#GONNA BE CHEWING ON THIS. ALL DAY. GOD. MUCH TO CONSIDER

[crimeronan]

im think sm about the hypothetical in this shitty alt timeline of belos "gifting" luz an amity grimwalker, specifically luz walking up to amity, looking haunted and done and holding a baby that looks scarily similar to amity and just asking "how are you healing up?" when amity has NOT told her abt her injury.

OH GOD.

[anxiteyandsleep]

I'm so sorry if I made you flustered about the smut question- didn't mean to! 🫢🫣😆

Okay so I'm gonna try and request this: 🙏

Could I please request Thranduil x Male reader who's this tall and buffed tiefling (big horns, long strong tail) who looks scary asf but is actually a total sweetheart? He only looks intimidating bc he's always wearing his armor, covers his face with a cloth/a mask, has dark makeup around his eyes and basically looks like a fricking demon?

He wears a cloth/a mask around his mouth bc he has a big open scar on his cheek (naaah nothing too graphic he just can do this trick with food where when you're facing his healthy side he sticks a carrot into the opening (scar) on the other side and chews without even opening his lips- totally normal- he did it in front of Legolas once and that poor child didn't sleep for a week). He's not ashamed of it, he just doesn't like the stares.

Even tho I'm as old as the first LOTR movie I only just now became a fan and I saw that Thranduil has an injury on his face as well (but hidden) so that got me thinking...

Maybe reader and Thranduil are a couple (reader was treated badly for being a barbarian tiefling -> not by Thranduil <- but proved himself when he saved him) and he then made reader his personal guard, became friends and then lovers.

Thranduil is curious about reader hiding his face but never pushes him to uncover himself (Like why are you hidding yourself from me hmm? Why don't you kiss me? Your other facial features are gorgeous asf, for a tiefling barbarian who rips goblins in half with his bare hands you could even compete with some elves I know-).

One day Thranduil has some issues with his own injury which reader sees and comes to his aid, Thranduil is embarrassed and nearly breaks down, tears fill his eyes bc his love saw his hideous face and is afraid he will leave him (god I'm so bad at romance bro) but reader just chuckles, takes the cloth/mask from his face and shows Thranduil his own injury.

Now they both have scars! They know each other struggles! And they love each other like never before! Happy ending- No but really, angst with fluffy comfort for our two boys and mainly for the elf himself, he needs the love.

Maybe even emotional way back to their shared bedroom by sunset all lovely dovely bc why dafuq not- just Thranduil giggling kicking his feet and twirling his hair as he's princess carried-

Jesus...I got way too into this. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Sorry for it being so long, I honestly don't know how to write short requests...also sorry for any mistakes, english is my second language.

Add something, remove something, it's up to you. You don't even have to write it if you hate it or you're not comfy with it. 😘😘

This is adorable ahhh and dw you didn't make me embarrassed or anything! I may have missed some details, this was written over the course of multiple days with very little sleep😭

I included my head canon that Thranduil is blind in his one eye from the dragon fire, as well as that when low on energy he can't keep the disguise up.

Slight TW for blood, scars and such???

It has been almost a year since you and Thranduil had started dating, you were his personal guard and beloved boyfriend, he adored you so much. He never knew why you hid your face but he didn't pry, especially considering he hides his face in a way too.

Thranduil had always been impressed by you, a strong tiefling with a kind soul, much like a gentle giant. Sure you were rather... Gruesome in battle, using your bare hands to fight and always returning covered in blood and gore. It was truly terrifying but Thranduil loved it, especially after you had saved him from a spider attack.

Today, however, Thranduil was hiding away from his beloved barbarian, tucked away in his room with nothing but a small candle dimly lighting the room. He had overworked himself again, his head was aching and he had no energy left to maintain his disguise, the burnt skin and muscle visible, a sight he despised.

When you heard that Thranduil was taking the day off and locked himself in his room, you grew worried. He's never done that before, usually on his days off he spends them with you, taking a walk through the garden or getting some much needed sleep. So of course you immediately went to check on him, making your way to your shared bedroom.

"Thranduil? Are you alright? I heard the guards say you weren't feeling well and I-" you fell silent as you entered the bedroom, squinting as you adjusted to the dim light but you knew exactly what you saw. You never knew Thranduil had such a scar, it covered the left half of his face and his eye was completely white.

Thranduil had to turn his head completely to actually see you, quickly attempting to cover up the scar but alas, he couldn't manage to use his magic in such a state. He never wanted you to see this side or him, he wanted to keep this horrid scar hidden from you.

"(Name)... What... What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on patrol?" He managed to get out, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his usual tone but his voice still sounded shaky. Perhaps if he didn't bring attention to the scar, you would just ignore it as well

"I just got back, my love..." You replied, slowly walking closer to Thranduil, head tilted slightly in curiosity as you examined the scar. When you reached the edge of the bed, you knelt down before him, resting your chin on his legs. "is that from the dragon you faced?"

Thranduil sighed softly, closing his eyes as he couldn't bare to look at you, afraid he'd see disgust in your eyes. "yes...I managed to survive but..." He vaguely gestured to the scar, shaking his head slightly. Thranduil finally opened his eyes again when he felt your strong hands holding his, the touch was so gentle and caring, he just had to see you.

The way you were looking at him surprised him, your eyes were full so of love and admiration, it made his heart swell.

"We kinda match" you hum in a soft whisper, reaching up to remove the mask you always wore and revealing your own scar. You weren't ashamed of it, you mostly hid it for everyone's comfort as the sight of your open cheek often made people uneasy and you hated the looks they'd give you.

it was now Thranduil's turn to stare in awe, one of his delicate hands reaching up to gently trace around the scar, his fingers soft and gentle as always. "hm I suppose we do, my love" he replied softly his hand trailing up to gently trace over your horns, following the pattern and ridges of them.

"forgive me for keeping this from you... I... I do not like people seeing me in such a state but I should've told you" Thranduil apologized, moving his hands back to gently cup your face, being careful to not disturb the scar

You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning into his touch while your tail wagged slightly. "there's no need to apologize, I kept a secret from you too"

Thranduil felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, the stress slowly melting away as he held you in his hands. "Well now that we both have told the truth, how about we rest?" He whispered sweetly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, one you eagerly returned.

Without breaking the kiss, you got off your knees, cradling the back of Thranduils neck with one of your hands. You kicked off your boots, accidentally sending one flying across the room but you didn't care. "a nap sounds good, yeah" you muttered against his lips as you carefully push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to continue the kiss.

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk. "My love, this is not napping ~" he didn't really mind as you continued to pamper him with kisses, his delicate hands reaching up to gently tangle themselves in your hair.

"mm we'll nap after, then"

[wifeofnatasharomanoff]

The Widows Wife

Warnings: slight toxic marriage/relationship, mention of miscarriage, angst, mention of divorce?

Words: 1,175

A/N: the words like "this" are flashbacks

sooooooooo i really don't write angst that much but idkkk kinda wanted too yk?

hi my darlings, i hope you slept well lately. have you been eating and drinking water properly? i love you all! <3

“I'm so sorry Mrs. Romanoff, the doctors can't detect a heartbeat.” you broke down into tears, “Can– can I contact my wife?” the nurse nods, handing you the hospital phone before leaving the room.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up..” you muttered to yourself, bouncing your leg anxiously. “Hey, you just reached ‘Natasha Romanoff's’ phone, she's not available right now.”

The house was cold and quiet, considering the fact that you put the baby to sleep, the only people awake were you and your eldest child. “Mommy,” the little boy tugs on your shirt, “When is Mama coming home?” you sigh, “I don't know buddy, but she'll be here soon okay?”

“Mommy, when's Mama coming home? Is she gonna miss my birthday?” you pick him up, “I'm sorry baby, Mommy's here though.” he pouts, throwing his little arms around your neck. “Where did Mama even go?” you kiss the side of his head, “She– she's at work baby.”

He climbs onto your lap and rests his head on your shoulder. “I miss her.” you stroke his hair soothingly. “I miss her too sweetie, I miss her too.” to your surprise, you hear the jingle of keys as the front door opens.

“Mama!” he jumps off of your lap and runs over to her. “I missed you's so much! Mommy did too!” she chuckles, ruffling his hair. “She did? How is Mommy hm?” she looks over to your exhausted self, sitting in the living room.

“Bad. She cries a lot Mama.” Natasha furrows her brows in confusion, “Hey.. Alex, did Mommy tell you why she's been crying?” he shakes his head, ‘No.’

“Yelena.” you call out to your sister-in-law. You had just gotten back from the doctors office, you were an emotional wreck. She furrowed her brows, “Y/N? What happened? What's wrong sestra?”

You walk up to her, hugging her tightly. Your fallen tears start to soak up the fabric of her shirt. “The doctors– they couldn't find the baby's heartbeat. I called Natasha but she's not picking up, I need her with me. But she's out on a mission for god knows how long.”

She sighs, looking down at the toddler, “Okay, buddy how about you go to your room and play with your toys yeah? Me and Mommy need to talk okay?” he nods, walking off to his room.

“Detka, what's wrong?” she asks, sitting down next to you. “Everything. Nat, you were gone for 5 months.” her smile fades, “So? I don't understand. What happened?”

Tears prick the corner of your eyes, glossing them over. “The– the baby. They're gone Natasha.” your voice strarts to crack, as you were on the verge of tears.

She gasps softly, bringing her hand to grasp yours. “I'm so sorry baby—” you quickly move your hand away from hers, “Nat I don't want to hear it.” she bites back a response, pulling her hand away.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, thinking about whether or not you should talk about the divorce right now or later.

“You weren't here.. when I needed you the most. I get that you save the world every fucking day, but just the one day I needed you Natasha. You could've called me back, or sent messages from Fury to me.” she frowns, “Baby I'm sorry, you know that I couldn't contact you–”

You nod, “You missed our anniversary. I get it Nat, I really do. You go around and save the world. But I needed you that day, okay? Alex, our little boy was there for me but you couldn't be there.”

You set down the sleeping baby down in her crib, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, watching her stir in her sleep. You look down at your ring finger, toying with your wedding ring. “Nat.. I miss you so much. I just– don't know what to do without you here,” your eyes start to water, “Come back to me.. please.”

Sighing, you thought to your self, is she safe? Is she even alive? You wish you knew what was going on in those dangerous missions, but you didn't.

A tear drops onto your hand, you wipe the rest away as soon as you notice that you were crying. “Mommy are you okay?” the toddler comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You smile, nodding your head. “I'm fine sweetheart. What are you doing awake? Go to sleep Alex.” he shakes his head, ‘No’ getting up on the chair to sit down with you.

“Nuh-uh Mommy. You were crying and they don't look like happy tears.” you kiss his chubby little cheek and gently pinch it, “Okay, you can stay with me if you want to buddy.”

You run your fingers through your hair, “Forget about our anniversary. You weren't even here for Alex's birthday, he couldn't stop asking me about if you were coming home or not. What am I supposed to tell him hm? That his mom can't pick her own happiness for just a few days? That– that she chooses to be a superhero rather than to be there for her kids and wife?” 

Tears start to pool in the red-heads eyes as you continue to go off at her, “What's going to happen when Aliana and Alex get older? They'll realize that you're never picking us over saving the world. Alex is already asking questions about why you're barely home.”

“You didn't tell him why did you?” she asks, looking over at you. You scoff, “Right. Like that matters. Of course I didn't Natasha. We both know he loves you more than me.” she sighs in relief. 

The room got uncomfortably quiet after a few more minutes. “I um– I got the divorce papers.” you say, looking away from your wife. Natasha widens her eyes, she feels as though she had a knife stabbed right through her chest.

“W-What..?” her bottom lip trembles, her eyes clouded over with tears. “Nat this isn't healthy. We can't keep doing this, it's always the same loop. I love you, so much. But I can't keep living like this, neither can the kids.” she blinks back her tears, grabbing onto your hand.

“Please moya lyubov don't, I promise I'll be better.” the same thing every time. It never changes, does it?

Every.

Your first ever fight about her overworking herself, “Detka please I'll change I promise. Don't do this.” you sigh, eyes red and puffy from crying. “Okay.”

Single.

She promised. Didn't she? “Natasha stop. I can't take this anymore.” she kisses you softly, “Y/N I love you. Please don't go.” you look up at her, “Fine.”

Time.

“You do this everytime Natasha. I'll always be here for when you keep that promise. But for now I just can't..” your tears roll down your cheeks, tainting your skin. “I'll sleep in the guest room. But I won't be here when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

That was the last thing you said before leaving her alone with her thoughts, she just sat there with a guilt filled heart.

[jeankirsteinsgirl]

hii you're doing requests?? how about hc/drabbles or whatever about cowboy Jean? 💕💕

of course love!

Cowboy Jean HCs

CW: cowboy jean, country coded, fem reader, slight nsfw, drunk sex, mention of alcohol, MDNI!!

A/N: this will hopefully be the first of many requests i answer because i’m a lot less busy now so i will be answering as many requests as possible!!

- So he acts all tough right

- but he’s down bad for you

- King of wearing jeans allll the time kinda annoying like does he have any other clothes??

- super hot when he’s all dirty from working all day and he’s all sweaty 🤭🤭

- STRONG from working all the time around the farm, can lift super heavy, has super strong hands and arms and don’t get me started on his back muscles

- takes his shirt off when it gets too hot outside for him to be in his flannel and he’s ripped ugh

- Super charming it’s annoying always calling saying “yes ma’am” “baby” “darling”

- never misses the chance to compliment you “looking good in those shorts gorgeous. Put ‘em on just for me?”

- Somehow smells good even though he’s dirty all the time. smells like tobacco and vanilla

- smokes all the time even though you told him it’s bad for him but you can’t lie it’s hot when he takes long drags while staring at you

- such pretty eyes omg. they’re such a contrast from his tough manly cowboy aesthetic

- such pretty brown doe eyes and long lashes that just stare into your soul and the way he looks at you omg

- always insists on picking you up even when you have a car and can drive yourself

- picks you up in his old rusty pick up truck that he got from his dad that’s super loud you can hear it pulling up from a mile away

- keeps his hand on your thigh the whole time he’s driving and rubs little circles into your thigh subconsciously bc he loves touching you

- chivalrous king

- opens every door for you and motions with his hand while he watches you walk through

- refers to you as “his girl” when talking about you to anyone

- loves when you wear his clothes, he thinks it’s so cute watching you walk around in his flannels

- loves when you give his clothes back because they smell like you

- gets flirted with all the time unfortunately. all the girls in your hometown have a huge crush on jean and we’re so mad when he got with you

- but he constantly reassures you you are the only one he wants and he would never even consider being with anyone else

- acts all cocky and confident but is secretly so obsessed with you and would do anything for you

- pays for everything ofc he’s a gentleman and gets upset of you offer to pay bc only pussies let their girls pay for things

- his breath smells soooo good and he tastes good too bc he’s always chewing gum or drinking whiskey

- secretly so romantic and that side of him comes out when you’re hooking up

- would kiss every inch of your body to show how much he loves you and that he thinks you’re the most beautiful person alive

- constant praise and compliments “how you’re so fucking perfect” “my pretty girl” “such a good girl for me aren’t you?”

-still a little cocky in the bedroom bc he’s good and he knows it

- you can feel his muscles flexing under your fingers while you scratch your nails into his back

- biggest dick you’ve ever seen lmao

- a good 7-8 inches but it’s thick

- focuses on your pleasure first ofc

- makes you cum multiple times until he’s satisfied

- stretches you out with his fingers to prepare you for his cock bc he wants you to be able to take all of him

- god his fingers are long and rough with callouses and he hits every spot perfectly he knows exactly how to make you cum for him

- “that’s it baby, does that feel good huh? You gonna cum for me already?” while he kisses all down your body

- drunk sex constantly bc he def likes going to the bar and drinking on his porch

- wants you to sit on his lap while he’s drinking on the porch and gets all pouty and upset of you say no :(

- puts his arm around you anytime you walk around any other guys bc he’s sooooo possessive and needs them to know that you’re his

- make out sessions all the time

- would be like “cmon baby just give me a little kiss” then has you moaning into his mouth for him with his hands all over you

- was super cocky before you were dating, he knew you had a huge crush on him and would use that to his full advantage

- would tease you as much as possible, taking his shirt off in front of you on purpose, running his fingers through his hair, rolling his tongue in his cheek while staring at you, looking you up and down constantly

- heavy sleeper lol and accidentally rolls on top of you all the time

- loves cuddling you and borderline smothering you in his arms

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

wip wednesday

thought i would do this since it's gonna be really hot again over the next few days and heat always makes me super sick (i wouldn't last 5 minutes in avernus lol)

for context it's part of a fic i thought to write since i felt like i didn't fully explore the Raphael-hunts-Tav request i got from a lovely person (and i also wanted to write something dark again since i am not good at it)

welcome to me writing mean and angry raph lol (tbh can't be sure if i will finish this)

thank you laura for labbing raph's dialogue with me ❤️

-

“Why would a power-hungry magelet with a chip on his shoulder abandon decades of ambition for some little bint he found on the roadside, when he could have hundreds – thousands of warm and willing holes to wet his cock with if he becomes a so-called god? Do you think you’re worth that sacrifice? Does Gale think you are? I’m sure he says lots of sweet things when he’s inside you, just as I’m sure he said the same things to Mystra, and we all know how that worked out…”

“Stop,” Tav begged. Sobbed.

“No,” the devil sneered. Utterly merciless. “It’s high time you faced the reality of your actions. You have doomed a future for the githyanki free from tyranny, you have doomed your friends’ chance to escape the emperor’s machinations, and you have doomed yourself, sweet pet, to reap what you sow – all for the sake of a man who rolled over you because you were the first woman in years to say yes. You wanted to enter my house without permission? Then you’ll stay for eternity.”

“You can’t keep me here!”

“I think you’ll find I can, girl,” Raphael rasped, malicious, quiet. His gaze flayed her alive, peeled away layers of skin and muscle to stare at her very soul. “For in this house, in this pocket of Hell, I am the master, and that means I can do whatever I want.”

A sick, bitter pill to swallow: he was right.

“Fine!” Tav laughed maniacally, the futility of the situation driving her to anger. “Fine, you evil bastard! I suppose you’ll have a pet squid soon, then. Have you always wanted one of those? Was it a boyhood dream, if you were a boy once? I hear ink stains are a bitch to get out of silk rugs.” As soon as she said it, Tav wished she had kept her mouth shut. She’d done everything wrong since entering that portal. Everything. Raphael’s shrewd yellow eyes narrowed as he considered something. Tav watched him raise his fingers, ready to snap, with dawning horror; if he did this, she wouldn’t just be stuck with him forever. She would owe him forever. A fate so much worse. “No! Wait! You don’t – I’m sure I won’t transform! It’s different in Hell, right?!”

“I’d rather not take the chance,” Raphael murmured, enjoying this moment of despair. “I’m not too fond of tentacles, you see. And besides…I promised I could be your saviour, didn’t I? Even though you hardly deserve it, but I’m nothing if not magnanimous, after all.”

CLICK. Such a small sound heralding a monumental, irreversible change.

Agony. The likes of which Tav couldn’t comprehend. Her skull splitting apart, bursting from the inside, her brains chewed up and spat out, eyes and teeth and tongue destroyed, sinuses burning…it only lasted for a few brief seconds, maybe, but the next thing she knew she was on her hands and knees. Frothy blood and bile oozed from her nose and mouth. Her body shook violently. Her head felt like it was full of water. She wasn’t sure, but she might have pissed herself a little bit. She stared up at the devil through bleary wet eyes and saw him watching her. Savouring her suffering. Floating in his palm was her tadpole, sluggish and covered in gore. Covered in her brains.

“Hmmm…I suppose I could have used less force for the extraction,” Raphael mused, unapologetic. He squinted at the ugly cosmic horror larva with disdain. “I was lead to believe these things were near-impossible to remove. Clearly not. Such weak magic. That worthless boy still has a lot to learn.” He curled his fingers inward and the tadpole caught fire, writhing and screaming as it died. Rendered to ash. Then he smiled at Tav, placid, almost business-like, as if he hadn’t just up-ended her entire existence. Her suffering had greatly improved his mood. “There we are. Now you won’t have to worry about those lovely guts of yours dissolving any time soon. Not before I get to sample them, at least.”

“I’d rather be a mind flayer,” Tav slurred quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt hollow. Without that tadpole – as awful as it had been – she couldn’t reach her friends or even the emperor to beg for help. She knew they were pragmatic. They’d realise something went wrong and cut their losses. They wouldn’t risk storming this infernal psycho’s little castle to rescue her, not when the elder brain was so unstable and they were so close to vanquishing the Absolute cult, but at least pretending it was an option would’ve given her something to hold onto. 

“And ruin that delightful complexion of yours? Perish the thought.” The devil reached to wrap one big paw around her forearm and tugged her upright. Tav was too weak to pull away. She barely stayed on her feet. The room and everything in it swayed. Until it was forced to stop by his hot clawed hand holding her jaw firm. Raphael’s image swam into focus. He gently turned her head this way and that. He was examining her; examining his new property. “Can’t fault the magelet’s taste. You are a pretty little thing. And now you’re my pretty little thing.”

He pushed his thumb into her mouth. She could taste the sulphur and hellish magic even over the copper sticking to her gums and teeth. She bit him, tried to, but Raphael wasn’t phased. He dug his thumb claw into her tongue instead, pressing until he pierced the muscle, until Tav cried out. Fresh blood welled from the small puncture wound.

“Behave,” the devil simply said, like he was talking to a naughty puppy. 

“Never,” Tav spat. Raphael seemed to like that answer, if the sparkle in his eyes and his rich chuckle were any indication. 

“Oh, you’ll learn, my little mouse. One way or the other.” He dragged his thumb out of her mouth, smearing blood and spit across her lips. His pupils expanded as he looked upon her. He found this arousing, Tav realised, more repulsed than she’d ever been in her life. 

“You make me sick,” she hissed. 

“You have no idea just how sick I could truly make you,” he purred around a sinister smile, “but we have all the time in the world for that, don’t we, pet? Thanks to you, I’ve got a lot more work to do now. Plans to tweak, contingencies to set up, that sort of thing. I don’t expect you to understand, but unfortunately it means I won’t be able to break you in quite yet. But fret not, you shan’t be alone. Haarlep can keep an eye on you until I return.”

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 8. Hector

A/N: the way I always had something in the drafts to write for my beloved man like back during the summer time. The universe had other plans and what better time than to revisit this episode on Halloween! I think this is my first time ever writing on the day of this superior season?! Happy Halloween people 🧡 🪄

WARNINGS: language + hints of sexual tension 😅

PROMPT is from HERE + I’m using: “I love you, I swear I do but we’re not wearing matching costumes.”

₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚

[~October. 2000’s~]

Oh the wonders of being a big time celebrity during the month of Halloween. That’s right, a whole entire month! Which felt like so because you were constantly in the limelight with people not only dissecting your love life but also your roles which consisted of either being the lead scream queen in a thriller series, supporting actress in horror movies, and also being the star drummer (on some Sheila E shit!) and backup singer of a Alt-Pop girl band on the side.

So yes, you stayed busy and were worth talking about.

“Whatever you decide to be this year has to be big. I mean Destiny’s child, Britney Spears, Zac and Vanessa, and Halle Berry are all gonna be here at your party this year.” Your manager/publicist ranted as she paced the floor in your open concept closet.

You’re lounging on your studded chaise lounge chair, texting away on your blackberry while chewing on some gum, half listening, “Halle’s my god-mom, of course she will be here to support but who else is on this list exactly?”

“I invited pretty much everyone, the hottest stars even those who may or may be in your age range. It doesn’t matter! As long as you get good pics that brings fresh press.” Natania voiced as she began flipping through a notepad.

You hum knowing the deal, considering you’ve been in the limelight since you were fourteen so this was not anything entirely new. “I’ve got the perfect outfit for Hector and I.”

Natania glances up from writing, “funny you mention him after I say press.”

“Him has a name and who also happens to be my boyfriend?”

“Don’t remind me,” Natania mutters, “and just to think you could still be with Taylor Lautner right now. His stats are only climbing after ‘Breaking Dawn Part I,’ dropped and I can only imagine how much more attention he’s gonna get.”

Shrugging your shoulders you say, “I’ve got more than enough attention with and without a guy by my side. It was fun while it lasted but as soon as he booked the role for twilight, the distance just grew. It was all only a matter of time.”

At sixteen and seventeen years old you got into a relationship, naturally with who everyone may know as Jacob Black but he was just Taylor to you. You met way back in a martial arts class that your uncle actually taught but you didn’t end up sticking with it thanks to a tv series you booked. You met again not long after at a audition for “Sharkboy and LavaGirl.”

“Well the both of you could have at least faked it for a little!” Natania almost stomped her feet before sighing, “I mean Taylor still talks highly about you although you decided to pick a old paparazzi instead as your new fling.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to say anything less,” you blinked, “wasn’t a bad break up anyway and I don’t pay you to make judgements on who I date. I pay for you to manage my career, not my personal life, sooo mind yours.”

Natania rolled her eyes beneath her glasses, “whatever, you’re right. I’m just saying you could have done better. There’s just something off about him—Hector and not the whole follow people like you around for cash either.”

“Nat!” You hissed, “shut up already, hector’s coming over, he’s gonna be at that party with me and that’s that. When’s the stylist coming over?”

Natania puts on a forced smile and glances at the watch on her wrist, “in about a hour.”

“Great! Hector says he’ll be here in fifteen so that gives us a little down time. You can let yourself out whenever you’re ready.” You state laying back to rest your eyes.

You’ve been up since six thirty this morning doing a extreme workout routine you didn’t like with a trainer who took it too seriously. You were more of a cardio person than juggling ropes, jumping and squatting, and flipping over tires.

Soon the door bell rings and you pry one eye open to see the monitor by the door glowing, making you aware who it could be. Groaning you took your time getting closer to the screen, seeing no one there. Shrugging to yourself, you plopped down on the lounge just as your closet door budged open revealing your stylist and no other than your boyfriend, Hector.

Lounging on your elbows you smile and wave at the two.

“No, please. Don’t get up, I got it.” Your stylist wheeled in a rack while you laughed at the usual sarcasm.

“Hey, baby.” You craned your neck to meet Hector’s lips as he leaned over you in greeting before sitting next to you, “what happened to fifteen minutes?”

Hector laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck, knowing that he was late, “traffic? Even on my bike and Hunger…”

You hum at this.

“Just burgers.” Hector whispers as you shrug your shoulders.

You knew what it was like, actually dating someone in the supernatural world. It could always go one or two ways and of course there were heavy rumors surrounding Hector since he was there at the time of Mazey Day’s death. He should have been dead—especially with the amount of damage done to his body, you knew what he and Bo were up to and the pictures Bo showed you was not something you would forget.

However Hector was meant to live and see it through…and he did with the help of your family.

They got to him first.

That’s right, a long history of, “werewolf or wolf training,” depending on which form. You had more experience with simply wolfs while the higher skilled like your parents and siblings dealt with the werewolf’s. Due to your involvement with the spotlight you didn’t have much time for…family activities but you weren’t completely clueless.

If you were able to get to Mazey Day in time, perhaps things could have been different. No one really knew and some still didnt accept what it was.

Werewolves were fucking real and you so happened to be dating one.

“Soooo,” you drag pushing yourself up once more to face Hector with a tired smile, “I’ve got an idea of what we should be for Halloween.”

“Aw but you didn’t see what Freddie brought yet.”

“Oh it’s in there alright,” you push off the chair to head over to Freddie who has measuring tape draped over his shoulders.

You do the honors of taking the protective cover off the clothes and run your fingers over the various fabrics, “we have DoubleDare contestants from the 90s, or you can be Cupid and I’ll be a large fuzzy heart, or my personal fav: little red riding hood and her werewolf of a grandmother.”

Hector blinks after briefly studying the costumes and says, “I love you, I swear I do but we’re not wearing matching costumes.”

“Uh oh,” Freddie mutters while you frown at the curly haired man.

“And why the hell not? The last option is the best one.”

“I get that one,” Hector replies with a knowing look in his dark eyes, “but don’t you think it’s a little…corny?”

“We’re supposed to be corny! You’re my boyfriend and I’m your girl.” Digging your fists into your hips and peer at Hector who snorts.

“Yeah but—

“At least try it on! I mean if we’re gonna be at my party together shouldn’t we at least match?”

Hector lightly grips your wrist to pull you from Freddie’s ear shot, “it’s gonna be a full moon that night.”

“Even better.”

“For who? Not me.”

“It’s been a year already,” you slip your hand down to squeeze his, “you’re gonna be fine.”

“That’s not what your mom believes.” Hector’s shoulders almost slump, which irritates you, the fact that your mother was always getting into his head was not something foreign to you but when she started to do it to people you cared about, that’s when it became a problem.

“Newsflash, she doesn’t know everything like she claims.”

“I mean I should listen to her since…”

“Since she’s more skilled than me? Ah alright well I get it. Look, I’m not gonna peer pressure you. I just know I wouldn’t have you here if I didn’t think you could handle it. We’d take all the proper precautions a few days before just like I planned but if you really don’t feel comfortable…we’ll just make sure to take the pictures in advance and we’ll go from there.”

Hector studies you then. He knew that it was hard to be around each other sometimes whenever the moon shifted. He was thankful he got another chance at life…sure but life just become a whole lot more difficult now with this new lifestyle and being legit involved with someone in the public eye. No doubt he’s thought about it before but never pictured it happening and Bo also told him it was a bad idea after figuring out that he basically resurrected and could transform into a hairy ass creature!

You lived one way and he lived another, there were contrasts to you just like the sun and the moon, the pair of you worked taking turns to let the other breathe separately. Space was efficient when it came to your relationship but when you were together? That opened up a whole new feeling. A scary one. He wasn’t sure if this relationship would be long term but he had the chance to see you for what you are beyond the lights and that was a treat in itself.

He exhales, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face, “…let’s try these costumes on then.”

And you squeal, hopping into his arms and he holds onto you as you lock your legs around his hips, his beaming smile meeting yours as you peck all along his handsome face.

“We look foolish,” Hector comments as he readjusts the gingham hat on top of his head while you stand side by side in a full length mirror.

You laugh as you wrap your arms around the curly haired man in the floral green nightgown, “correction: we look fine as hell.”

“Fine enough to where I don’t need to spend two hours sitting in a chair having ass cramps and getting wolf prosthetics on?” Hector slips on his circular glasses and peeks over them at your reflection.

Red was certainly your color.

You snort, “you could always let the moon do it’s thing.”

“That’s not even funny.”

Pressing your chin against the back of his shoulder you say, “Wanna give me a little snarl or something?”

Hector sends you a pointed look as you trail one hand up to twist one of his damp curls, “Oh Granny, what pretty curls you have.”

“All the better for you to tug my dear,” Hector begins to play along.

A smirk makes its way onto your red painted lips, “Oh granny, what a beautiful face you have.”

“All the better for you to,” Hector starts before quickly twisting his body to yank you tight against his body, “sit on.”

You see the specs of ember swirling in Hector’s ink eyes now and you know you were pushing it as the length of his nails began to poke at the fabric of your red hood.

He then places a open mouthed kiss to your beating throat, “you didn’t say anything about my teeth.”

Standing up some with your hands locked around his neck now, you lean just a bit closer so that your forehead presses against Hector’s; you reply just as some knocks sounded at your closet door, “Now that’s satire.”

Hector let’s out a small laugh as you untangle yourself from his grasp to get the door, making a show of pointing the makeup artists in his direction only.

With your confidence in him and against the full moon, Hector can’t help but to shrug his shoulders and take a seat peeking at the face he got used to over the years. Somehow even this skin felt different and not just the scars embedded.

He just hoped you were right but knew he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Well…here’s to a new change of course for Halloween! That might actually be terrifying but as long as he had you on his team, his doubts and speculations from outsiders—which he used to be—didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚ ✧ ♱‧₊˚. ₊˚

Continue along with my fall anthology prompts here.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

another idea is a classic ol pregnancy scare for eddie x reader?

Thanks for this! Coming in hot with 2 request for I start my shift at work!

female-coded reader, mentions of pregnancy. Read more is higher up because of this! Reader is 18 in this.

"Your poor nails," Eddie coos. He can see them more clearly, sitting behind you now.

The entire time he drove to the store, you sat in the passenger seat arms folded across your chest. You were quick in the store, sliding out of the van before he could get the gear fully into park. Part of it was because you'd heard--from others-- the best time to take a test is first thing in the morning. Your bladder would've never made it if Eddie went in by himself.

The nerves have been killing you and with a bad habit of nail biting, they received the short end of the deal. For the past two weeks you've been chewing them over and over and over, hoping today would be the day. But it never was.

You had a decently regular period. Only under certain extreme stress had you missed a period completely--the height of having to put together all your materials for college applications. You'd gotten accepted--much to your relief, but now you couldn't fuck it up.

You wouldn't consider Eddie and yours relationship as something so fragile that it couldn't handle a baby, but you didn't want that. Not right now. You wanted to be young and be a kid and have fun at parties, drink too much, have a brush with the law--maybe. But not this. Not a kid.

Eddie's fingers smooth over yours. His breath brushes over your cheek as you rest into his chest. He's a comfort to have in this moment. When you first had an inkling that something might be wrong, pulling him aside during lunch to talk to him, he comforted you then. A big hug, asking if you wanted to wait or check immediately. He and the nurse were solid--though, he shouldn't be using his connections to the few staff and teachers that did like him to get away with ditching, it was you and he'd do it in a heartbeat.

You didn't want to panic right away. Sometimes your period was a day or two late, sometimes four or five days late but it always came. You told him then you'd wait one more week.

One more week has landed you here.

You turn into Eddie's chest, the floor of the bathroom hard under your knees. He hums, adjusting his arms to take you in. "It's gonna be okay, sweetheart. We're gonna be okay."

"Do-do you want a kid right now?" you ask into the lapels of his vest.

"It's not ideal," Eddie returns. "It is far from it. But I'd make it work, ya know? We take the punches. They hurt like hell. But we take them and then we keep going, right? Isn't that what life is about?"

"Do you want kids at all?" you whisper, your find his t-shirt covering his torso and ball it into your fist.

"Eventually. A couple little munchkins--wild hair and making me regret my youth." His laugh is soft and it rumbles in your ear. "I wanna do right by them, you know? Give them what I didn't have--being there for sports. God, imagine me showing up to soccer games, shouting 'Sports! Yeah! Down the field! Look alive, Jr, look alive!'

The scene plays out in front of your eyes. Eddie still in his ripped jeans but having traded vintage band t-shirts in for a more leather look, running alongside the field to cheer his kid on. You imagine you're in the stands, holding jackets and sports bags and maybe the youngest of your family in your lap while Eddie gets toe to toe with a ref about a bad call. You might call out to him, gently wave for him to take it down just a notch. We can't get banned from games, sweetheart. Not a cool dad look, you might say.

And it would be all you needed to say for Eddie to nod, coming back to the bleachers to take the youngest and bring them down to the sidelines on his hip. You'll keep me in check, right bud? Keep your old man from getting locked up over an absolute horse manure call, he might tease.

But it's all future. It's all late twenties and a college degree and a house and not right now.

You don't even realize you're crying. Not until Eddie gently shushes you, rocking you side to side. "It's alright. If-if this is positive and you don't want a baby right now, then-then we can talk about it," Eddie offers.

It comes out in stutters, Eddie unsure of his own words, because would a kid be all that bad? Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it would be. He's not sure anymore. He just hates to see you worried.

The kitchen timer shrills in the tiny bathroom. Eddie's attention snaps up to the chicken shaped item and he tightens you in his hold. For the first time in a long time, Eddie prays. He shuts his eyes and prays that for your sake this test is the answer you want it to be. It's a quick prayer and then he's nudging you gently, thumb brushing over your cheek.

You're slow to remove yourself from the safety of Eddie's body. His smile is gently, but wobbly. "I-if you want, I'll check," he offers.

You shake your head. "Together?" you propose.

He nods. "Stand up on the count of three...hundred?"

You exhale a tuft of laughter. "On the count of three."

"Since you want to be a party pooper," he teases.

You two count down together and then push up. The liquid is clear in the container--a torturous twenty minutes. But there it sits in your face. Clear liquid. You clutch the ends of the counter--a wave of relief hitting you. "It's negative," you exhale.

Eddie squeezes at your hips and you turn to face him, only to be engulfed in a hug. Eddie feels only a tiny sting of pain in his chest, the part of him that did want to do better by his children. But he's thankful it's not right now. The future--he can do all that in the future.

You're not sure how long you're in that bathroom, embracing. Your face buried in his neck and his face buried in yours. But it feels good to have a small small sigh of relief.

"We're using condoms for forever," you tease. You two discussed trying sex with no additional protection, considering you'd been on the pill for two years. It sounded like a good idea at the time until this brush. You know condoms weren't 100% safe either, but the combination made you feel safer than without it now.

Eddie laughs. "I can agree to that. Scouts honor."

The rainy day in Hawkins doesn't slow but it doesn't really matter as you curl up on Eddie's bed. Half the night you could hardly sleep and it caught up now. Eddie sits on the floor in front of the mattress, notebooks in his lap. Though Eddie didn't really care about school, he still did his best to make an effort and you'd only agree to nap if he agreed to use the time to be productive. He gave in easily to the soft demand.

You're not even sure how long you're drifting in and out of sleep, trying to let sleep embrace you but something floating deep within your subconscious that keeps waking you. You only sort of get a feeling of what it might be when you sit up, thinking the nerves of earlier are still playing tricks on your bladder.

Eddie watches you pad into the bathroom, his pajama bottoms on your hips. He smiles and then looks back down into his algebra textbook and groans. Yep, he was totally doing that equation wrong.

With a sigh, he starts over, eraser carrying away the error.

"Really?" Your voice echoes and Eddie scrambles to get up from the floor.

He doesn't bother knocking. The door opens wide with Eddie's eyes frantically searching the room. It's just you on the toilet, pants down, toilet tissue in hand. And there, on it, he notices something a twinge red.

"Your period?" he asks.

"Yes! We did all this fretting for the bitch to show up right after!" You discard the used tissue into the bowl.

He relaxes, a snort leaving his nose. He crouches down and opens the doors to the cabinet under the sink. He tosses the package of pads to you and then holds up a box. "Life's got a sense of humor, doesn't she? Which ones?"

"Something like that," you mutter. You hold up the pads you managed to catch. "These are fine for right now. Thanks."

"Of course." He puts the tampons back and watches just for a moment as you get the hygiene product secured to your underwear. "So that's how you do it," he hums and then presses a kiss to your temple.

Eddie exits the bathroom and gets the door closed behind him. "Holler again if you need me. Or your period's a bitch again."

"Will do!" you return.

[askweisswolf]

WIP Wednesday

So I actually got tagged for this twice! By @gingerbreton and @optiwashere and thank you both so much for it, it made my day. Conveniently for this occasion I also happen to have two WIPS I'm working on right now so I figured why not trot them both out!

This bit's from my John/Shayera chapter fic that I've been working on for... ever, is how it feels at this point, oh my God. Maybe I'll cave and start posting it to AO3 since it's almost done, ANYWAY:

Shayera huffed softly, despite herself. “The green guy?” she asked, and she saw J’onn look at her curiously.  “Most of us call you bird lady.” The crow’s voice was dry. “Fair enough. Did any of you see which way my mate went after the fight?” Now J’onn and Wally were looking at her curiously for that slip, but Shayera ignored them. The truth was, she’d been chewing on a theory ever since she’d come to the realization that John would be trying to hide out, not trying to seek help. All she needed was confirmation, some kind of hint that her theory was right. Looking for the Green Lantern would still be like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but if she was right it would at least be a smaller haystack. I’m spending way too much time with Clark lately.

This last bit's from a Shadowheart POV fic I started that's my next piece for my Agatha/Shadowheart stuff! It... does not have a title yet. I'll think of one eventually.

No, she had done the most dangerous thing, the most unforgivable thing.  She had started to hope. That, Shadowheart had noticed. That, she had tried to ignore, had tried to bury, had tried to kill before it even left the womb. Her memories may have been shattered pieces of a mirror at the best of times, but she remembered her teachings. She remembered at least some of her lessons. If she wanted to be a Dark Justiciar, if she truly wanted to be embraced by Lady Shar, she couldn’t let hope take root in her heart. It had happened so gradually, so slowly though that she hadn’t been able to resist it even when she’d tried to. Every time Karlach tried to pull her into a joke or come up with a new nickname, every time Wyll would think up different silly names just to get a reaction from her or tell one of his stories, every time Gale gently batted her away when she tried to peek at what he was cooking for the evening only to let her sneak away with a little piece before dinner anyway, every time Astarion leaned casually into her shoulder and murmured some new gossip into her ear that made her snort, she felt it. Hells, every time she and Lae’zel bickered, even, as their relationship gradually shifted from adversarial to something she would almost consider grudging respect, she felt it.

Gonna tag @the-darkness-does-not-bargain, @ohmypawsandwhiskers, @the-rebel-archivist, @foibles-fables, and @karatam if you want to participate! And of course, anyone who sees this is free to post anything as well. Thank you again for the mentions!

[redstripstrawberry]

1. A Promise | Yandere Oc x Reader | Mason

Warning: Yandere Themes. Includes stalking, obsessive thoughts, kidnapping, drugged reader, mention of torture, amongst other things I know you’ll quite like considering if you still clicked "Keep Reading". 

Summary: You wake up in what seems to be a basement, meeting your self-proclaimed husband.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The stubborn, god-cursing sink is leaky again. Somehow, it always manages to loosen even though you tighten it every other week.

You roll over in your bed. You can fix that when the sun's out.

Clink-clink. Plink. Plink.

Stupid pipe. You're half asleep but that sound is so piercing in the early morning silence.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

You're gonna have to call the landlord. Gosh, but it's still dark out and you’re hurting for money nowadays. Can’t you just take a break, universe?

Plink. Thud. Creak. Plink.

Debating whether to wake up in the morning is a common occurrence for you, but you decide to let yourself rest for now. The problems can wait until the sun rises. Somehow, your body is quite sore from the day before.

Plink. Plink. You turn to your other side. Clink-clink. Plink. Thud. Creak. Plink. Thud. Creak. Plink.

Wait. Sore from doing… what, exactly? And that sound?

A creak of an open door jolts you awake. You sit up immediately, looking in the direction of the sound.

“I was scared for a moment there.” The man chuckles in relief as walks closer, “Thought I put too much, but it seems I was just impatient. Are you sore? You were asleep for quite some time, and the mattress I have down here isn’t quite the best.”

The man walks closer, setting down a tray of what looks to be your breakfast for the day on the table in the middle of the room. You retread to the corner where your bedside touches the wall, the chain on your ankle clinking as it moves with you. Eyes wide as you look at your new ankle chain.

The man sits down at the table and welcomes you to come sit with him. Your eyes dart between the man and your surroundings. Dark brown hair, dark tan skin, green eyes. The room itself was all made of concrete, and there was a small horizontal window near the ceiling. There's another room attached to this one, but you can't make what it's supposed to be under the one light that shines in this room. Is this a basement? You feel his eyes on you.

He continues to speak in a soft, gentle voice.

“Well, it’s not the best, but hopefu—” the man corrects himself with a chuckle, “soon enough, when you get better, you’ll be able to go upstairs and rest in our bed! Much softer, I’d say.”

“Who are you?! Why am I here? What did you do?!” is what you would shout, but his smile is so unnerving that you lose your words.

He inspects you from afar, taking note of your anxiousness. “I’m not going to hurt you, darling. I don't think I'm ever capable of doing so, really."

You try out your luck and ask your first question. “Who are you?” It's more of a demand than a question with how it came out of your mouth.

“Eat first while I talk, why don't you? The drug makes you crazy with hunger," the man chuckles, "I'd know.”

Your adrenaline masks your hunger greatly. You stay put though, the thought of eating something your captor gave you makes you even more anxious.

“It’s not like I poisoned it or anything. Look, I'll even taste it for you.”

He smiles as he chews. You still stay put, still taking in what happened since you woke. It's setting in now, that anxiety and panic.

“Well, to start off,” he says, looking mildly disappointed at the food, but switches his mood as he looks up to you, “I’m Mason. Your husband.”

You looked at him, wide eyed.

Are you going to be a sex slave of his? Is this some kind of sex dungeon? How did you even get here? Didn't you lock the door before you went to bed? You weren't even sure. Tracing back your steps doesn't work when you don't fucking remember anything.

“I just want you to know that I'll treat you well, better than myself, obviously, as my spouse only deserves to be happy," Mason smiles with that creepy, hollow smile. He stands to walk over to you, both hands raised and outreached. He approaches slowly to not startle you even more.

Tears are about to fall from your eyes, and you scream out, “Please, let me go home! I don't want to be with you. I don't even know you," you speak, but the tears make your voice choppy.

Mason approaches the bed, kneeling down, with his eyes softening even more if you haven't noticed it before. You push further into the corner, pushing the comforter with your feet to form a pathetic barrier. The chains clink loudly as you do.

“Honey, please understand me. I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to abuse you in any way. We're gonna be a simple, loving couple; because we're meant to be. We're lovers!” Mason fumbles with his words, and hand gestures wildly, trying to appear unthreatening. “Gosh, this isn't going how I expected. We're supposed to celebrate today together, albiet you getting used to your situation. You're with me, there's no need to be afraid, you're safe.”

His reassurance slip in one ear and out the other. You're too scared to understand, he sees. Mason climbs onto the bed, still moving as slowly as he can. But the way his eyes focus on you, unblinking, it feels like he's stalking you down. The smile doesn't make it any better.

“The police are gonna find me and jail you if you do this. Please just let me go,” Your begging is more forceful. “Please. I w-won't tell a-anyone.” You're full-on crying now.

“The police aren't gonna do anything, because I took care of it; in the same manner that I'm going to take care of you: devotedly careful. You're just confused right now because it's a new thing you need to get used to and understand, dearest.”

Like you, your words go in his ear and out the other. You jump forward to push him away, trying to make your way to the door. Mason grabs you tightly, pulling you towards his chest. You fight against him, sobbing, but he restrains you easily. You're exhausted, too hungry, and too emotionally drained to fight back. All you could do is measly push him back. The drug still has its grip on you.

Mason hugs you tight like he's squeezing you. “I know you're very confused right now, and you don't know what's going on, but I need you to know this,” he pets your hair, “you're being manipulated, by everyone close to you. Your friends, your coworkers, and even your DAMN family. Their manipulation conditioned you so much, you don't even realize how much they've hurt you.”

He continues to try to comfort you while you're in his lap. Kissing your forehead, petting your hair, and holding you tightly so you can't get away. The physical affection Mason gives you makes you cry harder. You can't accept this to be happening.

“But don't worry about them, darling. I've taken care of them too. They've hurt as much as they've hurt you.” He nuzzles your head. The sound of exhausted weeping fills the basement-like room.

“They don't deserve the mercy of such a caring angel such as yourself, so I tried my hardest to make them suffer. Obviously, I let them live so they can feel the pain of losing you, amongst other things."

You don't know if you're grateful Mason didn't kill anyone or furious that he hurt them.

“We don't need to think about those people anymore, though. We don't need to care about your career, or making enough money for rent. We can focus on what's REALLY important, me and you."

Locking you in with his legs, Mason rubs his thumbs under your eyes, but it's a pointless gesture. You push his hands away, more tears flowing down your cheeks. He goes back to smoothing down your hair, albeit now with some stronger restraint on your fighting body.

"I can focus on you. I'll protect us from all of them. Every single one. No one will hurt you like the world has done to you. Not when you have me. We will get through this, my love. It'll be ok.”

You shout out, “Please, I just want to go home. Let me go, you're fucking psychotic!” Your fight is coming back, trying to hit, claw, bite your way out of his grip. The bleeding of his wounds doesn't deter him away from you for a second. He's just too strong, too much of a manic to care.

“You are home, first of all, and I know the basement sucks but I'll let you go once you're better. It's a promise, darling. You'll be able to walk inside the house, cook your delicious food, and do all sorts of things.”

As fast as your fight began, it diminished as quickly. The adrenaline wore off as he subdued you even tighter. You couldn't even move a limb, much less than a finger. He gives your head a kiss.

“But for now, I'll feed you. I'll wash you. I'll take you to the bathroom. I'll do everything you could ever need. Now, and forevermore.”

Mason cups your cheek in his hand and directs you to face him. With your red, teary eyes, you gaze into his. His piercing stare makes you worry about what's to come.

“It's a promise, my love."

Nothing he says comforted you in the slightest. It feels too much like a bad dream. But the pain of his hug and the redness of your chained ankle says otherwise. Mason sensed you calmed down, lessening his grip ever so slightly. You try once more, and with all your strength, you push yourself out of his grasp.

Running, but still wobbly from the aftermath of the drugs, you make your way to the table, knocking down chairs to slow him down, and trying to reach the door. Of course, you don't make it. You fall almost immediately after feeling a stab behind your thigh.

Mason injects a clear liquid from the syringe he embedded in you, and you fall into his arms. He puts the empty syringe back in his pocket. It's getting dark pretty quick.

"Until you get better, I'll take care of us. I'll take care of everything."

[rewordthis]

The struggles of art, are not for everyone.

It’s really not, indeed.

You have to like the process first and foremost.

If when putting the tip of the pencil down onto paper your main thoughts are how you’re bad, how you won’t have any progress, or hope you’ll be as good as those famous artists you follow on here or Twitter, then you’re really doing it wrong.

I’ve been drawing for forever and I still don’t seem to make anything better than before but having an old drawing around always puts things into perspective. I draw because it gives me peace of mind. If it just gives you anxiety then sure, it’s not for you.

And in the end, what I love the most about it is the sensation of my pencil-tip scratching that blank void that a sheet of paper is. Not the prospect of earning likes, a following, or money from it. I have tons of art that’ll never see the light of day for many reasons, that I’m so hang up on the fact that I made it. I was in my best condition when I made those pieces, in the right headspace, I was whole. The muses guided my hands these times, God smiled down on me.

What can I say? I’m a girl of simple things.

But the whole debate about whether AI is a medium for creation or easy theft, has soured my mood.

I do NOT consider AI art when its main ‘reference’ is straight up stealing and plagiarising someone’s sweat and tears. Before feeding it your favourite artist’s (or writer’s) work to mince and chew it up like it’s nothing in order to vomit a halfassed attempt at creation on your part remember this, the artists and writers the works of you used, are real people. They breathe, they eat, they cry. They pour TIME into their works. Time that you do NOT respect. They put feelings into their works. Feelings that you do NOT respect. For some of them, it’s also their main income. Income that you DEVALUE by stealing what is considered a unique trait of their trade!

You will NEVER learn anything nor get better at anything other than stealing that way. Because you haven’t known the value of hard work. The value of putting a chip of your soul into what you make. The value of living inside every work you’ve ever CREATED. You never lost sleep, food, or a piece of your sanity trying to make something from scratch. Trying to make it work. Trying to give birth to something unique.

What pitiful existences really, are those who can’t value someone else’s soul enough to respect it…

Anyway… this is getting heavy for me so I’m not going to rant over this anymore. I just want to say that I’m going to release some basic everyday steps for those who really want to learn drawing to follow on their own. Art takes time. Great writing takes time. It also takes for someone to be happy each time for what they were capable of creating.

That said, let me be clear that these mini exercises aren’t gonna clinch you a job at mappa, nor are they going to teach you proportions or whatever else those tutorials promise you, they’re specific to making you understand how 3D and observation works in order for you to be able to pick the elements you need every time you make a new piece. That’s all!

Progress isn’t jumping from 3yo art to fucking Rembrandt. It’ll suck ass before it even looks remotely decent!

Make sure to have that☝️printed and posted on your wall. That’s an order! *flexes whip*

Ok, I’m kidding, but seriously that’s your only motto from now on if you want to get better.

And now let’s prepare the ground for your exercises.

What you’ll need first is either a normal pencil or a 2mm one. No 0,5’s or whatever… in general NO mechanical pencils. Personally I’d recommend starting with a wooden pencil, though.

A good eraser that doesn’t smudge. It doesn’t matter what colour or brand as long as it erases the graphite well and without too much mess. Remember, NO SMUGES! *Forgot to say, a charcoal eraser will be a good friend, if it’s affordable. (Sorry for forgetting that.)

Now, hardness:

Find your typical hand writing pressure in the table below.

Generally the harder you press, the more difficult to erase. So bigger pressure (aka black marks, scratches etc) is 5.

5 4 3 2 1

2H H HB B 2B

How it works:

If you’re 3 you’ll need:

H: tracing

HB: outline

2B: shading

If you’re a 5 you’ll need:

2H: tracing

H or HB: outline

B: shading

If you’re 1 you’ll need:

HB: tracing

HB or B: outline

2B: shading

If you are 2 or 4 you’ll have to go through trial and error. Sorry. Just keep in mind that depending on where you lean; extremes or average (3), you follow the guidelines above.

For example, I am a hard 5 (if not 5,5 lol) so at some point I resorted working with just 2H and HB. I only ever use B when I need something to be black— which admittedly happens rarely. It’s only a few times you’ll need to depict actual black.

> You generally need a tracing pencil that won’t leave too dark visible marks behind when erased. People 5 and 4 will have to be a little careful though and not scratch the paper but that will come with practice.

> Your outline has to be enough to ‘stain’ the paper so you won’t lose your main sketch. It’s also correction time. Yey!

> Your shading shouldn’t smudge because you’re going to use layers. Yes. Even in traditional art you darken in layers, typically in as light moves as possible and in varying angles until you get the shade you want but that’s for later.

I personally don’t have any specific papers to propose to you (bitch you’re using basic photo-printing A4 papers wth lol). You’ll just need a hard surface, especially my 5 and 4 palls.

Ok, that’s it for today, folks.

Let me also slap a disclaimer here: I am NOT a professional art tutor. I just love art. 🤗

[torchstelechos]

Hi! Thank you for your answer to my anonymous question, I enjoyed reading it!! And maybe I didn't feel the same emotions because I didn't play the prologue, it was interesting to hear about your feelings, thoughts and emotions about it!

I actually wanted to share one thing I found while browsing "THE ISAT SCRIPT"

So, I haven't seen it in the game personally, but apparently you can try to stab your.. friends?

That's the point, try because Siffrin won't let you do it

An interesting fact is that after a certain number of attempts, Siffrin will call this… intrusive thoughts.

Interestingly, Siffrin seems to consider the Player's actions to be his own thoughts, albeit sometimes obsessive ones, so… where does Siffrin end and where does the Player begin? I wonder how many more little things like that are in the game

Have a good day!

GRRRRR GRRRRRRRRR, OOOOOHHH I DIDNT KNOW THIS!! I NEVER TRIED!!!! I'm going crazy, fucking off the walls chewing drywall crazy!!! I've always been of the opinion that we can't force Siffrin into doing something they don't want to do, and this is!!! So good to see!! But it does have some interesting implications of how our interactions with Siffrin affects their internal thoughts and feelings, if we can nudge them in specific ways that make him call it intrusive thoughts... its very clear how that may impact their mental health as he goes through the game. How much control do we have? Barely any. We aren't Siffrin and Siffrin doesn't have to listen to us, but he sure does hear us, huh? At this rate I'm just gonna have to sit down and actually discuss my thoughts on the wishes made by both Loop and Siffrin and how that impacts the story alongside the time craft used by all three of us.

Also I didn't answer this first but yaaay! Happy you liked my thoughts! And yeah, I did SASASA literally less than an hour before I started ISAT so it informed my reaction A LOT. For example, I didn't even fucking question if Loop was something or someone other than Loop before they asked us ;-; I was just like. Hehehe funny star person who I love <3 which really goes to show how crushing the guilt was when I realized who they were to us, the players. I was like. Oh. OH GOD. IM SOOORRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY (lays on floor, tries not to cry, cries a lot)

[dearansur]

i don't have a therapist and i'm not gonna get one in the foreseeable future so instead i'll just talk to myself on my blog like a weirdo but anyways, stream of consciousness joyce style ahead

my fear of drawing (like. outright fear that grips me and makes me unable to do anything!) is probably (99% sure) connected with my own self and how close the identity of an 'artist' is tied to my identity as a person. i'm not scared of making Bad art because i'm well aware that i'm mid at best, i don't have much going for me and i'm already grateful for the people who are nice enough to be kind to me about it. but what scares me every time is that i see Nothing. that whatever i make is empty and boring and it says Nothing, and it brings nothing, means nothing. it's the same stale ugly thing that is okay but is never good and will never be good enough for me to be comfortable in my skin and proud of it enough to say 'yeah, i draw'. and with each year passing it becomes even more embarrassing to identify myself with anything artistic because clearly, i'm not. in those 10+ years of drawing i have reached nothing and god i have known people who have started the same time as me or later and who are thriving while i continued to stagnate after reaching my peak back in 2020. that was the last time i made anything that at least felt good.

surprisingly, i even miss the early days when i kept feeling like shit because i was dependent on my friends praising me but still could just make stuff that was fun and cringe back in 2013-2014. i was unhappy a lot of times but at least i let myself fail and be free and just do little stuff without the care in the world.

and then i had to rely on art to survive because i dropped out of university (being suicidal and depression is kinda tough when your family hates your guts for it and doesn't want to accommodate or help). i would later find an irl non-art job that would last me some months and then go back to live on commissions, and that was enough to live just above poverty line but at least i wasn't chained ot an office life or in retail. and now working this Normal Job for 7+ months i resigned from art once again completely, because well! i have no time! i'm not an artist anymore, it's over!

i still don't know how i got work in that project and still feel like they asked me to work with them because i didn't ask much in terms of pay and frankly, i do feel embarrassed of how badly i did that job, even if i tried really hard. but when i look at what i make, i feel like charging any money for it is absolutely obscene and i'm a fraud.

considering it's the only job i have ever done professionally art wise and never worked on any other projects, i'm more than sure that it was a lucky coincidence that shouldn't have happened to me but did nonetheless.

i keep making stupid ugly mistakes that a professional or at least a person with 10+ years of experience shouldn't be making and it infuriates me so much because it only fuels my belief that it's not for me, that i'm forcing it, that i should simply let it go and stop embarrassing myself at my big age by pretending to play an artist online. i have nothing to offer and it's pathetic to watch, especially 'competing' with teens who are simply having fun while i'm tearing my hair over not being good enough and not making anything worthwhile or that i can show to someone without regret or shame

it's simply. so fucking scary to look at what you built of yourself for years and what you relied on to prove that you have a place in this world and that you're not a waste of space who doesn't deserve to live, only to see that you have built absolutely nothing, and all that effort to prove you have worth means nothing too. i can't do anything well, even the things that i do best.

it all circles back to the people who are my complete opposite and who chewed me and spit me out with disgust and who are living their best lives while i'm struggling to not lose my mind, and it only makes me feel like they were in the right and they should have treated me worse and be even meaner and rub their superiority in my face harder so i would never dare to imagine we could be close or that i could be seen as a person to them. truth to be told, i should have just offed myself instead of whining so much but i have known i'm a coward for years so i will just pity myself and wallow in my missed opportunities and my inherent vices.

i used to want to be seen and understood and praised and validated for what i am and how i feel, but in the last years i simply don't care to be seen, i want to be gone and closed off and for no one to touch me or talk to me because i have Nothing to talk about, nothing to share, and i want no one to see or be close to me because it doesn't matter anymore. i don't believe it's possible for me to connect to anyone in a real way and i'm content with superficial surface level contacts with people (until i'm hit with a nasty realization that i'm no one's closest friend and no one considers me their first option and it should be fine because i put zero effort in being anyone's friend and yet it stings).

god i truly lost the thread of what i was rambling about. but what i can clearly see is that i'm losing whatever scraps i called 'self' and that with each passing day i become less a 'person' and more of a ghost i always thought i was and that i can't handle even people i like so i escaped from all online spaces that aren't tumblr (bc i don't talk to anyone here) and telegram (which i use to communicate at work and with my 3 irl friends). i'm ignoring people's messages and feel like shit and all i can say in my defense is that i'm scared and it sounds so stupid and pathetic. i fear getting older and still being nothing and meaning nothing and regretting not offing myself when i was depressed enough because now i have cats i take care of and i can't just leave them. for fuck's sake.

[muns0nslov3r]

“come on steve, keep your eyes open please. just stay with us.”

the muffled sounds of robins breaking voice filled steve’s ears faintly, his eyes scanning around but everything blurry. “steve look at me!” he could hear robin sob, feeling her trembling hands hold steve’s face as she looked at him. “don’t worry steve-“ her voice would fade and slowly come back.

“they are on their way.”

robin shakily said, who they was? steve didn’t know.. he didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t know how to react. but he could feel warmth all over his body, and a slight ache in his muscles. his mouth was dry, everything felt rushed but slowed down at the same time. the hurried sounds of feet, and sobs. those.. broken sobs of dustin, and robin.

those same exact sobs steve heard when he found dustin huddled over eddie, holding him in his arms as the life had slipped away from eddie’s body. the blood from the bites staining his shirt, that.. empty look in eddie’s eyes. the nothingness, god it chewed at steve. fuck did it eat at him, hearing the faint sobs of dustin whenever he’d visit because dustin’s mom called.

ever since eddie’s death, it felt like something was.. pulled away from him. someone he considered a friend, steve remembered the nightmares. how he’s wake up from him crying and screaming in his sleep, as those painful moments played over and over in them. the painful loss of eddie, that gut wrenching feeling.

half nights steve wouldn’t fall back asleep, shaken up from those nightmares. just laying, buried in his blanket as he stared at nothing with wide eyes.. tears threatening their ways to his eyes. surprisingly refer rick wasn’t arrested after all that, as he bought something.. just a little something to distract himself from reality.

he started off easy, just a simple ounce of weed. surely he’d be fine with just that, it lasted a good while. it helped, but not as much as he wanted.. cause he’d end up passing out anyways. then once he ran out, he went back.. wanting something harder at least.

something that would keep him awake, during those times his eyebags would be horrid. usually robin would point it out that he looked like he got ran over by a bus, but during those times he was high out of his mind.

so he’d laugh it off with robin like it was funny, yet it did feel like he did. he usually took it easy with his new drugs, yet the feeling felt so good.. he wanted it to last longer. so he took more at a time, during those times he’d struggle to shower. cause he just didn’t have the energy, he’d always make his way to the bathroom.. undress his shirt and would just break out in tears, his scars triggered something inside him.

he felt.. disgusted with what he saw, yet before then everytime steve stared in the mirror. he enjoyed seeing himself, how he did his hair made him confident. now his hair was just always messy, or greasy. his body littered in scars from past, it always torn him up inside, missing how he used to look.. yet he always remembered what eddie would say.

“those scars are gonna be.. badass, harrington.” eddie said in the woods, as steve just brushed it off.

most days really, robin would stay with steve. cuddled up on his couch, surely he probably doesn’t remember because he’d always be high out of this world. but he can remember the warmth, in his chest. that feeling of peace, that he always missed. most days steve would be careful with the amount of drugs he was taking, but today?

after going a while without it, trying to socialize with his parents when they visited. he didn’t care about the amount this time, he just needed to escape and get the fuck out of his mind. robin called, planning on asking about how it went.. sense steve was nervous as fuck, the phone rung one, no reply.

she called again, no reply. again, but no reply. so she hurriedly got to steve’s, terrified for her bestfriend. she had bursted into the room, to see steve lying on the floor in a mess of papers, clothes, little boxes, and.. needles.

robin felt her heart stop as she went down to steve’s side, having his head rest in her lap as she held him, close and tight.

“steve? steve can you hear me?”

she hurriedly said, grabbing her phone in ready to call for an ambulance. she heard footsteps downstairs, someone calling out steve’s name. “steve? are you home man? your door- is open?”

the voice called, as it was dustin’s. his footsteps went upstairs as he peered inside the room to see steve and robin, that image of them giving him strong deja vu. he pushed the door open to see steve, as he furrowed his brows.. tears hurriedly rushing to his eyes as he glanced around at the ground, his eyes locking with the needles then steve.. and his blissed out face.

“steve?..” his voice broke, those tears falling down his cheeks as he stood there in fear. “dustin- he’s okay- i swear.. he’s just tired- please- just.. he’s okay.” robin said as tears filled her eyes, glancing at dustin then steve, then back at dustin. “just- call for an ambulance please.” she sobbed, as dustin stared at them.. nodding his head slightly and taking the phone with quivering hands.

talking to the person on the phone as robin tried to keep steve’s eyes opened, as they would slowly roll back before going back to normal once robin patted his cheek to get his attention.

“steve come on.. stay awake.”

she sobbed, hugging him closely to her body. feeling his heart beat weak, as she just depended on not losing her bestfriend.. the person she could always go to and count on.

and dustin..? he just didn’t want to lose another person he cared for, a person he saw as a father figure to him. steve was the closest person to a father figure for him, he couldn’t lose him.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

First kiss headcanons for the phantomhive servants please?

I'm gonna fight my own ass 😭😭😭

He’s… a little nervous? Is that the right word? This isn’t something he’s done in a long time, kissing a new person. He’s been single for years now, aside from a fling here or there. Kissing someone he wants a real relationship with… it’s different than the kind of kisses when he knows something won’t last. He likes you, so he sort of hesitates to take the plunge. He doesn’t want to wreck things.

It happens half-spontaneously. You’re in the kitchen with him, maybe helping him cook, maybe just watching. Whatever he’s cooking, it’s the kind of thing that he needs to be around in case anything goes wrong, but he doesn’t need to watch it every second. So he’s talking with you, and somehow the two of you start singing some old song, and he starts dancing with you and… before you know it, you’re pressed up against each other, kissing.

Unfailingly, he tastes like cigarette smoke. There’s a little bit of some alcohol in there too, and a hint of cinnamon from the toothpicks he likes to chew on. He’s also surprisingly gentle while being passionate, pulling you in with a hand at the small of your back. Every kiss you’ve ever had before suddenly doesn’t matter; every single thing about his purges everyone else’s from your memory.

The first kiss he has with you is his first kiss, period. His childhood was so full of isolation and trauma and his young adulthood was spent adjusting to a new life, he… has never really had the nerve to start a romantic relationship. And if he were ever going to kiss someone, he’d want it to be someone he craves to be with long-term. So he’s just… never done it. Though, he really wants to!

When he kisses you for the first time, it’s at the end of a long day. He’s spent time with you in the garden, talking up a storm about anything and everything as he works. (Was he keeping you from your duties? Or… are you maybe a visiting noble…?) It’s been a good day, and upon sitting down with him, you take his hands. It’s actually you who makes the first move, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel pressured by his feelings. He wants you to choose him.

His lips are so, so soft, and they taste almost like fruit-infused water. Very plain, with a hint of something sweet; a mix of apple and orange. Because he’s been working in the garden, you might also ‘taste’ grass, due to the smell of it all over him. He’s too careful, aware that he could hurt you. So he doesn’t press in too far. He lets you be the one to drive the kiss, but it’s very clear he wants it just as much as you do.

It’s almost certainly no secret at all that she would love to kiss you. She has trouble hiding her feelings, especially if they happen to be romantic, so it’s probably incredibly obvious. Not only that, she thinks she’s being secretive. She believes she has a tighter lid on her feelings than she does, and it might happen that you catch her staring at your face. Of course, she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

It’s when you and the other servants are left to your own devices in the manor that the feelings you and Mey Rin have come bubbling to the surface. While it isn’t necessarily something the two of you try to hide, you do end up locking the door just in case things get a little heated. However, as much as she has her fantasies, she still considers herself a lady, so the farthest she goes is kissing you. And she doesn’t directly approach. But, God, she can’t remember ever wanting anything more.

Her lips taste of… nothing, really. There’s no strong things she uses day to day that make an impact on her lips, so the flavor of the kiss is pure and undiluted passion, buzzing through you like a shock of electricity. You can feel her knees weaken as she leans in against you for support — or perhaps to show how badly she needs this moment. She only breaks it when she has to come up for air. For however long you want her, she’s yours.

He finds the urge just as shallow as the urge for sex. It’s purely physical, something he wants because he thinks your appearance is attractive. Isn’t that it? He doesn’t really know any other way to look at it; his understanding of romantic feelings, even his own (maybe especially his own), is incredibly stunted. Still, he’s playing a gentleman, so he acts borderline demure about it, while still being charming, until he realizes that, actually, you might like to kiss him too.

Whilst Ciel is occupied with conducting some business in town, you and Sebastian are left alone outside with the carriage. However, Snake is the footman and that’s his job description, after all, so… you could slip away for just a moment, couldn’t you? That’s exactly what Sebastian intends, anyway, literally sweeping you off your feet into the nearest alley. Away from prying eyes, he can finally ask permission. What he’s really asking is, Do you want me as badly as I want you? As long as your answer is yes…

The kiss is perfect indeed, as expected of someone with his experience. His demonic nature, his base as a being of sin and lust, means that he tastes like whatever you crave him to taste like. Smoke? Cherry? Mint? Something ever so strange that you wouldn’t think a kiss would taste of? He wants so much to please you, he wants to be everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s careful with you, but… whatever flavor is on his lips, there’s also hellfire in his kiss. It will definitely keep you coming back. And, surprisingly, he discovers that there’s something deeper than a physical desire underneath it. Color him intrigued.

He’s never kissed anyone before. Ever. In his life. (Oh, please. It’s not the poor boy’s fault that people are rude enough not to find him attractive! He’s adorable!) The sentiment is appreciated, Emily. It doesn’t change the fact that no one has ever wanted to kiss him, though. That’s something he’s always ached for, like he’s some distressed prince in a fairytale who will be saved when someone kisses him. However… he’s lost hope for it. Even with you, he looks at you and can’t help thinking, They’re nice to me, but even they wouldn’t let someone as repulsive as me kiss them.

It’s really not something he expects to happen. He’s minding his own business, as much as one with not much business to mind can do so… playing with the snakes, in front of the fireplace in the manor’s sitting room. Then you come along, sit down next to him. Perhaps you reach over to pick up one of the snakes, or just stroke them. And Snake smiles that you want to do that. You catch him looking at you with that fond expression, and you just… lean over to fit your lips with his like puzzle pieces.

His lips are dry, with cracked and chapped skin that’s never been able to quite heal. He tastes sort of like saltwater, and there are two scales right there under his bottom lip that offer a novel texture. Although they’re too small and blend in with his skin tone too much to be seen at a distance, they’re impossible not to see and feel this close. He tries to pull away after a moment, with tears in his eyes, and it’s his attempt at offering you a ‘way out’. It’s everything he’s dreamed of, but he’s terrified that you kissed him out of pity rather than because you wanted to. Another kiss, followed by another, and another, along with a gentle embrace, will kill that fear.

[callsign-bunnie]

That fic of Valeria and Alejandro fighting over Rudy killed me a little (this is a compliment, it was really good). Could I ask for some comfort afterwards, please? Like them talking things out/realizing they've fucked up and trying to do better for Rudy?

Sure! For anyone curious, this is a part 2 to this post!

--

Rodolfo was tempted to take the truck and leave. Let Alejandro find his own way back. But, he didn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave Alejandro stranded like that.

Instead, he just waited in the driver’s seat, leaning his head back. He didn’t know why they couldn’t just give it up. This had been two years of him constantly being yanked back and forth. He wasn’t going to choose between them and he knew them, sharing wasn’t an option.

Maybe if he screamed at them again, they’d stop. Or leave him alone for a bit. This was hell. Leaving wasn’t an option and Rodolfo wasn’t desperate enough to consider suicide.

He wished he could cut himself in half, give one piece to each of them.

He jumped when the door suddenly opened, jerking away in hopes he wouldn’t be just grabbed. Valeria was standing there, her hands raised. “I’m not gonna grab you. Okay? Just...” She hesitated.

Rodolfo frowned, glancing around her, starting to panic a little when he didn’t see Alejandro. Had she killed him?? Oh god, he hadn’t meant that when he said duke it out!

“Woah, woah,” Valeria frowned, seeming to pick up on his panic. “Just, come out of the truck. We want to talk to you.”

Rodolfo relaxed a little at the “we” and hesitated before getting out of the truck. He finally saw Alejandro, standing at the end of it, and relaxed. He didn’t think Valeria would kill Alejandro, but he kept a healthy anxiety, just in case.

Rodolfo followed Valeria closer to Alejandro, frowning a little. “What’s going on?”

“We have... talked it out.” Alejandro shrugged. “We have reluctantly decided to...” He made a face, glaring at Valeria. Rodolfo tensed, immediately worried they were going to fight again. Alejandro sighed and relaxed when he noticed, sighing. “Share.”

Rodolfo was shocked. “Tell me the truth.”

“We are!” Valeria spoke up. “It’s not fair to you and as much as we despise each other, we’re not being fair to you. You don’t deserve to be the... chew toy? between us.”

They both seemed to look ashamed.

“Okay,” Rodolfo hesitated, still unsure if he believed them. But... he supposed taking the chance was better than before. “Okay... Okay. I’ll accept that.”

They both perked up and Alejandro grinned. He went grab Rodolfo’s arm but Rodolfo flinched back. “No- no. If... you two are gonna share, I’m setting some boundaries. No random grabbing me. I don’t like it. You two both grab me at the same time and then I end up wrenched between you and it hurts.”

Alejandro frowned. Valeria seemed to almost whine. “But I like touching you.”

“Ask.” Rodolfo sighed, a little irritated. They were like children, sometimes.

This seemed to be a new concept to Valeria, but she nodded.

Rodolfo relaxed. “No more kidnapping, either! I’m sick of being drugged and knocked out and then waking up somewhere I don’t recognize!”

Both winced, looking guilty again. But, both nodded. “Do you forgive us?”

“No...” Rodolfo admitted, reluctantly. “But... I’m willing to try.”

Alejandro relaxed. “Awesome, let’s go home.”

“Excuse me, we never discussed where he was going.” Valeria laughed.

“We don’t have to-”

“We agreed to share.”

Rodolfo sighed, looking up at the sky. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

He frowned, noticing the silence, and looked at them, again. Both seemed to be wincing rather hard. “Where do you want to go?” Alejandro asked him, seeming hesitant.

Rodolfo frowned and then shrugged, nevermind, maybe they were making an effort. He decided to throw Valeria a, albeit small, bone. “I’ll stay with Valeria. She went through all the effort to kidnap me. But... just a few days.”

Valeria grinned and flipped Alejandro off. Rodolfo tensed at the flash of rage across Alejandro’s face, and they both seemed to notice, immediately. Valeria coughed, looking embarrassed. “Thank you for choosing to stay with me.”

Rodolfo relaxed again. “Please, please don’t make me regret it.”

--

Hey, want to get added to a tag list for this ship or AU? Reply to this with "add me to the tag list for [ship/au]" and I will tag you in everything I post for whichever you choose. If you want to be added to a different tag list, send me an ask or dm.

[junk-and-disorderly]

He Ain’t Heavy - 1984 - 14

1984 - 14

Rain pattered against the window, softened only by the crooning of Marty Robbins and his gunslinger ballads. Had he known he was gonna have a kid in less than twenty four hours, he would have picked better music. Not that it would have made a lick of difference--he had no idea what the youth of today listened to. Besides, who didn’t like ‘Big Iron’?

Wayne drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, focusing on the maw of darkness stretching before them, instead of the heavy gaze coming from the backseat.

“You like Marty Robbins, boy?” He looked in the rear view mirror just in time to see the kid’s gaze drop.

“Marty Robbins is fine, sir.”

Wayne huffed in amusement---sir. Nobody had called him that since his military days. “Uncle Wayne or Wayne will do just fine.”

“Yes sir--I-I mean Wayne. Uncle.”

He turned the mirror to get a better look at the kid. An angry purple welt nearly engulfed his left eye, leaving a sliver of brown to peek out from the swollen skin. He had such large eyes, dark and deep, and so full of fear---just like his mama’s.

A lump formed in his throat. Shoulda been there sooner.

“You still go by Edward?” The question came out gruff, all rough edges. Maybe with time, he could wear those corners down.

Tension bled into the silence as he watched the kid gnaw on his lower lip. The skin was chapped and red--a repeated habit. Then his hands scrubbed through the stubbly buzz cut, his eyes darting back to Wayne, then back to his chewed nails and ragged cuticles.

He tried again, softer this time. “What do you want to be called?”

As expected, the kid responded with a full body flinch before blurting out, “Eddie.” A moment later, softer and quieter, “Can I go by Eddie?”

Right. Edward was his daddy. “Sure, Eddie.”

Wayne sighed. How is it that of all the relatives, extended families, and aunts once and twice removed, Eddie ended up here? Sure, Maybe Wayne wasn’t the worst option-- he had a steady job, lived a quiet albeit isolated life, and paid his taxes-- but that only confirmed that the standard set for guardianship was abysmally low.

Of course, he had to consider who had set the standard in the first place. He didn’t need to ask his nephew who’d given him the black eye and put the fear of God in him.

At least Wayne had enough sense to snap the branches of their family tree. There would be no more fuckups from the Munson family, no-siree. Just himself, a barren limb all on its own.

Well. Alone with the newly grafted sapling currently withering in the backseat. He turned his focus back to the road, watching daylight slowly creep over the horizon through the gloom.

They still had a long drive ahead of them.

+++++++

It was late morning by the time they arrived at the trailer park. The rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy with the promise of a muggy afternoon.

He pulled up to the trailer, throwing the truck in park. He couldn’t imagine what was running through his nephew’s mind. Eddie had bounced from a house (if you could call it that--his brother’s house was borderline condemned), to a foster home (which Wayne had thankfully not visited) to a trailer. It was a nice tin can, nicer than wherever Eddie had laid his head, but still a tin can nonetheless. It would have to do, at least until the kid was eighteen.

In the meantime though, he had no clue what to do, outside meeting basic needs.

That was the main problem; he had no idea what Eddie was actually thinking. Sure, he could read the kid--it didn’t take a genius to see the boy was terrified out of his mind--but that didn’t tell him what Eddie wanted, what he needed, or who he was. The kid had spoken all of four sentences on the way down, only speaking when spoken to.

The thought made his gut clench.

It wasn’t that he minded the quiet--Wayne wasn’t much of a talker himself. Too many people were doing the talking already, so he was more than happy to do the listening. What bothered him more was the fact that the teenager in the backseat was worse than a stranger--he was a ghost. There was no trace of the little boy who doodled in the margins of his mother’s postcards.

Those wide eyes had remained shuttered the drive over and remained closed to observation.

Wayne cleared his throat, watching as Eddie tightened the grip on his seatbelt. “It ain’t much, but it’s home.” He gestured out the window. “Folks typically keep to themselves here, but they’re nice enough. Might even be a few people your age around.” Hopefully something different would be good--for both of them.

They loitered in the cab a moment, waiting each other out. A beat passed before Wayne broke the stalemate. If he wanted the car unloaded sometime in this century, he’d have to make the first move. “C’mon, let me show you to your room.”

There was a tell-tale click of the seatbelt, followed by an even longer pause. “...My room?

He shrugged his shoulders. “Teenagers need their privacy.”

Wayne was already unpacking the other side of the truck, pulling a battered cardboard box from the seat. The rain may have stopped, but wasn’t about to be lulled into a false sense of security. Better to get things squared away and start on the next task at hand: what the hell was he supposed to do with a teenager?

Eddie oozed out of the backseat, hands clenched around the neck of an acoustic guitar like a lifeline. From the moment Wayne came to pick him up, the guitar had been tucked protectively against him by a makeshift strap. Even now, it bobbed unsteadily against his back when he stooped to grab a box.

They walked towards the trailer, Eddie trailing half a step behind. Balancing the box on his hip, Wayne undid the various locks and nudged the door open. They were immediately dumped into the living room, and greeted by the oppressive silence of a house half-lived in.

Wayne set the box down on the threadbare couch with a grunt, flicking on a nearby light. An orange glow illuminated the space, softening the edges of the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was tidy, old habits instilled in him from his military days. Once he’d gotten the news of his brother’s incarceration (from a message left on his answering machine, no less), it’d been a mad dash to find his nephew. Ideally he would have had more time to spruce up the place, but he was more focused on meeting with social workers than playing house.

“Your room is down the hall.” It was impossible to miss, seeing as it was the only room in the entire trailer, minus the bathroom.

As expected, Eddie wordlessly shuffled down the hall, guitar bouncing with each step. Wayne’s heart leapt to his throat every time the pegs scraped against the wall, threatening more permanent damage to both his home and the instrument.

Jesus, he was not prepared for a kid. When did people stop child proofing the house? He shook his head, leaving the boy to his lonesome to unpack his thoughts. Wayne could unpack the physical shit. There were still a few boxes and a garbage sack to unload--nothing his old bones couldn’t handle.

The caseworkers had warned him--‘Eddie will be a troubled young man, he might be a handful. Are you sure you want to take him on?’.

He couldn’t help but snort. Had he been ready to go to Vietnam? Hell no---but he did that shit anyways. Life wasn’t in the habit of handing out choices; you did what could, and took the lumps that came with it. Besides, Eddie’s welfare was his concern, and the kid had been dealt a shit enough hand.

Wayne was strong enough to carry him--he ain’t heavy.

It took no more than thirty minutes to carry in the wreckage of the kid’s life. He shuffled along the well worn path from the living room to the front door, mumbling a familiar song from his youth. There hadn’t been a peep from his nephew, which while not surprising, signaled he could do with a check-in.

The last box landed with a thud against the floor. “You still alive in there, Eddie?”

No response.

Wayne stretched, popping his back, before walking down the hall. Sure enough, the door to the bedroom was closed. He rapped his knuckles against it and tried again. “Eddie?”

The door swung open, bringing him face to face with the wild-eyed teen. Instinctually, he took a step back; never corner a frightened animal.

“Truck’s unloaded—your stuff is in the living room if you want help.”

Eddie took the opening to wriggle out of his room, snapping the door shut behind him. The guitar was still strapped to his back, and let out a painful discordant twang as it knocked against the door that caused them both to wince.

“You might want to find a spot for your girl in your room. Not sure how many more knocks she can handle.” He motioned to said instrument.

Eddie swallowed, nodding his head, but only tightened his grip on the handle more. She’d certainly seen better days: Multiple strings had been broken, curled around the chipped fretboards. Damaged, but not broken. With time, maybe they could fix her.

They stood there a moment, not making eye contact with one another. They may as well be strangers.

Finally, he let out a sigh, trying to breathe life into the awkward stalemate between them. “Listen, kid. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But I ain’t your daddy.”

A hand flew up to the guitar strap, knuckles white. That got Eddie’s attention.

“People have told you a lot of bullshit, broken a lot of promises, and caused a lot of hurt. I ain’t dumb enough to think I won’t do the same somewhere down the line.”

The boy’s gaze was jittery, looking everywhere but his face.

“...But I’m going to do right by you, the best I know how.” Despite the wide berth he’d given the boy, he still flinched when Wayne motioned closer to the knob.

“There’s a lock on the door—“ he didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes jumped to his face with terror. A pit formed in his stomach, but he pushed through it. “—-you can lock the door from the inside. If you need to lock it to feel safe, you do that. Just don’t lock me out all the time, okay boy?”

Words had never been his strong suit, better at using his hands to do the talking for him, but he hoped it was enough.

He turned back towards the living room, bypassing the boxes and going straight to the kitchen. Boy could probably do with some food.

To his surprise, Eddie was in the living room, hovering over the boxes. Their eyes met over the cutaway in the kitchen, and for the first time, Eddie held his gaze. There was something different to him, eyes wide and searching, studying him.

He must have been satisfied by what he found, because his face split into a small tentative smile. “Want to help me unpack? It’s your only chance to be super nosy.”

God, he was going to absolutely ruin himself for this kid, wasn’t he?

Wayne returned the smile, “Okay, Eddie. Let’s do that.”