip—thick as thieves—which is why you never even considered that Jake was interested in something far more than just being friends.

Jake hated your boyfriend. He hated him from the moment he met him, all thick mustache and slick, no-good, easy grin. The devil dressed in a polo and khakis. And he was right to hate him. Jake can count on two fingers the number of times he's seen you cry; both are because of your boyfriend.

The first time he calls you a bitch. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't have even blinked at the name. Maybe you would have even laughed in his face. The insult in and of itself means nothing to you. After fighting your way into the Top Gun program, you practically brandished the name with brusque pride. This was more than just an insult.

Jake didn't catch the whole exchange, and you refused to tell him what had happened to lead up to the situation, but he knows that you hadn't wanted him to witness it in the first place.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

Your head jerks towards the sound of Jake's voice, and you abruptly step forward as to shoulder past your boyfriend, who shifts reluctantly to let you away from the wall. Your eyes are red, and while he can tell that you're trying not to let it show, your voice is shaking.

"Nothing," you say all too quickly, hardly meeting his eye as you step around both of them. Your boyfriend stands there silently, watching the exchange with a self satisfied look on his smug face, as if daring you to say anything to Jake.

Jake ignores him and instead focuses his attention on you. "Hey—[y/n]," he tries, reaching out to stop you, but you dodge his outstretched hand.

"Let it go, Jake," you order, fixing him with a look that means business; you've always been too good at taking care of yourself. And then you walk off to join the rest of your friends at the bar, rubbing away the wounded look away from your eyes as you go.

The second time is after you've broken up with him. It's actually months after you've broken up with him. You had finally come to your senses after realizing that it was causing a rift between you and your friends.

He grabbed you one night at Hard Deck, wrapped his hand around your bicep hard enough to bruise and whispered something filthy into you ear. Jake knew because of the way your eyes darkened with disgust and your lip curled. He had to fight the urge to spring to your rescue—you were a big girl and could take care of yourself. To your credit, you stood your ground, kept it together until he released you and you could turn away, tears burning in the back of your eyes.

There is no third time.

Jake's standing up from the bar before he even knows what he's doing. Doesn't really know what his intentions are as he follows your boyfriend out of the door—ex boyfriend. But his head is clear as his boots carry him out to the parking lot, crunching the gravel underfoot as he passes his pickup parked out front.

The image of your face, red and splotchy with tears flashes through his mind. He grabs a metal fencepost out of the truck bed. The parking lot is silent besides the heavy crunch on his boots on the gravel and the blood roaring in his ears.

He finds the bastard leaning drunkenly against the side of his truck, the glass of a smashed beer bottle at his feet and another in his hand. He's too buzzed to hear Jake heading towards him. Without stopping to consider his options, Jake lifts the metal rod and swings like he's up to bat and the bases are loaded.

A crack echos through the parking lot.

The fence post catches him in the jaw and sends him sprawling to the floor.

Jake doesn't remember much after that, just that there was a lot of blood—on his clothes, in the parking lot, in his truck. The rest of the night was a frantic blur of adrenaline spurred moment.

A gathered flock of buzzards caw at him with an surprising amount of gall as he approaches the river bank, flapping their black wings powerfully. They scatter only out of irritation before making a brave advance back towards their original post.

Jake takes a wide berth around them. The deeper you get into Texas, the scarier the wildlife becomes. He would rather not know what they're feeding on. He has a feeling they might start eyeing him next if he disturbs them again.

The spot he is looking for is a couple yards past. Thistles are growing up around the fence post. If he hadn't marked the spot, he probably would have walked right past it. It had been pitch black the last time, but as he stands looking over the area, it starts to come back all too clearly to him.

He remembers the sweat rolling down his body despite the chill of the night, the ache in his shoulders from digging—with no moisture to soften the ground, it was like chipping away at concrete. He doesn't remember being scared, not like when his engines failed and his parachute didn't open, just angry and fueled by adrenaline.

Jake looks over his shoulder, back at the road where his truck is parked, then back to the river. The fence post stands there, overgrown by thistles and time.

He's still not scared.

"You're back," comes the barley audible mumble as Jake crawls into bed, curling his body around yours. The bedsheets are cool and your barley clothed body is radiating warmth. After you both resettle, legs intertwined, Jake’s nose tucked into the crevice of your neck, you lapse into comfortable silence. For a moment, Jake thinks you’ve already fallen back asleep.

“Where’d you go?” comes your quite voice.

His sigh is heavy. You don’t press him.

Staring into the darkness of the bedroom, Jake considers lying to you. Isn’t that what he’s been doing all this time? He’s sure you have your assumptions. You’re too smart not to. He pulls you closer into his body, his large hand coming to rest on your heart.

“Texas.”

[wolfgirlguts]

Some pickup lines I've used successfully

I want you inside me, hot stuff

Girl, you'd look better as bones

Hey, wanna cancel some plans? Yeah like all of 'em

My teeth and I saw you from across the bar and-

Your fur's so pretty! Let's see how you look without it

If you think I'm treating you like shit NOW. . .

Aww, bad day? Wanna make it worse?

You don't need ALL those limbs do you?

Wow you smell desperate

If we skip the foreplay you might get to my guts in time to fuck what's left of the last girl before she's just sludge

You've got a smile I wanna knock some holes in

Your face is alright but you know what it could use? The pattern of my boot treads

But you'd look so cute on a missing person poster!

Wanna give some blood to a girl in need?

Hey your hooves look like they'd leave some big bruises. Like, say, on a wolf trying to eat you? Yeah maybe we should test that

You're 30? Awesome. Nice round number like that looks great on a tombstone you know

Your skull. My thighs. Want to find out which one's stronger?

(Just standing behind someone and letting my drool drip on her head)

What do you think? You ladies spitroast me, then I eat the two of you raw, seems like the perfect way to celebrate graduating this cooking class to me

Ever been choked to death with your own small intestine?

Wanna meet up later? Yeah I'll be in the woods on the edge of town waiting to drag you off when you get too close. How's 7pm sound? Yeah of course never to be seen again. Obviously

Come on stop fighting me. You've got a twin sister and it's not like the world needs two of you

Hey have you also been wondering how your hands would feel around my neck?

Oh that is a pretty name! Can't wait to forget it

Hey settle a bet. My friend over there says I can't fit your whole skull in my cunt, but here's what I think. . .

(Twirling my hair) Haha, you're so breakable

Yeah isn't it fucked up how I implied I wouldn't kill you too when I was eating your sister? Anyway wanna fuck me about it before you bleed out or. . . ?

Run.

[mastergeeka]

I said I had notebooks worth of thoughts dedicated to this bit and I wasn’t kidding. I may be a clown but I’m a clown of my word. How many people requested this? Honestly not many, but I tend to crumble at the slightest bit of peer pressure when it comes to bits. I was going to make this a whole video essay, and I still might at some point, but I have so many other videos I want to do, an essay will have to suffice for now.

The bit in question, the first rule of Board Game Club #98 from Sniper Elite The Board Game (Thank you to the Patreon Discord for help counting!). The first rule of Board Game Club is "there's always something to envy: a smile, a friendship, something you don't have and want to appropriate, *beat* Sullivan." Adam then proceeds to pull a little smirky face before he launches into the rules because of course he does. It’s also relevant to note that Adam delivers the line with his weird “I’m a magnificent smarmy bastard ooh I’m trying to be sexy” voice/schtick. It’s hit or miss with me, sometimes it makes me want to bury my face in my hands, but here the absurdity is just funny.

While I or any other NRB viewer probably won’t recognise where this quote originates, the emphasis on Sullivan and accompanying smarmy face/Bond villain persona lets us know “Ah another bit in the series of ‘Adam & Sullivan are in love despite Brooke’s protests’ gags”. You learn about this gag very quickly watching NRB videos with Brooke or frankly just from the NRB wiki. It’s the first gag listed and Sullivan is still the answer Google gives you if you look up who Adam from NRB is dating. It’s still astounding to me how far the bit goes.

For most viewers, the joke ends there. Adam is once again trying to steal Brooke’s boyfriend, haha. They might correctly assume “That first bit is just a quote from some WWII movie to tie in the WWII theme of the game” and move on. They might even get curious as to what movie it is, and find it‘s from the 2001 movie Enemy at the Gate, but that’s probably where their curiosity stops if they even get that far. Because it’s an intro gag of a board game video. This is all heavily treaded ground for them and it takes up less than 45 seconds. How much time, energy, and thinking space are you going to dedicate to a small bit like that?

If you’re me, the answer, of course, is entirely too much because there’s something wrong with me, psychologically. It may not be that deep but the ground is soft and I’m ready to dig. Now, for the record, the “Adam & Sullivan are dating” bit at this point in time is already living rent-free, utilities included, in my brain. It seemed like by a certain point, everyone was in on it, all the time. It became ubiquitous, as this particular bit shows. This episode does not feature Brooke. Brooke’s name is not even mentioned but we still gotta hammer home that boyfriend bit, somehow. Also, at this point in my NRB fan journey, I was under the impression that this bit came to be as a way of teasing Brooke. For the record, I have now learned this is not really the case because these two have had this “vibe”, “chemistry” or whatever you wanna call it from day dot and they have kept it up this whole time. Had I known that, maybe I wouldn’t have let this bit send me so far down a rabbit hole. Maybe, I could have just chalked it up to “those kooky boys are kooky” and left it there.

“BUT I DIDN’T DO THAT!” (It’s amazing that I still believe I’m funny. ) The point is Brooke is not here, so I was mystified by Adam’s choice to go with this bit. In the beginning of the episode no less, where there may be potential new viewers who aren’t familiar with the love triangle thing at all and are just going to be thrown off. Questioning Adam’s choices is, of course, one of my favourite hobbies because not only do I think he’s batshit insane (affectionate), but I’m also fascinated by the comedic creative process. “How did you come up with this shit? How did we get here?”

This is where I start actually exploring the source of this quote because while it seems like the Sullivan was an add-on, I did entertain the idea it wasn’t and that was how we got here. Well, the film is set in Russia and all the characters have Russian names so that’s a no. The main character is a sniper so there’s that but that just strengthens the connection I already understood. It still didn’t explain why Adam decided “You know what this video about a WWII inspired board game needs. It needs me being very gay for my best friend. That’s really important”

So I look into the context of the quote hoping to find some answers and while I do find answers, I also find a bajillion more questions. Both the speaker, Danilov and the main character Zaitsev, who the speaker is addressing, are in a love triangle together, much like the setup we have of Adam, Sullivan, and Brooke. Hooray, connection found, end of story. Except no, not end of story. The line Adam says is not the full quote. The full quote is ‘We tried so hard to create a society that was equal, where there'd be nothing to envy your neighbour. But there's always something to envy. A smile, a friendship, something you don't have and want to appropriate. In this world, even a Soviet one, there will always be rich and poor.”

EXCUSE ME!? This has been about Communism this whole time?! It just gets stranger from here so strap in. This line is said to the speaker’s rival love interest, not their mutual target of affection, a woman named Tania. Which yeah this film was made in 2001, probably not gonna see a lot of gay relationships on screen. So does that mean Adam is supposedly addressing Brooke in this reenactment? Sure, okay. I guess I can accept that for now

Next crazy piece of context, circling back to the Communism thing again for a moment. The speaker, Danilov, has been a huge believer in building a Soviet Communist Utopia after the war up until apparently right fucking now. His crush friend-zoned him for his friend, the main character Zaitsev, and that makes him decide, “Damn guess Communism will never work. The economic system of Communism doesn’t work because I’d still be crushing on my friend’s girl.” I’m sorry, that’s an absolutely bonkers reason to ditch your whole worldview of what an ideal society can and should look like. Just insane. Once again, this dynamic is the one Adam chose to relate to his, Sullivan, and Brooke’s relationship. Think about that.

Last but certainly not least in “What Huh?! This is the type of energy you’re gonna bring to your board game video?!” section. Right after the speaker, Danilov, the role that Adam is playing in this weird analogy that HE CREATED, remember he chose this, says this line, he fucking dies. It’s the same scene, too. He says the thing and then he dies, right in front of the main character. He sacrifices himself for the main character, presumably so the main character and Tania, who would be Sullivan in this scenario, can live happily ever after or something. I didn’t watch the whole goddamn movie okay. Apparently it’s not a great movie. It doesn’t seem that popular of a movie either, so that's another reason to pick literally any other movie set around WWII or deals with Nazis. There’s a freaking ton of those. It’s a very popular setting. You had options, my guy, so why are we doing this?

Knowing all of that, let’s go back to the Board Game Club moment since I now am able to know what Adam is referencing. And Adam expects some people to know what he’s referencing otherwise what’s the fucking point of making the reference, right?

Maybe the sick knowledge that someday, some idiot is gonna start looking into it and get real fucking confused and you know what, if that was your goal. You succeeded, Gold star, mate. Here ya go.

But let’s assume this wasn’t a twisted mind game to spite me specifically because Adam surely has better things to do with his time, surely. He expects some people to watch that bit knowing that context. What was his intended reaction from those people and how is the reaction not “Hey what the fuck, What the fuck?!” ? Because, whether you know the NRB love triangle bit or not, those are a character’s last words, despairing about the impossibility of Communism because he got friend-zoned, and this is a board game comedy video. Those aren’t exactly what I’d call “compatible”

And you know what’s also not compatible with that quote? BOND VILLAINY, TRYING TO BE SEXY, ACTING LIKE AN ARCHETYPAL CHESSMASTER MAGNIFICENT BASTARD FUCKING ANY PART OF ADAM’S WHOLE DELIVERY! So anyone familiar with the quote, especially someone who doesn’t know about Adam’s love for pretending to be a “sexy evil genius” before his hubris inevitably runs him over like a truck, is going to be very thrown! That poor hypothetical new viewer is even more confused than I am right now!

I’ve said this for a while now. If the day ever comes where I am able to meet Adam, I want to sit him down and just ask him questions and most if not all of those questions will start with “How and Why (in the absolute fuck) did you *insert insane thing here*? And let me tell you this will be at the top of that list. Not the very top though, that’s reserved for the LOTB 2022 promos. “Adam the box why the box why the everything with the box, like obviously the tongue is just, what the hell but even the build up with the other boxes why?”

Now, after having done this whole deep dive investigation, I have come upon the likely possibility that Adam just googled WW2 sniper film, picked out Enemy at the Gates from the first few results, picked a quote from the movie and went from there. There’s a chance he never thought about it this hard and I went on this long journey for no real reason. But even in that case, all of these implications are still here and they are insane implications for a comedy board game video! At the end of the day, he still compared his jokingly homo-erotic relationship with his friend and rivalry with said friend’s partner to this movie as the intro to a YouTube video and I refuse to become desensitised to this level of insanity and wackiness. I just refuse.

[jisokai]

& we'll be brothers again

“Luffy?”

The youngest boy grunts next to the eldest, cramped in their nest. He’s tired, on the verge of joining Sabo’s snores on the other end.

“You ever think about what you wanna be in your next life?”

ace & luffy tags: spoilers for marineford, post-time skip, reincarnation, angst... i think? 3.4k words | oneshot, complete

read on ao3

a note: This is set sometime post-timeskip. I started writing this before I reached Dressrosa, so I initially intended for it to be between Sabaody and Dressrosa. But then Dressrosa was... well, Dressrosa. So I don't know where this fic fits anymore T-T but probably post-Dressrosa LOL

“Luffy?”

The youngest boy grunts next to the eldest, cramped in their nest. He’s tired, on the verge of joining Sabo’s snores on the other end.

“You ever think about what you wanna be in your next life?”

Luffy’s blank face schools into a frown. He turns his head to look at Ace, wondering what runs through his mind to ask that sort of question.

“No. Why would I think about stuff like that?”

Ace hums, unperturbed. It’s quiet afterwards, only the sound of the wind and the rustling leaves passing between them. Luffy thinks that’ll be the end of it, closing his eyes and readying to forget about the whole conversation as he falls asleep.

The water is calm today.

The water is calm, and so is Luffy.

The crew is chatting, still acclimating to their returned companionship, sharing tales of time apart and dreams moving forwards. The Sunny rocks gently against the waves, rhythmic splashes thrumming through the wind. The wood of the deck creaks as the captain walks towards the edge, peering into the vast, endless blue of the ocean and sky. The clouds are gentle, like the swirling hair of a god.

“Nami,” he calls.

The navigator hums, turning towards her captain.

“Let’s go this way.” He points at an angle from the front of the ship, less than ninety degrees right.

“Huh? But the logpose—”

“I know,” he says. His voice is strong, but not rough. He is calm today. “I just gotta feelin’.”

Nami sighs, not having the will to argue. “Okay, but we’re following the logpose if we don’t find anything in a couple days.”

Luffy nods. “Yeah.”

The island is unusual. It stretches through the shape of a crescent, a globe of earth that was shot through the side. The water at the center is dark, a deep deep blue that commands mystery. The Sunny docks on one of its points—at a cluster of rocks that transition into a forest. The trees feel familiar to Luffy, with large trunks that could hold a home. Franky comments that they’re hardwood, strong and reliable for ship repairs. They stand surrounded by a carpet of green, the smooth fibers of ferns and sedge and the occasional bush of flowers—hibiscus and plumeria.

A breeze flutters by, sends tingles of whispers across his skin—secrets, he thinks. 

The crew watches their captain leave the ship, eyes skeptically following him and his lack of enthusiasm. He’s subdued, with a calm aura that reads as unsettling. Some of them wonder if this is a change that surfaced deliberately in the past two years. Others wonder if it means something is wrong.

Luffy treads carefully into the thick of the forest. His sandals crunch along layers of leaf and twig, erupting pops that imitate the cracking of bone. But the landscape is serene, with chirping birds and soft rustles of the occasional rodent, pawing through bramble or scurrying through the canopies. Luffy takes it in slowly. Carefully.

His steps eventually toe the line of a blackened patch of land. His face remains unchanged while his eyes move across the ground, spotting charred trunks, scorched earth, brittle remnants of vegetation—the ones that somehow didn’t quite turn to ash. Before him is a scene of black and white and grey, and the tiniest sprinkle of green sparsely dotted across the dirt.

“A forest that relies on burning.” Robin’s voice is level as she vocalizes her thoughts behind the captain. “It’s not uncommon. Fire is an effective tool to clear land and maintain biodiversity.”

“Huh,” is Luffy’s response, watching in his periphery as she lowers herself. A handful of hands rummage through soft black and grey to pick out little brown ovals. He turns to look at her many palms when she stands.

“Seeds,” she explains. “Some plants need a high enough temperature to open their seed pods—in most cases by fire or extreme heat. Fires both destroy and create.”

Her captain huffs. “‘Kay.” 

He walks onwards while she continues searching.

The ground goes from grey to brown as Luffy ambles to the center of the crescent. He walks along tan sand like sun-kissed skin, bronzed by a life of adventuring. If he squints at his feet they nearly disappear, almost the same color. Sometimes his toe bumps a pebble, always a rich brown or black. The trees fade, opening to a beach at the center of the crescent, the cove-like interior. The only stray plants are tufts of black grass, folding strips of paper that shimmer in the breeze—threads of coals. They stretch from the shore to the base of a mountain range standing tall against the ocean.

The mountains are bright, a blinding white against the blue of sea and sky, like clouds that reflect the sun. They’re hard limestone, jagged edges of rock that rose from the earth, made from the remnants of others. There are faint lines of grey that run through them, slithering ribbons of hardened sand. They allude to an earlier time, crediting those who existed before. And then there are swirls of black that glide through the surface, crossing the orderly stripes of stone with no rhyme or reason. There are only a few.

Sanji’s voice trails over, from the cluster of rocks where the shore touches the water. “Hey, check it out. Looks like tons of mussels over here. And the shore is full of fish! They hardly move if you come close.”

Usopp hums beside him, crouching to see for himself. “Woah!” he exclaims. “What d’ya think that over there is—some sort of slimy algae? I wonder if I can extract the mucus for one of my attacks…”

Chopper makes a sound of protest, like he has other ideas for how to use it—a salve, maybe. Luffy tunes them out, heading the opposite way towards the mountain.

It doesn’t take long for him to stand atop the highest peak, despite the jagged surface of the ridgeline and the lack of trail. From the summit, the darkness of the cove’s water is even more striking, a harsh line where the hole sinks endlessly, a pool of dense saltwater that swallows sunlight. As the night fades in, it goes from blue to black. All tidal activity comes to a halt, bringing the water to complete stillness. A perfect mirror of the stars and moon above.

Zoro huffs as he crests the peak shortly afterwards the sun sinks into the water. He stands behind his captain’s seated form by the ledge. “Shit,” he grumbles. “How the hell did I get up here? At least this damn island is small.”

Luffy snickers, breaking the calm blankness that struck him since arriving. “Stupid Zoro.”

The swordsman grunts, but lets the comment roll off him unbothered. He’s not in the mood to get angry, instead letting his eyes flit to his captain sitting in front of him, face partly illuminated by the moon above. He knows Luffy, being the first mate and his best friend. Zoro knows he’s not the brightest, but something feels different. Something… good, he thinks. He shrugs to himself, not concerned so long as the change isn’t a threat.

Luffy comes across Nami the next morning, in the scorched remains of forest. She and Robin run their hands through the ash and charcoal along the island’s floor. The older of the two shovels earth from a small hole, recording observations about the soil composition. The younger sifts for clumps of black char, to mix with a solvent in hopes of refilling the inks for her maps. 

The captain frowns at the sight, chest tightening as he watches Robin stab her spade through the ground. Red clay collects in its fold, a deep shade, wet and runny like a slip—like the earth is bleeding in her hands. Then his face relaxes in surprise, at the familiarity of the color: the kind of reddish-brown that can be molded into cups and plates, but also rolled into round beads to be strung together.

This island is weird, he thinks. Eerily peaceful, no predators in sight, offering everything they could need before they continue their journey: food, wood for the ship, plants and animals that can be used for both harming and healing. A project for Nami and something weird for Robin to be excited about. Even Brook gets to play his music in the quiet length of the island, a short enough span that Zoro is easily found when he wanders off. It’s warm, with fresh air. And it’s isolated, the crew only docking from the captain’s pure instinct. He thinks maybe they have the ease of never being found here.

Nami speaks when she sees him, thoughts in the same line. “Luffy, I looked through the records of the Grand Line, but nothing matched the description of this island.”

“Huh,” he replies, unsurprised. “You think we’re the first ones?”

Robin answers. “It appears so. There aren’t any traces or evidence that people have made contact before. To be frank, this island is quite strange. I think it’s relatively young—based on the mountains and the forest. But then I don’t understand how there’s so much clay in this area.”

Luffy doesn’t get what she’s trying to say. It sounds reasonable that clay would be in the ground.

“It’s such a shame,” Nami adds. “I wish I knew how to make an eternal pose. This is a perfect place to come back to when we need a break.”

Luffy doesn’t answer. He has a feeling he’ll know how to find his way without one.

The crew is ready to leave after a few days, enough time for them to restock and take advantage of the island’s offers. All but Luffy. He frowns stubbornly when Nami argues with him, unbudging but also unable to answer her when she asks why he wants to stay. 

“Just gotta feelin’.” And he does (have a feeling), but he can’t explain it. He could say it’s one in his chest, a tightness that hasn’t gone away since their arrival—almost a sort of anticipation for something that has yet to happen. The only way he could articulate it would be to say that everyone’s had their thing the island offered them. Everyone but him. He just feels like he should wait.

Luffy watches his navigator’s face as it twists with irritation. His own is blank before stretching into a carefree grin.

“Don’t worry Nami, it’ll be fine. Besides, you said it’s a good place to take a break—so take one already!”

He snickers as she grits her teeth.

Luffy dreams that night. It’s an unusual occurrence for him, usually dreaming while awake, where he can charge towards them freely and make them real.

But this dream pulls him years back, nearly a decade earlier in a different forest. There are three sake cups sitting on the stump between him and Ace and Sabo, stolen wine poured into them to be lifted and clinked and downed. As brothers. A trio of troublemakers, fighting and stealing and surviving together. Luffy relives a series of memories, flashes of the many adventures they had before he even turned ten. He notices that he’s crying in most of them, brothers swooping in to save him—if they weren’t the reasons for his tears.

When he wakes, he recognizes that the whole scenario is unlike himself. Both the dreaming and the lingering in his memory. He doesn’t read into them, ready to hmph and move on. But there’s a feeling in his chest that won’t go away—like a tugging, or an emptiness. All at once.

After a few more days, Nami is no longer the only vocal advocate for leaving. Most of the crew feel an itch to get moving, get doing—except for Usopp, enjoying his slice of life on the one island that hasn’t tried to kill him. 

“Luffy, seriously, what are you waiting around for? You’re normally the first one to get a move on,” Sanji complains.

The captain once again refuses to budge, face blank. “I already said I don’t wanna.”

“We can’t just wait around here because you have a feeling,” Nami interjects. 

Sanji nods. “Yeah, what happened to King of the Pirates? Beating all the other guys in the next generation to the One Piece? Meeting Shanks?”

Luffy huffs at the mention, nearly a growl. He does care about those things, how could his crew doubt him? When have they ever been so opposed to taking a detour before? They always get where they need eventually—it always works out when they’re together.

Zoro watches closely, the twitch of his captain’s nose and lips. When he speaks it comes from his place as first mate. “He’s the captain.”

The cook scoffs, face twisting in annoyance. “I know,” he seethes.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Luffy can’t bear to listen to them argue, body too tense to be amused. He storms off. Nobody chases him.

No matter how fed up they might be with their captain, the crew would never leave. Everyone knows this. So they argue, yell and shout and say hurtful things, but they don’t leave. They wait with him. And Luffy waits, uncharacteristically quiet—subdued—as he tries to understand why this island called for him.

It happens during their last argument, a heated mix of shouts and growls on the sandy shore. Zoro stands firm on Luffy’s side with a quivering Usopp. Robin and Chopper are at a distance while the others exchange heated words. Sanji’s hands grip at his captain’s shirt, shaking him in attempt to convince him to use common sense for once in his life.

“God, Luffy! This is getting to be a huge waste of our time—”

And Luffy fumes. An anger so intense it’s impossible to describe floods his veins. He glares at his crewmate, his gall to call his waiting a waste.

“You better shut the hell up,” he growls, teeth nearly grating.

“I will once we get the hell out of here!”

Luffy’s hand comes to the cook’s wrist, squeezing harshly in threat. Threat of escalating things further, threat to get physical if he keeps it up. But Sanji doesn’t back down, ready to meet his captain’s violence if that’s what it’ll take for him to listen.

A flame bursts in the forest, roaring behind Sanji in Luffy’s peripheral.

The captain’s expression falls, anger evaporating as he turns his full attention to the fire. He is struck breathless by the sight—licks of red and orange that rise quickly above the trees, as if commanded by the ground beneath. His hand on Sanji’s wrist slackens, then tightens as he yanks it off and runs.

“Hey! The hell you think—”

But Luffy is gone, sprinting across the sand, swirling clouds tracing behind him. His body moves on its own, fueled by nothing but that deep, deep emptiness in his chest beckoning him forward.

In the minute it takes him to arrive, the fire reaches its end. It only claimed a section of the forest, benign by its own volition. But that section is cleared, charred and fallen. All that remains is a floor of black and grey, with lingering orange from still-hot coals.

Luffy’s chest heaves. He feels like he’s still sprinting even when he comes to a stop—at the edge of sand and embers. Ace’s smile flashes through his mind.

The realization hits him like ice water, a forceful dump over his head—head filled only with thoughts of his brother. His brother, his brother, his brother. Tan skin, freckles, black wavy hair. A smile like the sun and the crescent moon all at once. With marked skin and a gaping hole in his chest, standing above him protectively. His brother, with the power of flames, known first to many by his title: Fire Fist.

Luffy’s body thrums with life and heat and pain, that initial anticipation multiplying infinitely. His face twists and stings at the flood of tears that start to spill. He doesn’t register his body’s movements as he tries to run forwards, screaming, “ACE!” with his entire chest and being. He falters, legs liquifying before he can take a single step.

The reaction is immediate.

“Ace?” Zoro asks. His voice is breathy, from sprinting with the others to follow their captain.

“He’s…” Luffy pants, gasping for air. He’s a fish on the shore, suffocating. “He’s here. Ace is here.”

Uncertain expressions flutter through the crew, a mixture of concerned frowns and skeptical glares. Chopper is the first to answer, the first to believe.

“You think Ace is on this island?” he asks hopefully.

A flash of intensity crosses Sanji’s features, maybe a sinking strike of regret. He adds, “Any idea where he is? The island is small, so we should be able to find him pretty quickly.”

But Luffy shakes his head, face crumpling as tears continue to fall. He’s the crybaby brother, the first one to sob, the troublemaker that always caused a mess his older brothers’ always had to clean up.

“I wanna be something cool,” Ace says after a few moments. Luffy opens one eye and turns his head to look at him. “When I’m reborn, I wanna be something that everybody loves. Like a star. I don’t… I don’t wanna be another person.”

Luffy frowns at the admission. It makes no sense to him—stars aren’t born, they’re just there. As they’ve always been. He feels angry, hurt even, but doesn’t understand why. Why would Ace want to be something like that, something that… that would be so far away?

“Hmph,” he grumbles, turning away. “Then be a stupid star or whatever. I’m gonna be a king, or someone cool like Shanks. And you can be a star high up in the sky while Sabo and I get to be brothers again.”

Luffy’s foot kicks forward, lifting traces of sand and a small cloud of dust. Golden-brown dust, nearly the color of his skin. Soft sand with occasional clumps of dark rock, speckles in the ground. Freckles, even.

“Ace is here,” he tries again. “He’s… he’s—”

Zoro grabs his captain by the bicep, holding him firmly before he falls. “Luffy! What the hell? Spit it out already. We can’t go around looking for him until you tell us where he is.”

Luffy’s face is long, stretched sadly as his eyes continue to water. 

“It’s Ace,” he says again. “Ace is the island.”

An island that relies on the destruction of fire to start new life. An island with tanned and freckled ground, with limestone as bright as a cheeky smile. An island with mountains that rest like a pile of bones, white and dry with dark markings: etchings that will never fade. An island with fields of grass, black as the night, rustling through the breeze like tufts of wavy hair. An island with red watery clay beneath a thin layer of soil.

(His brother’s fire, the endless flame of his passionate life despite having reached its end. His brother’s skin, tan from time in the sun and freckled with infinite, ever changing constellations. His brother’s grin, shining white teeth, always a smile of reassurance. His brother’s bones, strong and sturdy before him, coated with flesh and a tattoo of a loss they shared. His brother’s hair, thick and wavy locks, covered by his own signature hat. 

His brother’s beaded necklace, made from heated and glazed clay, scattering across the ground when its string finally breaks. His brother’s blood, spilling from his chest before him, for him. Always.)

An island unknown to anyone but his little brother’s crew—located only by that strong, unwavering compass in the beating muscle of Luffy’s heart.

Ace was reborn, not into another human or creature: beings that hurt and wound. Instead he rose from a sliding fault of the earth’s crust, fueled by hot lava beneath. He rose impossibly fast and became a stable, giving source of life that rests in the warmth of the open ocean. And now Luffy stands atop him, on that skin-toned shore in the body of the crescent, a curve carved by an object shooting straight through it, down towards the molten center of the earth to dig a deep abyss. The points of the moon-shape circle around the boy in a protective hug—a shield: the strong arms of an older brother, his duty always first and foremost to look after his siblings.

Ace lived.

The thought passes through Luffy that when he’s reborn, he’d like to be a neighboring island, another dot on the ocean, one in a cluster of three. When Luffy passes and he’s offered new life, another life, he’d like to be Ace’s brother once again.

This time: timeless. Together.

thanks for reading! <3

something about writing for one piece makes me feel invincible and completely unafraid of what anyone thinks LOL. Luffy would be proud.

[frenziedslashers]

Hear me out on this one, negan with a transmasc s/o and he grinds his bat against them

My Two Favorite's

A/N: PLEAASE, I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS SINCE YOU SENT IT LMAOO (Also, I LOVE your pfp. I love Dewey sm 🫶)

Warnings: Negan(he is a warning let's be fr), Object grinding(?), Fingering, brief spanking, Punishing, uhh body dysmorphia, if I missed anything lmk, it's like 3am here. Negan also may be ooc idk. Enjoyy:))

Pairing: Negan Smith x Transmasc!Reader

REQUEST INFO || TWD MASTERLIST

God he could be such an ass.

Negan was a lot to work with and everyone knew it. Even the people within the compound, who dropped to their knees out of "respect" knew that he was a pain. You knew the respect was mostly fear, though. Everyone knew that much.

He had picked you up towards the beginning of all of this. Offering you a safe haven. Sanctuary. You were on your own, fighting and running daily, so of course. You trusted him, and truthfully, you still did.

Even though he did some mighty questionable, and some would even say cruel things. You trusted him with your life. He never gave you a reason to doubt him or believe that he would harm you. He would put himself between you and the line of fire any day, and you knew it. You were his weakness. His rock.

"You wanna talk back now?" He quipped, following you into your room. Though he offered to share his room with you, you requested to keep your own. You still carried this fear of getting too attached to the man. That one day he might not betray you, but he might leave. Not by his choice, but the choice of the cruel world that you both lived in. He wasn't exactly liked by many.

You huffed as he continued to follow you into the bedroom. Throwing your hands up in exasperation. "I just don't understand why you keep me trapped in here!" You snapped, and he tutted. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. You just knew that stupid smirk was on his face. "And what exactly are you even trying to leave for, Mister? You got everything you could ever need here, where it's safe." You hated how much he cared about you sometimes. Other times, it'd make you smile and your stomach would tingle with that feeling you swore you'd never feel again after the apocalypse hit.

The sigh that left your nostrils made him raise his brows. The angrier you got, the thinner the ice you treaded on became. Negan wasn't exactly a guy you wanted to piss off and you knew that. "I just want to leave," He opened his mouth, but your eyes that met his were quick to ridden his fear of you leaving for good. "Not forever, I can't leave here, and you know it." That he did, you had nowhere else to go. Unless you decided to live in one of the communities that they 'owned'. "I'm just tired of being locked up. I feel like I'm in a prison and you're forcing me to be here because for some fucking reason you care about me." You snapped, and he nodded, his eyes darting over your face with the look in his eyes that you despised.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" You asked, and he furrowed his brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Like what?" "Like you actually care." His smile was quick to fade at your words. Expression looking a little offended at what you said. "The hell is that supposed to mean? Why in God's name would I not care about you?" He asked, and you felt a tinge of guilt shoot through you. In the years that you had been with him, you still hadn't accepted the fact that he does care about you. Stepping backward as he approached you with heavy steps.

"You know what? No, you can't leave. Not when you think I don't give two damns about you." He snarled, one hand reaching out to point and poke at the center of your chest right below your collarbone. His other hand gripping Lucille with a force that turned his knuckles white. "You act like we haven't been fighting together for years. Like I don't pass up women and men who offer me a hell of a night because I fucking care about you. I don't know how many goddamn times I have to tell you that too!" He exclaimed, his nostrils flaring. You wanted to feel bad, but your eyes only narrowed on him with a huff of your own.

"Oh! Sorry, I'm your biggest cock block of the century!" He narrowed his eyes at your statement. "That's not what I was sayin' and you know it," "Go fuck yourself, Negan." You spat, and that was the man's final straw. "You watch your tone with me, boy." He barked, and you flinched. He'd never raised his voice like that with you. You should have known it'd be coming one of these days.

In the beginning, Negan was so gentle and careful with you. He'd give you space when you needed it, all while keeping his eyes on you at all times. Making sure his men and women were treating you well. He'd talk with you, make you smile, and laugh. He'd treat you kindly and respect you. Even in these dark times, he was a beacon of light. A man that actually respected your chosen pronouns - despite what you were "supposed to be". Any of the Saviors that would misgender you, or call you slurs, he'd take care of them personally.

Negan was always so kind to you. If his sarcasm was too much he'd do his best to tone it down with you, or at least let you know when he was joking with a simple "that was a joke, by the way." He wanted nothing more than for you to let him in, but you were so stubborn. He could tell that even before the apocalypse you weren't an easy-trusting person, yet he respected that. You shouldn't trust people, even though he wished you would trust him.

Recently, though. It was getting harder and harder for you both. Negan was fighting with keeping his two current communities together - The Kingdom and Hilltop. He was too busy leading and you were too busy pulling away from him, which pissed him off to no extent. He wanted you to understand that he loved you, he really did.

Negan was staring down at you, and you coward - just the slightest. Watching as his chest heaved and his eyes burnt holes into you. "You ever speak to me like that again, I'll make you wish you never did." He snarled, and you felt your chest tighten with panic and anxiety. Like maybe you stepped on his toes too many times over the years and your attempts at keeping yourself safe from his inevitable fall only pushed him away from you. It wasn't until this that you finally realized how much you missed that stupidly obnoxious smile of his.

"Negan," you frowned, and he shook his head. "You've tried me too much over the past few months. I am done being nice to you," he stated, but he didn't move, and that almost scared you more than what he was saying to you. "I'm sorry," you muttered, and he nodded. "You better fucking be." He snarled, and you nodded back. Your head dipping down. Noticing how white his knuckles were around his bat, still.

What you were doing now was risky as hell. One wrong move and that bat could very well cave in your skull, but you still, through thick, trusted him. You reached for his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles and it made him flinch. The man inhaled sharply before his eyes flicked down to your hand. He wanted to reach out and grab you. Pull you against him and show you just how much he cared for you while also reminding you who ran the show here, but he didn't move. Not yet, anyway.

Negans eyes watched as you grabbed his fist. His muscles relaxed under your touch, but it didn't stop the anger that coursed his veins. It wasn't until you looked up at him that he felt those emotions slowly dissipate. Maybe he was being too harsh on you, maybe he needed to give you space. "I care about you too, you know." He raised his brows a little at the confession. A nearly unnoticeable reaction that told so many emotions in the man's eyes. He just never assumed that he would hear you admit such a thing. Especially not after he yelled at you.

"I'm sorry I was pushing you away. I just get scared. I was getting so close with you and," You chewed on your bottom lip, and he nodded. "I get it," he told you, and your eyes bounced between his. "I pushed you, I wasn't here, you probably think I'm dead anytime we show up late to the compound," he told you, reaching up to brush his knuckles over your jaw, and you nodded with a soft chuckle. "Yeah, unfortunately, I do." He smiled, "Well, I'm not dead, and even if the apocalypse wasn't amongst us, I could be killed by anything. A car, a rabid dog, lightning," he chuckled, and you let yourself smile. Just a little, but it was enough for him.

He was silent again for a moment before he leaned forward a little more. "I want you to trust me," He spoke, his voice low. It was just for you to hear. His eyes scanned yours for any sign of discomfort. "Do you trust me?" He asked, and you nodded. "I have since you found me," he smiled at that confession. His obnoxious grin graced his lips that showed off his stupidly perfect teeth. "Now, that's what I wanna hear." And you knew everything you said went straight to his head.

He leaned in a little more, but you didn't move. Only watched as his smile faded just a little, and he set Lucille on the table beside you. One hand held your waist while the other cupped the side of your face. Can I kiss you? is the look you read in his eyes, and you nodded. Even if he didn't ask the question out loud, you practically knew what he was thinking. That small nod was all the taller man needed before he was leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips.

You had expected the kiss to be rough at first, but it wasn't. He was slow, making sure not to scare you off. It wasn't until you grabbed his waist with one of your own hands and the other snaked through the hair on the back of his head that he deepened it and got more hungry with it. Lips pressed firmly against yours until you were each practically kissing with your teeth. He's wanted this for so long and he wasn't about to stop with just a kiss. As long as you were okay with it all.

He pushed you forward towards the bed in your room with a groan. The backs of your legs came in contact with the piece of furniture, buckling from the contact and he was quick to push you down onto the mattress. Giving you a few longing kisses before pulling away from you. "Gonna go shut the door, no need having anyone see us," he told you with a cheesy grin. Dipping back down to kiss your stomach before turning back for the door.

His steps were quick, and you could tell how excited he was that this was finally happening. It made you smile a little knowing he's waited for you for so long. If anything, it had you more excited about the situation at hand. You wanted to take your shirt off, but that familiar feeling of insecurity rose up the back of your neck when you remembered the world fell to shit before you could exactly get top surgery. Or bottom. You were in a body that you hated, and you didn't tell Negan, but it was partially the reason why you didn't want to exactly pursue a relationship with him.

He was quick to distract you with his voice, though. Eyes drifted up to meet his when he stood in front of you. "You still trust me, handsome?" He asked, and that simple word had some of those insecurities dwindling. "Of course I do," you hummed with a smile, scooting further up the bed and he smiled back. "Good, I'll go easy on you," He bellowed, "But you got some learning to do after yelling at me like that earlier." He told you, and you felt your stomach churn at his loose threat. Swallowing thickly when you noticed the bat that he carried everywhere with him was in his right hand. Covered in barbed wire that you knew would sting if you so much as pricked your finger on it.

"Lay down," he ordered and you did as told. Even if your eyes watched that bat with a fearful gaze. He noticed it and only smiled. "Don't you worry, baby. I won't hurt ya, I promise." He told you, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips that eased your worries away. "Have I ever hurt ya?" He asked, and you shook your head just as quickly as he asked the question. A soft 'no' fell from your lips which only made him smile back. "Exactly, ain't starting now either," He hummed, leaning down to kiss the shell of your ear, a hand resting on your stomach. "Unless you want me to," he growled into your ear and you felt yourself shudder.

Before you could answer him he was positioning himself to the side of you. One hand parted your thighs while the other brought Lucille between your legs. He watched what he was doing carefully, but his smug smile didn't fade from his face once. "God, you both are so beautiful, so handsome, you know that?" He asked, and you opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but your lips fell shut. Worried he might punish you further for asking questions.

You gasped when he brought the base of Lucille to your clothed mound. Gasping through parted lips while gripping the sheets. Sighing when his lips kissed your throat. "You gonna tell me to go fuck myself again?" He asked, and you had half a mind to say you might, but he pressed the bat against you in a way that had you hissing. Your brows furrowed as the man ground the object against you in a steady motion. "Answer when spoken to," he said against your throat, feeling his facial hair burn at your skin and you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like between your thighs.

"No, no I won't," you muttered with a shaky breath as he rubbed you just right. "Good boy," he cooed, and you felt your skin prick at his words. "You wanna thank Lucille? She's making you feel good too," he purred, and when you didn't answer he bit at your shoulder. "Thank you, Lu-Lucille," you blurted, and he let out another breathy chuckle against your throat. "Good," he purred, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Now, my gorgeous, gorgeous boy. Tell me what you want."

It felt like he was slowly stripping you from your dignity. Pursing your lips when you thought about protesting, but the way he was pressing that stupid bat against you had your body aching for something more. "I want your hands to touch me, that stupid-" you let out a hiss when he pressed the base of the bat against you rather roughly. "Instead of Lucille. I want to feel your hands against my skin, Negan," you breathed out, and you'd never seen him look so smug.

The man gently reached over to lean Lucille against the wall and he was hovering over you in an instant. "You're doing so good," he praised, and you felt your body ache at his words. You haven't heard praise in what felt like forever. Sure, he's praised you as you worked, but this felt oh so different. More intimate and meaningful.

His hands went to the bottom of your shirt, but when your own came to stop his, he looked up at you with a look that you'd never seen before. "I told you, I won't hurt you. Physically or emotionally, you can trust me on that."He told you, and you nodded, pulling your hands back in order for him to pull your shirt over your head. Looking at the bandages that bound your chest. Frowning at how tightly wound they looked on your body. "Honey," his voice was sweet, "We're gonna have to find you something safer than these bandages." He told you, leaning down to kiss your sternum and you felt your eyes prick with tears. You've never had anyone offer to help you feel comfortable in your own skin, and it had your heart yearning.

You grabbed his head and pulled him up for a kiss. The man smiling when you did so. He loved how needy you seemed right now. He'd never seen you like this. Your walls were still up, but a door was unlocked just for Negan. The leader was able to open it and enter into the fortress that you built yourself to hide away in for God only knows how long.

He didn't dare touch the bandages. His fingers ran over the top and bottom of them gently, in order to show that he cared. Plus, to look at the angry marks that dug into your skin and made his heartache. He knows this is how you've been binding your chest since the beginning, and maybe even longer. He wanted to ask if you sleep like that, if you ever give yourself a break from the tightly wound bandages, but he didn't. That was a conversation for another time.

His lips came to meet your own in a tender and passionate kiss. As if to tell you with his lips that he was there to show you a good time. He wanted you to enjoy this just as much as he did. Even if he was going to tease the hell out of you for that mini outburst earlier. He simply can't let that slide. Though, in a way, he was. He would do so much worse to anyone that wasn't you. He wouldn't be kissing and fucking them good. He'd probably be picking out a spot for them on that chain-linked fence that wrapped around the compound.

He grumbled while your hands reached up to move his leather jacket over his shoulders. Negan shrugged them so the jacket would slide off easier. Before tossing it to the side with a hum. His own hands were dancing along your skin. Calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your stomach, hips, the skin of your arms, and your collar bone. One hand finally wrapping around your throat. His thumb felt your pulse, and how it sped up when he pressed a little harder. "Neg'," you moaned into his mouth, and he ate that noise up like candy. Pulling back in order to look at you with that wolfish smirk.

That's what he was. A wolf. He was always thirsty for blood and violence. The leader of his pack of other vicious and mangey wolves. You were simply a little lost lamb that he brought in. He liked to think that he had you wrapped around his finger, but everyone, even deep down himself. They all knew you were the one who had the big bad wolf wrapped around your little finger. He'd kneel for you out of respect if you truly asked him to. He'd do a lot for you if you asked. He trusted you more than anyone in this compound, and he hoped one day you would realize that.

"Can I take your pants off?" He asked, and you knew he was just trying to be sweet and not scare you after the whole shirt situation, but you couldn't help and roll your eyes at the way he said it. He asked so bluntly, so Negan.

"Only if you take your shirt off."

He smiled fondly at your words and did as told. Reaching behind himself to grab the thin and worn fabric before pulling it over his head. Noticing how quick your eyes were to lock on the muscles of his shoulders, then to his chest, and down to the hairs that littered down his stomach into his pants. He was so gorgeous, really. His body told stories without words. Tattoos that you wondered if they all had meaning behind them; or none at all. The scars that were scattered along his chest, arms, and stomach were new and old. They told his character. How strong he really was and the struggles he's seemed to go through his whole life.

You watched closely as his muscles flinched when you reached out to touch a bigger scar on his side. Your eyes darted up to meet his, and he had a warning look in his eyes. Watching your next moves cautiously and carefully. He trusted you though, and you could tell.

The pads of your fingers brushed over it, feathery light. The man smiled faintly when you leaned forward to press a soft kiss over it. Allowing his eyes to flutter shut with a small hum. "Don't get too sappy on me," he grumbled, and you chuckled, licking up his left pectoral to his collar bone and the groan he released was heavenly. "Who said I was a sap?" You asked, biting down on his shoulder just like he did yours early. Both of you marked one another with your teeth and it had him ecstatic.

He pushed you back down on the bed, flipping your body over so you were now on your stomach. His hands reached down for your pants, hooking his fingers under the hem of the clothing while kissing your shoulders. One on the left, then one on the right. "May I?" He asked, and you nodded, raising your ass a little which had his chest vibrating with a laugh.

He pulled your pants down, quickly. Your underwear coming with them which made you gasp at the feeling of cool air on you. "God, you're such a pretty boy, you know that? So handsome, all for me." He snickered, kissing the back of your thigh before sucking. Leaving a violet mark behind. The sight making him grumble as he left a few more marks on your thighs. A large palm resting on your ass.

You weren't sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn't your body sliding over the mattress. Your lower half now on his lap. "Now, for that tone of voice you used with me earlier," he spoke, a smile curling at his lips when you looked over your shoulder. "Negan," you tried to plead and he shook his head. His large hand kneaded at the flesh. His other hand reached to undo his belt while unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. "Another peep out of you, and I walk out that door. Got it?" He asked, and you nodded. You knew he would, too. He wasn't one to throw around loose threats.

He raised his hand up and brought it down with a loud 'slap' against your skin. A hiss leaves your throat at the sensation. Burying your face in the bed with a wince. "What do you have to say?" He asked, and you didn't answer. "Answer when spoken to," he growled out, reaching over to grab the front of your throat, squeezing lightly. "Thought you said not to talk?" He slapped your ass again. Harder than before, and you lurched forward with a groan. "I'm sorry!" You shouted, and he grinned. "That's what I thought." He hummed with a light chuckle.

He kneaded at the flesh of your ass again. Humming while thinking. "Now," he stared, parting your thighs. "If you behave well, be a good boy for me, I'll fuck you no strings attached."He told you, reaching between your legs to press two thick fingers between your folds. "If you don't," He pressed a finger inside you, the other rubbing over your clit. Watching how you writhed beneath his touch. "I draw this out and well, you don't get anything out of it and I simply leave. Understand?" He asked, and you nodded, "I understand," he smiled, curling his finger inside you before pulling his hand away. Shifting in order to put you back on your back on bed.

Negan stood in front of the bed, pulling his jeans and boxers off before climbing back between your legs. "Now, repeat after me," he hummed. "Negan, I will not talk to you like that ever again. I will do as I am told, and if I leave the compound I will be sure to tell you and have either you or someone else go along." You muttered the words back to him, and he shook his head with a tut, grabbing your jaw with strong fingers. His dark eyes scanning yours with a grin. "A little louder, my prince," he toyed, and you glared a little at the nickname. If it weren't how you ached for him you would have cursed him out. "Negan," you spoke, and he tilted his head, listening as you said the rest of the spiel. "That's better," he told you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. "Now how about we reward you for that."

Negan pushed your legs apart with a hum. Two of his fingers pressing inside of you which had you tensing. "Fuck, Negan," you moaned, and he chuckled, kissing your jaw with a sigh. "God, you're gonna feel absolutely delicious." He told you with a snicker.

He said a few more words for you to repeat back to him. Finally, rewarding you by removing his fingers and positioning himself with your entrance. He stared at you for a moment. A look in his eyes that had you a little worried. Wondering if maybe he was regretting this. A wave of insecurities rushing over yourself. What if he didn't want you? He just wanted the idea of you. You were already so exposed, you'd have to leave if he just stopped. Join one of the other communities and never look at Negan again.

"You do trust me, right?" The concern that dripped from his voice caught you off guard. Your eyes racing to his as he stared back at you. He looked almost scared, and that scared you. You've never seen him lower his own walls. It was like you were seeing inside him and all you could do was offer him a smile. Reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close. "Negan," he waited for you to continue. His eyes begging you to carry on. "If I didn't trust you I wouldn't be here right now. I would have left the night you brought me here. I trust you more than I would like to admit," He told you, leaning forward to brush your lips against his. Negan leaning forward to lock his lips with yours. Pushing you back into the bed before finally pushing himself within you.

He was right, too. You did feel absolutely Devine. He held you like this for a while. Feeling as your body tensed from the intrusion. Your hand tugged at his hair while the other clawed at his back. He didn't break from the kiss, though. He needed to kiss you. To eat you up. He could if you would only let him.

Once you rolled your hips he was sure to be steady as his hips rolled against you. Working his way up to a slower pace until he was confident enough to start snapping his hips against your own. Each snap of his hips had you grabbing harder, and harder at him. His hands were grabbing at your hips with a force that you were sure would leave two hand shaped bruises.

He truly screwed you like he meant it. He's wanted this since the moment he laid eyes on you, and the fact that he waited for this long drove him crazy. His hips moved faster the faster your breathing got. Listening to every noise that indicated he was doing something right. his hands pleasuring you just as much as your body pleasured him.

He never truly thought he would ever get to have sex with you. With how reserved and closed off you always were. Anytime you flirted back with him that was enough to settle his wandering mind, but it was never enough. He wanted you to be his, and now he had you. Or at least he hoped this wasn't just a one-time thing. Honestly, if you never wanted to have sex again he wouldn't care. So long as he could call you his. If you didn't want that, he'd try his best to push the hurt feelings aside and accept it, though. He hoped you wanted something between the two of you to grow. The way you looked at him gave him at least an ounce of hope for a future with you.

"Negan," you cried, and he nodded his head. "Let go for me, baby," he panted into your ear, and you nodded. Kissing and then burying your face into his shoulder. Letting out a cry of his name while your orgasm took the reins. Your hips rolling to meet his thrusts.

Once you fell limp, Negan was quick to thrust faster within you. Chasing his own high while he panted and muttered sweet nothings into your ear. It wasn't until his hips started staggering that he pulled out of you. His hand taking over the action of stimulation before he came onto your stomach. Stroking out his orgasm with a loud grumble that erupted from his chest. His eyebrows knitted tightly together.

He fell onto the bed beside you. His chest heaving with yours. The both of you lying there in silence. His eyes were shut, but his smile was still there. "I could hit that smile off your face," you muttered without even realizing it, and he raised his brows. Eyes still shut. "Getting mouthy again already?" you cursed yourself in your head. "No, it's just how I admire, you cocky bastard," you sighed out, leaning over to press a kiss to his shoulder. Watching the way his smile grew toothy at the small action and the banter. "God, that mouth of yours," he sighed with a throaty chuckle. "If I didn't know any better, you want me to go harder on you next time." He spoke, opening one eye to peak over with a smirk.

Next time. You smiled softly at the thought of doing this again with him. "Well," you leaned up, looking at the mess on your stomach with a sigh which he looked at as well. "Only if you ain't as goddamn messy." He snickered lightly, sitting up to kiss your cheek with a dramatic 'Mwah' sound. "Anything for you, baby boy."

[starry-eyed-omo]

the thought has entered my mind once again so I'm gonna make a post about it, y'all— I am So Tired of non-consensual kink not being tagged in omo writing in so many places

which like... I know it's not as easy to spot as non-con for explicit sex, but it's still a thing! and it is so very prominent in the community in certain places!

so, what does non-con omorashi look like, for those unsure?

(please note I'm specifically talking about sexual kink! the stuff written with the purpose of being horny and whatnot, because that's the part of the community I know)

non-con in kink can look a lot of different ways, but the biggest one I see in omo content is the scenario of "x character is secretly turned on by y's desperation and is either passively or actively encouraging it". if y is not aware that x is super into them pissing themselves, and especially if x is actively making it more difficult for y to get relief, that's non-con! that's x subjecting y to their kink without y having the knowledge to consent to this.

another one I see a lot is voyeuristic stories, where the person into it might not be actively engaging, but they're still getting off on other people's desperation. this is not Quite as explicitly non-con, but it's still one of those things I personally would tag, especially if there's a focus on the element of "they don't know how much I'm enjoying this" or the character goes out of their way to witness someone's humiliation, even if they don't actively ever interfere.

generally, if all characters aren't actively enjoying themselves, or if someone is kept in the dark on what's Really going on here, there's a strong possibility there's non-con elements in there.

(please note: this doesn't really apply the same way to solo character fics? there's no one else there to Consent With, so if someone is having a bad time, but it's solo content, that's more omo whump or something similar; consensual kink only really applies when there are multiple people in the story)

there is, of course, a lot of content that may also tread the line where it's like... kink was not explicitly discussed and consented to, but both parties are clearly into it, since sometimes kink negotiation just doesn't fit into the story, and that's fine!! I personally like to tag that sort of stuff as dubcon to be safe, but I can still see arguments being made other ways.

and it's not like there's anything wrong with making any of this content either! fiction is a great outlet to explore fantasies that wouldn't be cool to indulge with real people; it's just a matter of recognising when something is non-con and putting the proper tagging in place so people can avoid it! giving people the ability to curate their experience is so fucking important and I just. please please learn what non-con kink and fetish looks like and tag appropriately, it means a lot to those that don't wanna see it 💜

[midnightshard06]

It's Bound by Fate ramble time again. Love that the au smackdown is making me focus real hard on this au lol.

First I have... some plans for other characters besides those that have been mentioned so far. I would love to go into detail about those plans but uuuuuuh spoilers? Cause it would be very hard to talk about it without revealing stuff about Sonic that will be revealed later in the fic lol. Just know that there's currently some plans for Shadow, Blaze, and Silver for sure. Still playing around with some others. I would also very much like to fit Amy in somewhere I just need to figure out where.

I want to so very much talk about Sonic and Knuckles' eventual relationship (for those of you that haven't checked out the fic on ao3 Sonknux is gonna happen eventually, but not for a while) buuuuut I sorta wanna let it play out? Ah the downside of still having the main fic ongoing. I must tread the line of what is safe for me to talk about.

Instead I shall talk about Sonic and Tails, since the two met before the start of the fic that is safe from spoilers. Woo! Warning this might get kinda long and slightly disjointed. I have many thoughts.

They are pretty damn close as you might expect. Tails really looks up to Sonic and still feels like he owes Sonic since the hedgehog helped him. Sonic has told Tails so many times that they're even since Tails saved Sonic's life first anyway. As the two hang out more Tails starts to really come out of his shell and Sonic is so happy to see his best friend living his best life.

Tails after a while of getting to know Sonic does become pretty worried about him. You know with all the never wanting to stay in one place, the being slightly on edge around people, and particularly his pretty much constant lack of sleep. Whenever Tails voices those concerns though Sonic easily brushes them off and Tails isn't quite confident enough to push it.

The two rub off on each other a lot. Tails has managed to make Sonic a bit more responsible and do less of jumping into unknown situations headfirst with no plan. Sonic has in turn helped Tails learn how to have fun and well perhaps been a bit of a bad influence. Even though Tails is smart he's still a kid, and the allure of Sonic dragging him off to do some cool thing that may or may not be dangerous is gonna be hard to ignore. The two have landed themselves in a bit of trouble over the years but it wasn't anything too serious. They both typically speak fondly of these experiences.

Tails has offered to pack up and travel with Sonic a lot but Sonic refuses it every time. He'd love to have some sort of traveling companion, something he'll get later in the form of Knuckles, but he doesn't want to risk dragging his best friend into any real danger. He mostly just wants to keep Tails safe from the people that don't take too kindly to his werehog form.

Sonic visits as often as he can, Tails' house/workshop is the closest thing he has to a home. He does wish a lot of the time he could stay in one place for longer because he really does love spending time with Tails. It's just after too long he just gets restless and sort of becomes hard to be around. He's never really known why that is but he chalks it up to something related to his speed.

Tails is endlessly fascinated by both Sonic's speed and his werehog form. With permission he's run some tests to see if he can figure out what's going on but those usually result in exploded equipment. Sonic apologizes profusely every time even if it isn't actually his fault. Tails of course never blames him for it either.

The two are also rather protective of each other, and they show it in different ways. For Sonic he has no issues stepping in if someone is mean to Tails or tries to hurt him. He's gotten into a few short fights on Tails' behalf. Tails himself finds it sort of nice that Sonic is willing to literally fight for him, but he tries to discourage it as much as possible. Tails is a bit more subtle about his protectiveness. His go to thing is to plot some revenge scheme for after the fact. These have certainly terrified some people enough that they've never tried to mess with Sonic again. Sonic is oblivious to the fact that Tails does this sometimes; he does think it's weird that stuff will sometimes happen to people that mess with him though.

Sonic really values their friendship and does privately consider Tails his little brother but he's never called the fox that out loud. He has no idea if Tails feels the same and Sonic isn't exactly the best person at picking up social ques. Tails 100% feels the same but he's still too timid to say anything in fear of Sonic reacting badly.

These two take every opportunity to cuddle or be close to each other. Both really got no physical affection growing up and are severely touch starved. Luckily the two are on the same page here and are happy to show physical affection to each other. Besides cuddling there's a lot of hugs and head pats. Tails especially likes to cuddle with Sonic in werehog form since his fur is thicker.

@au-sonic-smackdown I suppose these rambles could count for propaganda huh?

[oscyllarus]

Been seeing more community organizing on my dash and everyone's trying to say it gently but in short: if you wanna make a difference, you're gonna need to accept that you'll be helping people who have problematic views on stuff that's important to you. If you can't accept that you might be helping a Trump supporter with their groceries, you're gonna have a hard time either organizing your community or finding community.

Like - look, ya'll know your situations better than I do. If your neighbor is threatening people for knocking on their door, maybe don't risk your life. But if you're worried that someone might not like you or say shitty things? You need to grow a thicker skin if you want to organize. You need to know where you draw the line and you need to expect people to say shit that will make you go "how is this the year of our lord 2024."

(Goes without saying that if you're not in a space where you feel you can deal with people treading on your identity, then don't do this to yourself ffs.)

During the cleanup efforts after hurricane Helene, the Husband and I found a grocery store throwing out food (they had no power). I put an alert on social media, but we also loaded up our car not once, not twice, but three times with foods that could be safely eaten after they defrosted and went door to door distributing food - yes, even to people with Trump signs. By itself, our good deed wasn't much, but now we know more about the families near us...and they think of us positively. They might have racist or sexist or whatever notions about us, but it makes us a little safer + makes them more open to future contact.

Also, churches/temples/synagogues/whatever. The Left doesn't like organized religion (which - yeah, let's not ignore the issues with it) but the Left also doesn't have anything to replace churches with. Churches are places for community, and while a lot of them are nasty and awful, a lot of them are full of genuinely good people who want to help their community. If you can tolerate religion, seeking a church might be a good way to find people.

Other good places I've found are dog parks, card/game shops, and libraries. Dog parks are often filled with people used to handling shit, game/card shops are often havens for queer kids, and libraries often have regular free events.

And again - this isn't doable for a lot of people. Don't put yourself in a risky situation, don't take on more work than you can handle, don't abuse yourself or let people push your boundaries. But if you're feeling hopeless about building or finding community? Check in with yourself and see if maybe you do feel you have the tolerance to check out the local Unitarian church.

[redlegumes]

Pool - Steddie MicroFic

Written for ‘Pool’ wc: 600 | rated: e | AO3 Link

Edit: Misread the challenge rules! This month's cap was 442 words. So instead of pairing this down I'll just try to do better next time!

Steve and the kids change the way Eddie gets tattoos. 

Before they were scratchers, done in kitchens and back rooms by 'friends of friends,' paid for in drugs. But after the Upside Down, after the long hospital nights, after the slow recovery, caring about his body had finally wormed its way into Eddie's brain. He couldn't imagine getting some of his unscarred skin inked only to get an infection.

One of Eddie's newer goals in life was never to disappoint Steve Harrington. With the exception of bad punchlines. When he was in and out of consciousness in the hospital Eddie heard everything Steve whispered at his bedside. How he was Steve's hero, how Steve needed to see Eddie’s smile, needed his eyes to open. Eddie vowed that he wouldn’t make Steve worry like that again.

So he saved tips from gigs and barback work. He started his sleeve with Max. A busted skateboard lovingly taped back together, high up on his left shoulder. 

"You wanna keep it black and white?"

Eddie thought about Max, her recovery, and all he could see were bright pops of color.

"Nah man, make it loud. Pale skin makes for a good canvas."

He kept going, adding dice, a walkie, a spear... Each piece in bright colors. Everytime he went back to Hawkins for D&D or movie nights the kids would praise what he'd gotten and speculate about the next one.

Even when he was in town to see Wayne or smoke with Jonathan, he’d end up at Steve’s, swimming in the pool. It was their thing, a relaxing ritual. Heated water, low lights. Steve couldn’t swim alone anymore. Too much trauma, but with Eddie�� Sometimes they would strip down and just float.

After Eddie started the sleeve, he’d wrap his new ink or sit with just his legs in the water. When he dived back in, he told Steve to touch the healed pieces.

Steve hesitantly reached his hand out. His hot fingers lightly ran over Eddie's skin making him want to melt as they both treaded water.

"They feel… raised?"

"Yeah, my artist is good but heavy handed. All the outline work is like etched in."

Eddie's breath caught in his throat as Steve's fingers reached up and ran over the faded scar on his neck.

"You’re incredible. You carved in something new. Something good."

"You could too Steve." Eddie reached out and touched Steve’s neck. "Add new memories. Better ones."

Eddie caught sight of Steve's eyes, darting from his scar to his lips. "I don't think I'm as brave as you Eds,” he said before pulling back.

That night Eddie sketched out his next tattoo.

He slapped the lined paper down on the counter as soon as his shop opened the next morning. He'd drawn the nail bat. The nails to be in neon blue, sunlight in oranges and yellow streaming behind. The bat in a wood grain. “Think a brunette with natural highlights,” Eddie said casually. “And,” he added, “you've been a little light handed, make sure this one’s deep.”

He spent a lot of the next month poolside with flimsy excuses not to jump in. Until the day he brought out the stereo and played Steve his new demo tape.

"You're doing such amazing things,” Steve said before he submerged most of his body under water. “Everyone is and… I'm here, just scraping by.”

Eddie stripped and dove in. He swam up to Steve and guided his hand to the new ink.

In the pool with that tattoo, Steve said that was the first time he realized Eddie loved him.

[fritextramole]

salt in my eyes

part 3 of an Eric van der Woodsen playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

Mary Jane ~ Matt Doyle

Well, it's full speed, baby In the wrong direction There's a few more bruises If that's the way You insist on hеading

rises the moon ~ Liana Flores

Days pull you down just like a sinking ship Floating is getting harder But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile Rises the moon

Please Stay ~ Lucy Dacus

You tell me you love me like it'll be the last time Like you're playing out the end of a storyline I say I love you too because it's true What else am I supposed to do? Maybe bar the door when you move to leave

A Fallen Angel ~ shinigami

My heart and emotions are something I'm void of You're wasting away, are you okay? Please just keep your head up and just hope for better days Hold on to your memories and you'll be safe This may be our last chance to leave this place

I’ve Been Feeling Lonely ~ Sorry, Peach

I’ve been feeling lonely You don’t wanna know me I’ve been trying to pacify The feelings that I’ve felt for some time You’ve been feeling flighty I don’t wanna say goodbye And i’ve been trying recognize That you have never really been mine

Only Friend ~ Wallows

You're signing off again But you're my only friend I don't know what to say I feel the ending close Pick up the pieces Finding a place in the world to be Too many reasons To keep an ear at the door for me

Medicine ~ Matt Berry

Medicine You got me hooked on medicine I don't feel myself again The world is full of finer men

Achilles Come Down ~ Gang of Youths

Remember the pact of our youth Where you go, I'm going, so jump and I'm jumping Since there is no me without you Soldier on, Achilles, Achilles, come down Won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

parties ~ Elizabeth

Tell me, when you’re out Don’t you miss me? Do you doubt Saying goodbye? Or do you only feel your high I go to parties Like I don’t need anybody Then I only miss you more

7 O’Clock ~ Penelope Scott

So just get wrecked, I guess I mean you kinda failed the cool kids' test, I guess It's kinda sad if this is you at your best, I guess It's not fun anymore I'm kinda bored so let's go fuck shit up, c'mon Let's go out

Walking with a Ghost ~ Teagan and Sara

No matter which way you go No matter which way you stay You're out of my mind, out of my mind Out of my mind, out of my mind

Wild World ~ Love Is Colder Than Death

Feel the power in the air Bloody bodies running down the street Try it again Please it again

Living In The Storm ~ The Pretty Reckless

They're dropping bombs on all of my friends Every time I turn around they're blowing up again But it's not me Out on the streets I don't know who any of you people are And I - I'll try to avoid it

Helena Beat ~ Foster the People

You know those days when you wanna just choose To not get out of bed, you're lost in your head again You play the game, but you kind of cut 'Cause you're coming down hard, your joints are all stuck I've tried to say that it's not the only way I never knew if I could face myself to change You were pacing, I was insecure Slip and fall, I'm dodging calls, hug the prison I've been living in

Shark Smile ~ Big Thief

It came over her at a bad time Riding through Winona down the dotted line Held us gunning out 90 miles down the road of a dead end dream She looked over with her part smile Caught up in the twinkle, it could take awhile And the money pile on the dashboard fluttering

Jonathan ~ Adrianne Lenker, Buck Meek

You know me Knew, knew me well When I was just a girl, only nineteen Twisted in my head So don't try and tell me to help This is not how you help You don't know me now

Fourth of July ~ Sufjan Stevens

Make the most of your life, while it is rife While it is light Well, you do enough talk My little hawk, why do you cry? Tell me, what did you learn from the Tillamook burn? Or the Fourth of July? We’re all gonna die

Where Is My Mind? ~ Pixies

Your head will collapse, and there's nothing in it And you'll ask yourself Where is my mind?

Your Dog ~ Soccer Mommy

I'm not a prop for you to use When you're lonely or confused I want a love that lets me breathe I've been choking on your leash

parents ~ YUNGBLUD

Drop a toaster in my bath, watch my mum and dad laugh See a thousand volts go through the son they wish they never had They told me casual affection leads to sexual infection But it's hard to get an erection when you're so used to rejection

Mad Love ~ The Pretty Reckless

Like all of the orphans I got none of the friends I was alone until You came and went Now there's someone inside me I think it's you

Freaks ~ Surf Curse

My head is filled with parasites Black holes cover up my eyes I dream of you almost every night Hopefully, I won't wake up this time

bad idea! ~ girl in red

It was a bad idea calling you up Was such a bad idea 'cause now I'm even more lost It was a bad idea to think you were the one Was such a bad idea 'cause now everything's wrong

Carnations ~ Palehound

Cause I've been dreaming I might Just up and bail on this plight And maybe go on vacation Pack up my shit in the dark And if the car doesn't start

Go Home ~ Julien Baker

I went walking again, I'll go out And forget to tell any of my friends where I'm going I'm just drunk on the side of the road in a ditch When you find me, I wanna go home, but I'm sick

[mossy-thing]

saw that stop sheltering me post and i feel a little ashamed. I might've done few things like that in past and i wanna know what is considered a loving act and what is considered infantalization because no one would explain me and I want to be better. In a nutshell i want to ask how it is you wanna be loved?

Hi anon! Okay, first of all, this is definitely an individual kind of thing, and you should ask the person this concerns rather than relying completely on me. Second of all, the fact that you asked me at all is a proof (for me, at least) that you should not be ashamed! Whatever you might have done wrong, you're willing to grow and learn more, and that is more than nearly every person I have struggled with has ever done. So good job! (Thirdly, I'm sorry for getting back to you so late. Asks are scary.)

But enough of that and onto the list of stuff I hate and how to fix it!

1: Treating me like I am far younger, more innocent and less capable than I actually am

(aka the fucking definition of infantalisation and what my original post was all about).

This is so fucking annoying. You would not believe it. I am legally an adult and there are still people who are like "Aw you're such a small bean! A sunshine child! Must protect! 🥺" Meanwhile I am sitting there with the experience of 19 years, 5 schools and 3 psychwards on my back, like. Excuse me who the fuck are you talking to??? There is an incredibly easy way to fix this. If you struggle with this first point, look at the person you do not want to infantalize, look at their age, and treat them exactly like you would any other person their age.

Obviously, if this person has special needs like I do, then in some situations, that is not possible. I understand that. So, try to figure out what situations protecting someone is appropriate in, and in which ones it is not. For example, if you are sitting with them in an environment they feel comfortable and relaxed in, you should not do things like forbid them how to swear or tell them excessively what a good job they did for doing something normal. Though there is a fine line to tread here. I for example have difficulty with hygene, and after a shower, it feels nice when people tell me that I did a good job. The important thing here is this: There is a difference between someone congratulating someone on doing something that they struggle with, and treating them like they are a dog that did a trick right. There are obviously things like reward systems that work well in some cases, but it is all about presentation. Again, it is best to talk to the person you are asking me because of, so you can lay down boundaries together.

Like I mentioned before, the whole thing is very much depending on situational and individual needs. But there is a difference between simply protecting someone, accomidating their sensory needs and getting them out of difficult situations they don't know how to deal with, and treating them like a child or a pet while doing so.

2: Sensory needs

This might be surprising, but there is actually a wrong way to go about accomidating someone. I say surprising because it surprises me. For example, my most obvious sensory thing is noise. I wear huge noisecancellers and/or earplugs all of the time and flinch basically 2 times in 3 minutes. Everyone who spends time with me notices. Now, most of these people are kind about it, and try to accomodate me. There are obviously those who find it funny to purposefully set me off, but that is a different problem. What I am getting at here is the following: Some people focus too much on making sure I'm okay.

I understand that this might sound silly, but personally, it fucks me off so bad.

Two examples: I once tried joining a DnD group. They seemed nice enough, right up to Noticing my noise sensitivity. Then the DM started shushing everyone over the course of the entire session whenever they raised their voice the slightest bit and gestured meaningfully at me. Like I wasn't able to handle someone talking to me in anything that wasn't a goddamn whisper. Like I exist in a bubble and this was my first time being exposed to loud noises. Like I didn't take the goddamn train to get there. It was so fucking annoying. I left shortly after. Also, this was after having known them for a while. They started behaving like this once I mentioned I had been diagnosed with a hyperacusis and started wearing noise cancellers (life savers, those things). The sensory issues had been there all along, and I had actually told them once or twice to speak a little more quietly. What really fucked me off was that they only started accomodating me once I had laid down proof that I had an issue, and immediately started treating me like a ticking time bomb on my way to a spectacular meltdown. Please don't do this.

The second, a little more recent example, is this:

I have a classmate in my most recent school who is a genuinely nice guy. He's funny, he's relaxed, we get along quite well. The problem with him is that he immediately looks at me every time there is an unexpected loud noise to check on how I'm doing. Every time. He is always concerned about me. His first thought when encountering me is always "Is it doing okay? Is this overwhelming? How can I make this situation better?"

And that is great! I like it when people recognise I have a problem and try to accommodate me. But he makes it so obvious that it is more or less all he thinks about when talking to me, that his care has grown to feel patronizing. It's uncomfortable to be watched so closely every second he spends with me.

In conclusion:

This is a very, very complex issue, which is why it took literal months for me to answer you. Sorry, again. The best answer I can give you is really to have a conversation with whoever you are thinking about. Try to make sure that what you're doing feels okay to them, that your care is appreciated.

Because it is great that you care! It is great that you are worried! And it is even better that you are open to changing that care if it feels stifling. I don't know the person you are talking about, but you do. So you have the opportunity to check in on them.

I only mentioned negative experiences, but it is possible to be good at accommodation. I have friends that are great, and that I trust with taking care of me when I need it, because they are understanding and still treat me like they would anyone else when I do not need help.

Sorry for the long post, and for making you wait so long. Good luck!