#Have you left already because I was too late

[alchemistc]

Y'all were so insistent that I keep going with the Eddie Fixes It By Making It Worse post breakup fic.

This is officially a three-parter. Sorry. Or you're welcome.

You can read part one here

We have to make out in front of Tommy.

Buck's in the ice cream aisle, reminding himself that he has given himself three more days of moping and ignoring his diet before he gets his ass in gear and starts to live a life again. The Halo Top is mocking him, jeering and heckling as he goes for the Blue Ribbon. Mint chocolate, because Buck always loved it and he can almost forget the mock fight he'd had with Tommy three months in when he told Buck he refused to allow toothpaste flavored treats into his home, and how they'd barely gotten back to his place without a public indecency citation.

He stares at the text until his eyes cross.

What, he sends back, and slowly, cautiously, returns the pint of ice cream to its spot in the cooler. Maybe he should lay off the sugar. He's had enough.

Trust me

It comes in almost immediately and Buck tries to rewind, tries to figure out what any of this means, what the context is, why he's getting an actual Trust Me Bro from his best friend.

You've already met your last and it's not me comes crashing back to the forefront of his mind. He's had a full 36 hours to forget it, and he had been nearly there, nearly ready to chalk it up to Tommy trying to make him angry. Which he's been doing a really fucking excellent job of, lately. Almost like he knows all the buttons to push. Like Buck had given him the owners manual.

Tommy had meant Eddie? How could Eddie have possibly come to that conclusion? What the hell was he doing sending Buck half across town to the market for snacks when -

Buck judges the distance from this market to Eddie's. Then to Tommy's.

"Oh you mother -."

A woman squeaks by with her kid in the cart seat and glares.

---

Are you at Tommy's right now

No question marks. This is an accusation. Buck's thankful there are no perishables in his cart as he abandons it in the lane and hikes it towards the door. It's a dick move, and Buck feels, a little spitefully, like if anyone remembers him they'll remember him from the times he and Tommy giggled and play-fought down the aisles, so they'll think of Tommy when they think of the cart left behind. Resent him for it, maybe.

Not like Tommy isn't particularly good at just leaving things behind.

Yeah. Join me.

Buck breaks through the doors and feels a little woozy. This might be a panic attack. His chest fucking hurts.

🖕just get my stuff and meet me at yours. tell Tommy we burned all his shit

Eddie is an asshole. I'm not gonna LIE to the man. Also he definitely doesn't have an Evan box ready to go, so take what you will from that

Buck's still in that vicious cycle where he goes from angry to upset to sad in record time, no barriers in between, where every bruise feels like it's healing too fast so he keeps pressing in just to watch the color muddle. He hates this.

It'd be a Buck box, Buck texts back, just to release some of the pressure behind his temples, and he pulls in a few deep breaths before he jogs for the Jeep. He's gonna go home. Throw on the DVD copy of Sleepless In Seattle Tommy left behind and then maybe once that's done he'll throw the damn thing in a blender.

Are you coming or not?

Buck turns the ignition and peels out in a direction that won't lead to his own home, or the things Buck has been too much of a mopey bastard to pack up and return to their owner. At a red light two miles down the road, he shares his location.

Eddie sends back an ominous Hope you brushed your teeth today.

---

Eddie gets the door and it sucks just as much as if Tommy had. They barely ever spent time at Tommy's, and Buck can see it now for the boundary it was. When they had, though, their time had been split pretty evenly between Buck picking him up for a date, and Eddie wanting to leave the quiet echo of his own house to hang with them - a car on a lift and beers shared between them, Buck watching the pull of muscle beneath Tommy's shorts as he took Eddie down to the mat, Tommy's fingers drifting through the short curls at the back of Bucks head while Eddie yelled about triple-doubles and chatted with Tommy about how impossible coverage was for some guy named Joker.

Buck has never actually figured out who that guy was. Eddie hated the Mavericks and he hated the Lakers but Eddie also complained about the guy so much he definitely wasn't a Clipper.

Eddie gets him by the forearm when Buck shows clear signs of regretting this. Drags him through the front door before Buck can fully execute his spin and stomp back to the Jeep.

Tommy's next door neighbor had waved at him from her yard where she was doing something new with her display of bird sculptures, and Buck hadn't had the heart to do anything but raise his hand back.

It's less than ten seconds before Eddie is steering him down the hall, into the living room. It's cozy in here. Lived in. Mismatched furniture that somehow fits, a blanket thrown over the side of the couch, dark wood tables and light wood flooring and lamps that look like they came from an estate sale up in the Hills. A huge ass TV set above the mantle of a gas fireplace that Buck never even had the opportunity to see working before... Before.

Tommy is a shadow coming out of the kitchen, and Buck can't help but be a little pleased that he looks as crappy as Buck feels.

---

Eddie claps his hands together before either of them can get a word in. "Okay. Here's the thing. You're both dumbasses and there's a lot of shit that you guys gotta figure out on your own. But apparently you," he points at Tommy with the lip of a beer bottle. Corona. Tommy hates the stuff, and Buck is reminded once again how dearly Eddie loves him, "need empirical evidence that there's no deeply repressed sexual tension between Buck and I. So."

"You're insane," Tommy says, and Buck feels like snapping at him. He's probably right. This is an insane thing to do. Eddie ambushed his ex and then ambushed Buck in the frozen treats aisle and now he wants to kiss Buck to prove a point? What??

Eddie ignores it. Turns to Buck. "How do you wanna do this?"

And now would be the time, actually. Now would be the time to cut the thread, make it clean, break it for good. Only despite his protest, Tommy is staring between them and his expression looks almost... hungry. Frightened, at the same time. Oh. Oh.

He really had thought...?

Eddie's a fucking idiot. Buck doesn't want to kiss him. He's squared with the fact that he definitely had a crush when they first met and he's definitely been attracted to Eddie and just not realized it but he doesn't want Eddie. He doesn't want a life with Eddie, not like that. He doesn't- He isn't -

He loves Eddie more than almost every other person on the planet, but he's not in love with him.

Buck squares his shoulders. Nods. "Yeah, okay," and then he's taking three strides to meet Eddie at the coffee table.

---

"Oh come on, are you serious?"

Buck ignores the exclamation from the peanut gallery. Tries to figure out where to put his hands. He's never really noticed the height difference before. It's barely anything - a couple inches at most - but it feels like he's looming, this close. Which is stupid. He's been this close to Eddie a million times.

Eddie bends his knees to set the beer down. Darts his gaze back up to Buck.

Buck's seen him pull this move before, and has to bite down the urge to cackle because those big brown cow eyes have charmed women up and down California and probably plenty of Texas too but the only time Buck's ever seen them look genuine was when he was looking at Shannon.

He's got a good face. Angular in all the right places, expressive in a way a lot of men try to hide. Good eyelashes, clear skin.

Eddie gets a thumb in one of Buck's belt loops and tugs.

It's a good move. It's a move that has inspired Buck to sink to his knees on more than one occasion with the right men. Man. Just the one man.

He desperately bites back a giggle when the front of their thighs brush and Buck feels nothing more than the heat coming off Eddie.

Eddie's flushed, just a little, like he's well aware how ridiculous this all is, but he's got his I'm So Fucking Serious face on and there is a part of Buck, something fucked up and broken and wrong, that wonders how Tommy would feel to see it. To know that Buck is out there in the world kissing people who aren't Tommy. It's not like he'd ended things because he didn't care for Buck, because he wasn't attracted to him. It's gotta sting, right?

Buck gets a hand on Eddie's waist, just above his hip bone. He's never actually paid attention to how much more slim Eddie is, before, how big Buck's hands feel against him.

The night Tommy had first kissed him, Buck had spent an indeterminate length of time replaying every second of the interaction. The lead up, the frank honesty, the way Buck's entire body had followed the flow of Tommy's. Heart racing, body thrumming: when Tommy had ducked his head, when he'd laughed, when he'd opened up his body language and dropped a tiny morsel of his heart, Buck had felt himself drawn in.

The lips that had caught his had set him alight.

Eddie shifts his weight and blinks up at him and for half a second Buck wants this to be a good kiss - earth shattering, life changing. He wants to feel it. Wants it to be better than every kiss he and Tommy ever shared.

The pointer and middle finger he uses to tilt Eddie's chin up are petty as hell.

[mothmothwoth]

It’s about Nanami loving her brother like Shilo loves his mother and being kept in the dark by them. It’s how they were both privileged by this system to an extent (Nanami having power and connections due to her being Touga’s sister and Shilo having the same from being the Prince of all vampires) And then still being isolated and hurt by that same system!! Because they are both children. Children who are used as tools and not allowed to know the real world or other people because of their authority figure. It’s how in a conflict relating to finding out a family secret and being lied to their whole life they both run away from home. And they find themselves somewhere so, so much worse. They both see another authority figure who is loved by most being horrible, being a monster. And having no where else to go. And that figure tries to get them to follow their lead, to join them in their rule. And they both are horrified and sickened by that offer.

but no it isn’t 1:1 by any means and I have a lot of Anthy Shilo parallels as well but god. (Thinks about Revolutionary girl utena and The suckening and implodes instantly)

Can anyone hear me.

[stoat-party]

Every Fallout 4 Companion’s Approximate Birth Year (Part 3/3)

CVRIE — 2076

I assume Miss Nannies went out of production when the world exploded.

Codsworth — 2077

His box is still in your house during the prologue.

He also mentions enjoying the “months” he’s spent with you, though he might mean since Shaun was born.

Nick — 2175

We know it was over a century ago, but it can’t have been too far prior to the Gen 3 rollout around 2227.

I think Nick is the older brother, because it makes sense to start by creating a synth with stored personalities before trying to make one that develops a personality autonomously.

Longfellow — 2223

This man is only in his SIXTIES, they are LYING TO YOU

The Children of Atom were full-fledged on the Island when Longfellow was young. Confessor Cromwell is the one who sent them to Maine.

But he couldn’t have become Confessor until the mid-2250s, because he’s only FORTY-FOUR in Fallout 3, and he had a background as a trader before that! AND there still had to be time for the Children to travel all the way to Maine.

So Longfellow was born in the twenties, had his sad backstory in the fifties, and is about 65 in Fallout 4.

Strong — 2230

Strong could have been anyone, but I think he was either a divorced dad who would’ve been an accountant in another life, or just Mayor McDonough.

Hancock — 2235

Is 53-year-old Hancock controversial? Let me cook.

There’s support for the theory that synth McDonough was created before the election in 2282. We can assume the human had full gray hair at that point, because synths don’t go gray. So he was probably in his fifties at least.

John was younger, but he can’t have been that much younger. So he was probably ghoulified in his late forties.

Deacon — 2245

If you accept the John D. theory, this does put him a little on the young side, but it fits.

Gage — 2251

There’s not much backstory from his teens up to 2286, and I’m tempted to believe it was a shorter period. But he has late-thirties eyes.

…Eye.

Cait — 2260

Her parents helpfully drew the line at child trafficking, so we have a good idea of her age. She was 18 when she went into slavery and about 23 when she left.

Some time later, she spent about three years at the Combat Zone. Assuming some buffer room between the two periods, I put her at 27 years.

Danse — 2261

He’d have lived in the Institute for awhile, then Rivet City, then the Brotherhood.

He was already a paladin in 2277, but Maxson says it took him “many years” to become one.

Preston — 2262

I don’t know what it is about him that screams 25-year-old to me.

He joined the Minutemen at 17, then had “a few good years” before 2282 when Becker died.

MacCready — 2264

He was twelve in August 2277, and at that point he’d been mayor for three years.

He became mayor at ten. So he’s got to be nearly thirteen at the start of Fallout 3, which would make him 23 in Fallout 4.

Piper — 2166

Nat seems 13 to me. 

If Piper is old enough to have taken care of her as a baby, but not old enough to have significant memories of their mother, 21 sounds about wright.

Curie — 2277

Glory escaped the Institute in 2280, and she and G5 had known each other for some time before that.

Ada — 2281

Jackson seems to have created her reasonably recently.

Dogmeat IV — 2285

I think he is ouppy:)

X6-88 — 2287. 

Yeah, I said it.

This man thinks he’s so evil but he’s an actual baby.

My reasoning is that he wishes he had been there to see the University Point massacre in 2286, but apparently wasn’t.

It makes the game so much funnier.

If he was born earlier in the year, he could have been trained in time for the Kellogg flashback.

Part 1

Part 2

[mikareo]

eternal sunshine ── itoshi rin

w.c. 841 content: itoshi rin x fem reader, post-break up angst

༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

are you okay?

he keeps asking. that same question appears in your messages a few times a day, a few times too many. it's nice to know he cares, a little bit in the slightest at least, but it doesn't help with the raw aching in the center of your chest— where all of the affection you hold for rin is struggling to find a place in your body to settle. it's pulling at your skin and tugging your limbs, urging your fingers to type the infamous 'i miss you' that lives in the delusion your heart wants to come true.

but you do miss him.

you really miss him.

you want to move on, but you can't. you can't seem to push past the denial that you aren't together anymore. you broke up. he broke up with you. you aren't a couple. you aren't his girlfriend. you aren't the love of his life. rin will forget about you. he'll forget you. you don't matter.

you're nothing and he's everything.

he holds so much real estate in your chest that you find yourself starting the car, backing onto the street, and heading towards the home you once shared. will you regret this? probably. do you even care anymore? no.

so, when you raise your hand before the door, there's no hesitation, no anxiety seeping from your fingertips— just heavy grief that hasn't been processed yet. grief that you're begging to receive closure for; and you're one step closer to that gift when the handle turns, and you're face-to-face with the man who broke your heart.

his eyes look heavy. there isn't an ounce of surprise in them. it's almost as if he was expecting you...

...god, you're so predictable. you're so pathetic and desperate that he knew you'd cave and come. why can't you be strong like him? why can't you move on?

"i can't let you in." rin murmurs. his statement is firm and his body doesn't budge. "this isn't healthy, baby."

in spite of his words, he cups your face. the feeling of his palms is familiar. a touch that your dreams welcome when you can't find sleep, and yearn for the comfort you once shared. his blue gaze has love hidden behind those steely irises. you know it. there has to be some love left in there for you. you can't have just vanished from his heart. that's what you choose to believe— a perfect example of how you convince yourself to stay stranded in denial despite knowing otherwise.

"let's talk," you beg, "one last time."

"what's left to say?" his voice cracks and rin's strength wavers for a moment. "i can't do this. i'm not cut out for this. i don't have time for a relationship; i've already said all of this, please don't make me say it again."

you can tell he's on the verge of tears, lip quivering and eyebrows furrowed, rin pulls you closer. his hands magnetically find your body and he embraces you in a tight hug. it's selfish. he's leading you on once more and giving you false hope that maybe, this time, the conversation will end differently. he longs for the comfort you bring him, but won't provide that same favor when you ask for it.

it's too much to handle alone. you're tired.

this needs to stop.

"i've just been thinking so much lately." you begin, trying to find some courage. any courage. anything to help. "and i've realized that i put so much into this. i put my all into you. i gave you everything, and i'm not— i'm just not—"

"not what?"

a sigh escapes you.

"i'm not enough to convince you to stay."

rin's arms tighten. "you're perfect. you are. i'm the one who's not enough for you. believe me—"

"how can i?" you interrupt. "if i was perfect, you'd try harder. you'd want to keep me around so we can help each other be better. i hate who i'm becoming without you. i have no one to care for. i have all of these feelings and i don't know where to put them because they just want to feel for you. i'm running around in circles trying to process everything that happened because it was so abrupt, but i just can't do it— i want you. all i want is you. i don't know who i am anymore. rin please. you can still change your mind. i'm begging. i've begged so many times. let this work, just once. i love you."

his lips are on yours in a split second, deeply kissing you to end your mindless ramble, and his plan works. he shuts you up.

he ends the conversation, once again, with a kiss; never giving a real answer to your questions. never giving a solution to the dilemma. rin just restarts the cycle of manipulation that he doesn't even realize he's doing. you can't let each other go. your efforts will always fail. you'll be stuck in this loop forever. lonely, yet loving him.

[girlz4jaem]

OUR PATHS | 11. dubs in the chat (wc: 1k) cw: mentions of cheating

JAEMIN arrived at your room within five minutes of your request, carrying a handful of your favorite snacks and the little comfort items he’d used with you the last time a storm had kept you up. as he took off his slippers, settled in, and began prepping a quick late-night meal using the dinky hotel kettle, you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt the tiniest bit. not only had he taken you up on your offer to come by, but he’d also remembered exactly what you needed on nights like this.

you both ate the instant ramen he brought over, the two of you sitting on the edge of your bed. the silence between you felt heavy, like there were words piling up but no clear path forward. yet, the ramen was almost too good for midnight, and in its own way, it helped ease the tension. it was hard to admit, even to yourself, but this was exactly what you needed. his quiet, steady presence and his little gestures of thoughtfulness, even after all this time, still made a difference.

after a few moments, you noticed jaemin watching you as you finished your last bites, a pensive look in his eyes. suddenly, he spoke, his voice almost catching, as if the words were slipping out against his own will. “i’m sorry. and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

your eyes widened slightly, not expecting the conversation to start like this—or even tonight at all. you tried to brush it off, hoping to avoid the inevitable heartache that you knew this talk would bring. “is this what you’ve been meaning to say the past few days? you already apologized, no?”

jaemin shook his head softly, his gaze still fixed on you. “y/n, you know that’s different... why do you keep trying to push me away?”

you took a deep breath, focusing on the ground, summoning the strength to finally open this door back up. “you really broke my heart, do you know that?”

his voice was quiet but determined. “let me be the one to put it back together, y/n, please. i really am sorry for everything. i’m sorry i didn’t get to show you how much you meant to me when i had the chance.”

a beat of silence passed, and you took a shaky breath. “do you even want to tell me why you left? because you never did. you left without saying goodbye, and that fucking sucked. i wish you would’ve at least broken up with me in person.”

jaemin’s shoulders tensed as he processed your words, his face contorted with regret. “i know. and, god, i am incredibly sorry. i know this is all still confusing and frustrating for you, but you have to know i never stopped loving you. i still love you. i just... i needed to figure things out about myself.” he paused, as if bracing himself, then continued. “a couple of days before i sent that text, i ran into my ex on a work trip.” he laughed bitterly. “it seems like I’m always running into my exes…”

he continued on,”i don’t know if you remember, because i barely mentioned her when we were together, but we were together for a long time, and she cheated on me. our relationship was messy and toxic, and she left me with a lot of trust issues and self-doubt.”

jaemin’s voice faltered briefly, but he continued. “when i saw her, i found out she’d actually signed up for the work event on purpose, just to give me ‘closure.’ but instead of helping, it brought back everything. it was like i was reliving all of it—how we ended, how messed up that relationship was. it made me realize that i hadn’t really dealt with any of it, and that i’d brought all that baggage into what we had. i needed to work through it, but i thought that would hurt you more than just ending it.”

he looked up at you, his eyes pleading. “how could i love you properly if i hated myself so much?”

your voice was barely a whisper. “but why didn’t you just tell me all of that, jaemin? i didn’t want perfect. i wanted you.”

“i know,” he replied, the weight of his guilt clear in his expression. “i shouldn’t have just left without even attempting to have a conversation. but after what she put me through, i didn’t want to put you through the same thing. i didn’t want you to feel like you had to deal with my issues for me. and, knowing you… you would’ve done just that. you would’ve sacrificed your needs and happiness for me, and i’d been in that exact position before. it always ends badly.”

the room fell silent as his words hung in the air. finally, jaemin continued, his voice softer. “i regretted it as soon as i sent that message, though. i tried to reach out, to fix things, but you blocked me on everything. i even tried to see you in person, but… ryujin told me to stay away.”

you let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “oh god… ryujin… of course.”

he hesitated on his next words, but ultimately pushed through it. “i know it’s not enough to make up for what i did. i know it’s not going to change how much i hurt you. but i need you to know that i really am here, and i’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

your eyes locked onto his, the vulnerability in them matching your own. “you hurt me, jaemin. and i don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to get past that.”

he nodded, his gaze dropping. “i get it. and if you want me to back off, i will. but if there’s even a small part of you that wants to give this another try, then… let me prove that i’ve changed.”

after a long moment, you finally whispered, “i’ll forgive you, jaemin.” you lowered your voice even more, “i-i still love you too.” jaemin perked up at that note. “but i need you to really show me that you mean it. prove to me that you love me the way you say you do.”

his eyes softened with a glimmer of hope. “i will. whatever it takes.”

the storm outside continued, but somehow, you felt a little more grounded.

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NOTES | omfg sorry friends i've been so busy but mayhaps this hella long and long awaited chapter is worth it!!!! TAGLIST (open!) | @polarisjisung @tommina @luvv4bby @222low @luluvhs @spideykeyring @dudekiss3r @sunghoonsgfreal @jeonghansshitester @injunnie-lemon @eternallyhyucks @njmluvr @n0hyuck @junviadinho @hyunnies-world @hahaechans @p4tyaraujo @baeseungcheolie @untilthesunrises @lotties-readings @mango-bear @angelicaleex @jungaji @luvvhaechan @lionzyon @y4wnjunz @luvandletter @applejaem @pikibell @keeryverse @botchedbrat @mystverse @t-102 @skzfairies @andyprkmyluv @gomdoleemyson

bold = couldn't tag

[rubeau-art]

Leon had decided long ago that there was something a little off about the writer he’d recruited to help him find his partner. Leon had worked with the paranoid and the reclusive before, but there was just something about Reynard he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

That was before strange things had started happening around him. 

It had started small. An odd comment, knowing someone’s name before they had introduced themselves, and swiftly grew into periods of dissociation followed by a revelation the man could have no way of knowing, like the exact address and room number of the motel one of the people responsible for taking Emmerson had stayed in.

When Leon asked Reynard how he could possibly know that, Reynard had just stared at him, unable to articulate  what he had experience that had let him to this conclusion. All he knew for sure, was that he was sure.

So there they were. The small roadside motel Reynard was ‘sure’ had some connection to Leon’s missing partner. Leon was skeptical, but with no leads left and a growing number of true revelations under Ren’s belt, he was willing to try just about anything.

It was already late when they arrived, because for some reason Reynard had insisted they get there just before check-in closed. They collected their key from a mildly irritated clerk and retreated to the room.  It was very small, but neat and clean, and Leon worried that whatever evidence that might have been there would have been cleared away long ago. 

Reynard didn’t seem to have that concern. He stepped into the room after Leon and froze. Another episode? Leon sighed and shut the door behind them, setting himself down on the bed to watch Reynard and make sure he didn’t hurt himself this time. 

He was watching a long time. In fact, Leon was sure the previous incidents hadn’t been this long. 

“Reynard?” He stood and moved over to the younger man. He was hesitant to touch him, uncertain if it was akin to some sort of sleep walking, but luckily he didn’t have to. 

Reynard blinked, his formerly blank expression taken over by notable frustration. 

“Leon- I…” He pressed the heels of his thumbs against his eyes, “I can’t think straight. There’s so much noise here, too much to make sense of all at once.”

Leon stared. Ren had never been so coherent after an episode, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing ot not, given what he was saying. Leon knew for sure that he couldn’t hear anything aside from the neighbours television rumbling quietly through the wall. 

“We can leave if it’s too-“ He started to offer, but Reynard shook his head and cut him off.

“No. No… I just…need a minute.” Reynard took a few deep breaths and let his hands fall from his face. He looked exhausted. 

“You need to sleep.” Leon, while unsettled by these changes in Reynard’s already odd behaviour, did care about his wellbeing. He gently touched Ren’s shoulder and guided him to the bed, coaxing him to lay down. “Whatever’s going on…” He paused, not sure if he could bring himself to say it would be okay. “…Maybe it will be quieter in the morning.”

That seemed to do it. Some of that frustrated tension left the younger man’s body, and he just rolled over and closed his eyes without another word. He was clearly asleep only moments later, and Leon sighed. He joined Ren on the bed, his back to him as he too rolled over and tried to get some sleep.  It wasn’t easy. Not with the thoughts about who had been here previously, and that stranger’s roll in Emmerson’s kidnapping. But eventually sleep took him. 

—-

It was dark outside. Outside? Inside?

Leon shifted. He was standing up. When had that happened? It didn’t matter. He was standing now, and that meant he had to move. He needed to move. No time to waste. Never time to waste. So he moved. Leon walked through the dark. 

Caught. He’d stopped. Why? He looked down. Water. Shallow and black. Black on black. It was cold. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep moving. Keep searching. No time to-

A sound. A cry. Sharp. Clear as a bell inside his head. It hurt.

On his knees. Hands in the water. Hands upon his hands. Reaching up his arms. Pulling. It would be so easy to let them take him. Take him into that dark water. He wouldn’t have to keep moving. Keep searching. 

A new sound. Quiet. Murmuring. A hum. Harmony. A song he’d head before. 

Hands upon his shirt. Gripping, clawing.

A shape. Light made of darkness. Melting into place. Black on black. White on Black. 

A face he knew. Eyes. Teeth. Colour. Oil on water. 

The hands retreat from the song. They dip. Gone.

Harmony folds around in. Holding him. Eyes. Knowing.

Knowing… He knew. 

It was there.

—-

Leon woke with a start. Cold sweat clung to his shirt, sticking the fabric to him as he hurried to sit up. He needed to move, before he could have a chance to forget. In a fervour, He thew himself upon the floor, feeling around under the bed-

His fingertips brushed something. Leon held his breath as he gripped the thing and pulled it out. 

A radio. A tiny, transistor radio. No marks on the dial, but when he turned it over, he saw a note taped to it. 

‘Find a threshold. Tune to call the elevator.’

———————————————————————————

I’ve had this in my drafts for weeks now and It was time to finish it up!

lil bonus of a snippet I straight up have not edited because it’s 4am and my eyes are going.

Anyway, love the idea of Ren’s weird fungus angel shape bleeding out of the darkness. Especially to help his friends.

[freetobeeyouandme]

My Heart, in Paint, on a Piece of Paper

My fic for the @bylerbigbang is finally here! I wrote about Will's art, Byler through the years, and Mike finding out and dealing with the lie Will told about the painting. Thank you to the wonderful @ninaninndraws for the amazing art for this piece, and I hope y'all enjoy it!

Tags: T, Canon typical horror, body horror, period typical homophobia, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, background Lucas/Max, canon compliant El/Mike, Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Erica Sinclair, Eleven, Mike PoV, friends to lovers, fluff and angst, angst with a happy ending, canon compliant, S5 spec fic, Miwi

Summary:

Making a friend on his first day of Kindergarten may be the most significant thing Mike has ever done, but that's okay because Will is the coolest, smartest and most talented person Mike will ever know. Even better, Will gifts Mike all the best pieces of his art. Except suddenly they’re growing up and apart, and then there is no more Will and no more drawings. When they finally reunite, all Will has left to offer him is a painting that wasn't even his idea, and as the world ends and the final fight for Hawkins begins, Mike has to figure out how to salvage the most important relationship of his life – because that may very well be key to saving his hometown and the people he loves. - Or, 5 times Will gifts Mike his art and the 1 time he pretends it was someone else's idea.

Excerpt:

Mike could feel his heart beating all the way in his throat as he inhaled in preparation, but he said what he had to say anyway: “We can’t leave yet, we need to wait for Mrs. Byers.”

His mother opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, confusion plain on her face. Mike had expected as much: He had barely agreed to stay here without her this morning, and that mostly because he knew if he threw a tantrum the information would get back to Nancy, which he couldn’t have. He was a big kid, just like her, and big kids went to kindergarten without making a fuss. But then he’d met Will, and none of that mattered anymore: He liked going to kindergarten now because that was where Will was.

On the other side of the room a few kids chattered away loudly as they waited for their own parents, but Mike still caught the moment the scritch scritch of crayon over paper stopped beside him.

Will smiled when he replied, but it wasn’t the happy kind. “It’s alright. My dad’s picking me up, and I know he’s going to be late.”

His mother came to a conclusion just then, and Mike prepared himself to argue with her. But she just pulled up the chair on his other side and sat down.

She smiled, too, but it also wasn’t the happy kind. “It’s alright. The elementary school doesn’t let out until a few minutes from now anyway, and I’m sure Nancy won’t mind waiting a little.”

Mike turned to face Will before rolling his eyes, knowing he’d get into trouble if his mother saw him. “She won’t even notice because she’s too busy gossiping with Barb.”

Will giggled and picked his crayons back up, putting the finishing touches on the spaceship he was drawing.

They had spent most of the time since coming back inside after recess talking about outer space, which Mike was obsessed with since he’d seen the poster for an upcoming movie. His mother had already told him she wouldn’t let him see it because it was for older kids, but that didn’t stop him from imagining the plot of it: The blond hero was the handsomest and best of an order of space knights, and his mission was to save the princess from a creepy evil robot sorcerer. He used his laser sword to try and defeat the evil sorcerer’s robot dragon in an epic battle, and then the princess would weep bitterly when it seemed that the hero had been defeated. But secretly he needed the princess’ tears as the last ingredient of a potion that would turn the robot dragon and the sorcerer’s entire secret space base into rust. Then they would ride off in his spaceship to live happily ever after.

Will had been drawing the scenes as Mike described them to him, and Mike thought that was the greatest thing ever. Will was good, which made Mike feel a little embarrassed at his own lack of artistic talent, but not envious. This wasn’t like when his sister was better at something than him: It was awesome that Will was so good at art, and Mike enjoyed talking while he drew, providing ideas for Will’s next masterpiece. Will managed to make everything look exactly like it did in Mike’s head, too, which made the whole thing even better. Mike kind of wanted to ask Will if he could have one of the drawings, but just seeing his story come to life on paper was already the coolest thing in the world.

[continue on Ao3]

[joelsgoldrush]

wip wednesday: "lovers once a year" (dbf!joel miller)

hello to you, tiny people on my phone. reaching the end of this semester has thrown me onto a motherfucking rollercoaster. if i even think about the amount of finals i have to sit for, i'm afraid i'll tear up. so here i am, drifting away from real-life responsibilities </3 still working on this dbf!joel fic cause i haven't had much time to write lately, but i'm trying not to be too hard on myself. i really like how it's coming along. i'm close to finishing, though i'm not going to promise a specific posting date because i never seem to manage it LMAO

anyway, thank you to @elflutter @joelsdagger and @ovaryacted for tagging me!!!

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend. For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the affectionate type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length. Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state. Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree. Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing seemed to throw him off. Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

AND

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another promise he won’t keep.

tagging: @lubdubology @zloshy @princessanglophile @cavillscurls @guiltyasdave @tightjeansjavi @mrsmando - so sorry if you've already been tagged :( - and anybody else who feels like doing it!

[boundinparchment]

A/N: hardly more than a vent fic. Inspired by actual conversations with loved ones and friends. Don’t look too closely. Or do. Whatever.

Dottore/Spouse reader. Reader is a writer experiencing god awful writer’s block and social pressure.

It took all of one exchange after you locked yourself away for your husband to admonish you. Several scraps scattered around your workstation, a broken pen nib, a discarded type-writer (saved only for transcribing final drafts) kept you company but they did not seem to care for you. Not today.

“You’ve been at this for hours and you’re more irritable than when you started. Get your cloak.”

You rub your face and with a shallow sigh, rise to comply. He’s right. Of course Zandik is right. When isn’t he?

But he didn’t quite get it. These words were not test subjects and equipment to be maneuvered and adjusted. They weren’t tangible and if you didn’t sit down and try to find them, they would eventually just slip through your hands entirely and never return. Everything he did was grounded and real and gave results that were visible beyond just a finalized report.

You threw on your cloak and boots and in silent fury, followed him through the corridor and out of the Palace. Your jaw ached and you were certain you had a knot in your shoulder with the way your neck protested, pinched and aggravated.

“You keep punishing yourself,” Zandik stated. “Why?”

“Sometimes I just have to work through it.”

“Is this one of those times? Because it seems like you’re trying to produce water from stone as of late. All that does is break one’s hands.”

“Easy for you to say. You have centuries of hindsight and a completely different field of study. You’re not creating something from nothing.”

“Your writing is mere transmutation and that still requires a source. I have been stuck on a solution before and I didn’t have a breakthrough by continuing to bash myself into a brick wall.”

You caught a red squirrel dashing across the snowy path and paused when Zandik’s hand shot out to halt you. Both of you stayed still, the skittish creature assessing before it ran around both of you, using you as cover before it dashed to the other end of the pathway. It eyed you from a branch, partially hidden, and then vanished in a rustle of pine needles.

“Your publisher moved your deadline and is willing to be flexible. Even they would rather have a quality book than a rushed one,” Zandik murmured. “So why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

You thought of all of the people you met at your last reading. All of the friendly faces excited for the upcoming release you just signed for them. The letters your publisher fielded and replied to for you. The art, the trinkets, the inspiration you’d given others.

“It’s not about the story at all, is it?” he asked as you continued on.

“I don’t want to let anyone down but I feel as if I have nothing left to give. Whatever magic I produced to get me here…it feels lost. Gone. A bird that got blown off route and can’t find its way back.”

Your eyes burned and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Tears out here would freeze and your nose was already frozen as it was. No need for any onlookers to think the Harbinger was the source, either, you reminded yourself.

“You’ve been going at a breakneck pace for several years. No one is capable of that. Not even me, not even any of the Segments. Why do you think project rotation is the way it is?”

“I thought that was for efficiency.”

“Correct. But efficiency isn’t just about obtaining results as quickly and cleanly as possible. It’s about balance. Maintaining the means by which one achieves those results. One can only do the same thing for so long before they resent it, give away parts of themselves over and over until there is nothing left. Is that what you want?”

To be a husk, a shell of your former self?

“Of course not. But this…I want to tell this story and every time I go to write, all I can think of is that no one would enjoy this turn in the plot. It makes perfect sense and it’s necessary but…”

Putting it all to paper would be alienating. Foreign. The set up was already there, and that was the story worth telling. But all you could think of was all of the gushing about a ship that had no place in the story, details you weren’t intending on focusing on, questions to things that needed answers but they weren’t going to be enjoyable.

Writing a series meant knowing how to leave the right questions and the crumbs to piece it all together.

Somewhere along the way, you’d…

“Maybe you disappoint people but is the happiness of strangers that important to you that you would sacrifice yourself in such a manner? I would hate to see the craft you love turn into a piece of resentment.”

“It feels like when you’ve outgrown someone,” you replied. “Maybe I’ve just outgrown writing.”

“Or outgrown this particular type of writing. Why not try something else for a while?”

“But then I’m back to disappointing people.”

You’d come to a small clearing in the winding widened pathways. Stopping, you watched as Zandik raised his hands to his temples and then gestured emphatically, opening his cloak and startling the nearby finches.

“My love, do they really matter? My research offends most sensibilities and has earned me the title of heretic, and yet my work has made the difference for countless individuals anyway. Let them be disappointed!” He pointed towards the town without looking, cloak whipping snow before he collected himself. “There will be countless others happy with the way you weave words together when you’re ready to again, myself among them.”

Your chest tightened and after a beat, you nodded, sniffling quietly. Nearby, a finch gave a soft peep, fluffing itself to keep warm.

“The segments are thoroughly invested in your plot. If you have the need, they would be more than delighted to humor various scenarios. As would I. What matters is that you’re satisfied with the results.”

“I know.”

“Then keep it in the forefront of your mind. Now, come. I need your eye to help identify books that might be relevant to my latest project.”

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Message Received

jason todd x reader, sequel to Outgoing Call

Big warnings for this one folks. Reader is an addict who relapses, there is a long stretch of fierce self-loathing. Please know yourself and what you can handle. Also, reader's father has died. Again, know yourself and what you can handle.

Also, vomit and swearing.

I don't know how long this is

——————

The night wind whips by as Jason races to Jess’ apartment, ripping through Gotham on his motorcycle. He hopes to god you're still there. He's got one eye on the road, the other on the speedometer. Squeezing the accelerator, he lets the dial tick up five, ten, fifteen miles per hour. He tears past cars and trucks, squeezes into tight spaces, takes turns dangerously fast. It's some of the most reckless biking he's ever done, but he doesn't care. The stakes are high, high in a way they haven't been before. High because this is his fault. Jason has to get to you before you relapse, before you hurt yourself too badly.

Most of his focus goes toward controlling the bike, but he reserves some for trying to figure out how to explain showing up unannounced at your friend's apartment 24 hours after he broke up with you. Over text.

And he only has to come get you because he knows from a bug Bruce placed in Jess' apartment that his text made you fall back into an alcohol habit he didn't know you had.

Jesus. He really fucked this one up.

Jason shakes his head. The excuse is a problem for later. He’ll think one up. Or he won't. It doesn't matter.

The road melts away under his tires, and soon he’s barreling up Jess’ street. He cuts the ignition, jumps off the bike, and scales the fire escape before he even realizes what he’s done. Crouching down, he peers through the windows. Fifth floor, west, rear apartment. Jason’s in the right place.

Through the first window, he has a view of Jess sitting in front of a computer, back facing Jason. He quickly moves onto the next. It’s a living room, empty, and the window is cracked open. Jason gently opens it further and slips inside, landing on the rug. He peers into the bathroom and then the kitchen of the shoebox apartment, but you’re not there. Shit. You must have already left.

He’s back through the window and on the street in seconds. You can’t have gone far, and Jason doesn’t have to guess where you went. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hastily types “bar” into Google Maps. You’re at the first one he walks into.

Jason takes a moment to get his bearings. It's a dive bar, and mostly empty. Only five barstools are occupied, including yours. You're talking to the bartender animatedly, an easy smile on your face. You seem relaxed. To Jason's dismay, there's already a drink in your hand.

Fuck. He's too late. He has to stop you before you do any more damage.

Steeling himself, Jason moves toward you, silently positioning himself on your left side. It takes you a couple of seconds to notice him, but when you do, your eyes travel up his body slowly. When they meet his own your face is mean, your mouth set into a sneer. "Hey, sweetheart," you drawl, tone hard. You bring the glass to your lips.

Jason reaches out to stop you, laying a hand on your wrist. "Baby, don't. Don't do this."

"Fuck you.”

He winces. Not like he doesn’t deserve it.

“Let me take you home,” he pleads with you. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

You turn away from him, let him wait out the silence. Jason sighs, looks to the bartender. “How much has she had to drink?”

The bartender eyes you warily. “Seven shots of vodka in the last twenty minutes, plus that whiskey sour in her hand.”

Fuck. Fuck. He has to get you out of here.

“Sweetheart, we gotta go home,” he tries again, pitching his voice low. “Let me take you back to your apartment.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spit at him. Again, you try to take a sip of your drink, but Jason’s arm keeps yours in place. “Get off me,” you hiss at him. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Uh, ma’am, do you know this guy? Do you want him here?” the bartender cuts in, eyeing Jason. “Because if not, I’m gonna have to call the police.”

Jason almost rolls his eyes. Trust his luck to find the one bartender in Gotham actually doing a good job.

The bartender looks at you expectantly. So does Jason. Depending on your answer, things could get complicated. But he’s not leaving without you.

You roll your eyes, then wave a hand at the bartender. “Don’t sic the cops on him, he’s just my ex,” you mutter. Jason swallows down the easy way ‘ex’ had rolled off your tongue. Can’t get upset about that now. The bartender nods, then moves toward another customer, giving you some privacy.

Jason tries a third time. “I’m cutting you off, doll. You’ve had too much, too fast. Let me take you home.”

You glare at him, jaw working. Eventually, you sigh. “You’re not going to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“I’m not going to leave you alone." He won't.

“Fine. Whatever.” You hop off the barstool, flagging the bartender down to close out your tab. “Let’s go home, sweetie!” you say with mock cheer.

Jason follows you outside, briefly checking to see if you had brought a coat with you. You hadn’t, and it’s cold. Cold enough that you’ll feel it with your bare arms and t-shirt. Silently, he shrugs off his jacket, offering it to you.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say in disgusted disbelief. “Don’t make me laugh, Jason.”

Jason sets his jaw, turns onto the street to hail a cab. It’s too far to walk, especially in the cold, and odds are you’re not going to get on the back of his bike.

He observes you from his peripheral vision as he waits. You stare sightlessly at the pavement, expression blank, but your hands are curled into fists and the hair on your arms is standing up. You’re stressed, or cold, or both. Not a lot Jason can do to help.

A taxi pulls up, and Jason gives the driver your address before opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him but slide into the cab. Jason follows, pulling the door shut behind him. You’re pressed against the opposite window, as far from him as you can get in the close space. Jason makes a show of putting on his seatbelt. You roll your eyes at him a second time before copying.

The driver pulls away from the bar, and you set your gaze resolutely out your window. Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what to do next. He’d gotten you out of the bar, but he can’t just drop you off at your apartment. What if you leave again, or god forbid you have some alcohol at home? No, he can’t leave you alone. He has to convince you to let him stay the night. How the hell he’s going to manage that, after he broke up with you, is beyond him.

Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d really gone and made a mess for himself. Not to mention you.

“How did you find me?” Your voice slices into the silence of the cab. Jason’s not expecting you to talk, but he’s had time to think about this one. The bar was close to a safe house, the one he’d been pretending was his permanent apartment when you came over. The one you had seen through, apparently. “I was in the area, you know I’m just around the corner.”

You nod. “What were you doing at the bar?”

Jason holds his tongue. Here is an opportunity to lie again, to say that he just wanted to blow off some steam, or some other shit, and get you off his back. He chooses neither.

“I—I wanted to find you,” he admits. “I don’t know...how I knew,” he hedges, “but I was hoping you’d be there.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to—to talk.” You snort, turn back to the window. “Baby, please,” he starts, “I want to—”

“Stop.” You shake your head. “Stop.” Jason falls silent, stays that way until the cabbie reaches your building.

Immediately, you shuck off your seatbelt and slip out the door. Jason rushes to pay the driver and follow you, catching up by the time you’ve reached your lobby door. “This is your stop, Jason,” you say sharply.

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished. “Listen. I know. I know. But you’ve had a lot to drink, doll. Let me get you upstairs. Please. I want to make sure you’re okay.” This is unfair, and he knows it, but he can’t leave you alone.

You keep silent but step through your building's lobby and onto the elevator. Jason hits the button, and soon enough you’re on your floor, walking to your unit. Surprisingly, you don’t stop him from coming in, finding the click of the key of the lock and gently closing the door behind him.

“What do you want, Jason?” you say tiredly. “What do you want?”

He looks at you helplessly, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth as his words fail him. Sighing, you move toward your bedroom. Unthinking, Jason falls in step behind you, and you freeze, spear him with a look. “You’re a fool if you think I’m going to let you come in here again.”

Jason takes a deep breath. He's been dreading this. “Look, I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry but I—I can’t leave you like this. Please, baby, let me stay the night.”

“Why?” you say disdainfully. “You don’t care about me.”

Ouch.

“I know I said—what I said, but I was wrong. I was scared,” he admits.

You stare at him, narrowing your eyes, saying nothing. Jason takes it for the cue that it is.

“I was scared, and, and I’m scared now,” he says in a low voice. “You had a lot to drink, and on an empty stomach, doll.” And he has to make sure you don’t drink any more tonight. He has to.

You snort at him. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Jason keeps his eyes on yours. “Please,” he asks quietly. He’s not above begging, not for you. “Please let me stay the night.”

Staying still, you exhale slowly, breathing out through your nose. Your hard eyes don’t soften. “On the couch,” you order, then disappear into your bedroom.

Jason breathes a sigh of relief. At least now he can keep you safe.

—

You wake up in your bed.

There is no prelude. You don't get a soft, gradual ascent from your sleep. You aren't awake, and then you are.

Shame cloaks you like a vice.

More pressing, however, is the vomit you can taste in the back of your throat.

You stagger to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and thumbing the lock. Your knees hit the cracked tile of the floor, the toilet lid smacks against the tank, and your face is in the bowl. You heave. The smell is vile, the retching tears your throat apart.

You cradle your head in your arms, elbows resting on the cool porcelain of the seat as your stomach empties itself. You don't move when it's over, although the smell fills your nose and the ends of your hair drip into the toilet.

Fuck. Fuck. You've gone and ruined it all.

Exhaling, you allow yourself to collapse to the floor, not bothering to flush. Curling your arms into your chest, you begin to sob. You'd gone and fucked it all up, just like you'd always known you would.

You knew, you knew, that you would end up back here. Sobriety was a sham. Everyone thought you could do it, but you're the one who has to sleep in your skin every night. You knew you didn't have it in you, that addiction was ground into your bones, a black hole emanating out from your center that you could never keep a lid on. You had always known that there was something awful inside of you that you would never quite be able to manage, and now here it was, crawling up your throat and spilling out into the toilet.

Quick as they started, your sobs leave you in a rush. You stay on the floor, smelling the vomit, staring at your bathroom ceiling. You were never going to be able to hack it.

The doorknob jiggles. "Baby?" Jason calls out cautiously.

"Don't."

That asshole. Of course he's still here, of course he gets to see you like this. It's not enough that he broke your heart over text, where at least you could hide, instead he has to show up in person and see what a mess he's made you.

The doorknob shakes again. “Baby, please—”

“Get out.” You squeeze your eyes shut. Please leave. Leave. Leaveleaveleave—

“No. Not until we talk,” he says stubbornly.

Fuck that. Suddenly, you’re furious, anger ripping through your gut. You greedily latch onto it, using it to distract from your self-loathing. That asshole thinks he can stay, thinks he has any right to be here, after what he did to you?

Fuck him.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” you snarl at him through the door.

“I’m not leaving,” he insists. You let out a shocked laugh, then inhale sharply, gritting your teeth.

Fine. Fine. Guess you’re doing this.

You pull yourself to your feet, survey your reflection in the mirror. Jason may have heard your retching, may have seen you at your lowest last night, but you will not, you will not let him see you like that now. You wash your face, run water over your hair to get the vomit out, brush your teeth. Flush the toilet. Your face is puffy but when your eyes are clear, you unlock the bathroom door and throw it open.

“What the fuck do you want?” you snap at him. As always, Jason looks gorgeous, even after spending a night on your couch. Hair a messy bedhead, clothes deliciously rumpled. You want him so bad it makes you sick. Then you think of your own appearance, last night’s clothes that reek of sweat sticking ugly to your skin, hair frizzy and unkempt, and you want to kill him. Fuck this motherfucker for looking so perfect while you look and feel like trash.

Jason holds something out to you. Pulling your eyes down, you realize he’s offering you a glass of water. You want to hurl it against the wall. Instead, you take it from him, turn, and dump it into the toilet. Handing it back, you stalk past him into the kitchen and get yourself a bottle of water. You’re not taking anything from him.

“Baby,” he follows. “Please, let me—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “Wait. I want to—”

“Get out of my apartment.”

“Sweetheart.” He starts to sound frustrated. Good. If he wants to stay, he's going to get the fight you're itching for. “Let me finish. I have to—”

“Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”

He’s angry now, you can see it on his face. You feel vicious. “You’re not listening. Listen, you have to listen to me.”

How dare he. “I don’t have to do anything!” you shout at him. “I don’t have to do anything for you, not after what you did to me!”

“I was wrong,” Jason presses on, raising his voice to talk over you. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have said that, I was sc—”

“I don’t care!” you scream at him. “You ended it! It’s over!”

“I still care about you!” Jason shouts back, “I care about you, I’m telling you I made a mistake!”

“I don’t care what you think of me now! Too late! I don’t care anymore! You broke up with me!” You will yourself not to cry as your anger surges. “You made your bed, now lie in it!”

“I’m telling you I shouldn’t have done it, I’m telling you I was wrong, I’m trying to apologize! Why can’t you—”

"You can't just take it back! You already did it, it's too late, I don't want to—"

"Shut up!" Jason roars. "Shut up and listen to me, I'm trying to apologize!"

"No!" You stalk towards him, and something in your face makes him take a step back. "I don't owe you anything! You already said everything you need to say. You already hurt me, now I'm never going to trust you again!"

Jason looks like you've knocked the wind out of him. Some part of you grins cruelly. You want to do it again. "You hurt me, so I'm never going to trust you again."

Jason exhales, remains of his anger sliding off his face. You're still breathing heavily, glowering at him, waiting for what he’s going to say next.

"You're right," he says eventually, voice low. "You're right, you don't owe me anything. I—I'm sorry I yelled at you. You don't owe me anything."

You stare at him through narrowed eyes, coming down off your own fury. Jason isn't looking at you, he's looking at the floor, jaw flexing as he chews on the inside of his cheek. He looks...he looks upset.

You slam your eyes shut before you can register the thought. Who cares if he looks upset, you think to yourself harshly. Who cares? The motherfucker deserves it, after what he did. Still, the savagery that burned bright inside you dwindles to a candle with a single wick, threatening to go out entirely.

Maybe he's just tricking you, manipulating you, you try and remind yourself, but you don't really believe it. That was never Jason's style. You crack your eyes open. If anything, he looks even worse now, but he's still not looking at you, not analyzing you to gauge your reaction, to see if his words had any pull. He's not pleading with you anymore, either. Jason must really be upset. Now you have to figure out what to do with that.

You sigh, clearing your throat. Jason flinches and tries to school his expression into place before giving up and meeting your eyes. He doesn't say anything, waiting for you to make the next move. The ball is in your court.

You stare at him for several moments, trying to work out what to do. Jason stares back silently. "I'll leave," Jason says, voice cracking. You open your mouth, then close it, unsure of what to say. "Do you still want me to go?" Jason's face is a mess, but his brow is furrowed as he tries to figure you out, figure out what you want him to do.

You run a hand across your face. Damn it. Damn this asshole for the hold he has over you. The same idiocy that has you reaching for the bottle moves you to offer him another chance.

"I don't want to talk here," you whisper. Jason sucks in a breath, but you talk over him. "We can talk later. Another time."

"Today?"

You shake your head. "No. In a couple days. I'll text you." You leave yourself an out you can slither through if you need it. You won't give him anything else.

Jason's looks like he's going to argue, but you give him a warning look. He shuts himself down. "Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. I'll wait for your text."

You nod, exhausted. "Get out of my apartment," you say, but without heat. This time, Jason goes. You shut the door heavily behind him, then rest your shoulder against it as the tears start to fall. You bite your tongue sharp enough to draw blood to keep the sobs inside you.

Fuck him, you think again, but this time with despair instead of anger. Fuck him for sending you back to that place, for shoving you a thousand steps backward. You're faced again with how you slipped last night, self-loathing threatening to pull you under. But you're not on the bathroom floor anymore, and you realize that cleaning yourself up has put you back in control, if only slightly. You take a deep breath, reaching for the strategies you practiced with your therapist. You force yourself into positive self-talk. It’s okay, you resolutely assure yourself. It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everybody slips. This doesn’t have to mean the end. It doesn’t. It doesn’t mean you’re going to fall back head over heels into addiction. You’re not twenty-two anymore. You’re not…where you were, when things got really bad. When you broke yourself on the alcohol because you couldn’t tell when a bad habit became a crutch, couldn’t recognize when a few drinks here and there became active addiction. Your family is much closer now, your mom and your sister are back in touch and they know what you’re struggling with. Your friends and family have supported you before, they’ll do it again.

You put your face in your hands and take deep, measured breaths. You’ve pulled yourself out of active addiction before. You can do it again. That doesn't mean you'll have to, but you can. If you need to.

You stand up off the floor, pick up your water from where you left it on the counter. Take a long drink, then wipe your hand over your mouth. You can do this. You can do this. You can take a shower, find some breakfast, go to work in the morning, and move on. You can text Jason. Maybe.

But first, you need to get through the next fifteen minutes. You pick up your phone and call your mom.

—

Jason sits on a park bench, drumming his fingers anxiously on his thigh. He’s ten blocks south of your apartment, in one of those fancy new city parks Bruce had funded. It’s a cool, crisp fall day in Gotham, and Jason was supposed to meet you here thirteen minutes ago.

He’s been here for nearly thirty minutes. He was fifteen minutes early, nerves driving him out of his apartment and onto his bike. Since he left your place last week he’d waited anxiously for you to text him about meeting up, but after 72 hours of radio silence he’d nearly given up hope. Your text had almost come as a surprise, a terse message telling him when and where. Jason had fired back a reply instantly, he had no room left to be suave. He was just grateful you’d decided to give him a second chance.

And now here he was, searching for your face in the people that walk past, waiting again, hoping you didn’t stand him up.

But no, there you are, moving resolutely toward him with a face that gives nothing away. Jason stands almost before he decides to. As anxious as he is, he’s thrilled to see you again. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face in half.

You nod. “Sorry I’m late.”

Jason waves you off, sitting back down. You eye him before sitting down carefully, perched just close enough to have a conversation with him but no closer. You look at him expectantly.

Right.

Jason takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I—I’m so sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have sent you that text.” He digs his fingernails into his palms. “I—I really care about you, and I got scared, and—”

“If you’re about to tell me that you were scared by how much you care about me, I’m walking out of here right now,” you interrupt with a warning. “I won’t be manipulated.”

“I’m, I’m not trying to manipulate you,” Jason says gently, afraid that you think he ever would. He lies to you when he has to, and he's not proud of it, but he’d never mess you around like that. “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that, doll. I’m telling the truth.” You stare at him, gaze hard. “Honest,” Jason adds, hoping you believe him.

“Are you saying you regret breaking up with me over text, or you regret breaking up with me?” you demand.

“I regret breaking up with you!” The words tumble out of Jason’s mouth. “I messed up, I was a fuckhead who got scared of my own feelings. Not trying to manipulate you,” he adds hurriedly. “Just telling the truth. It’s—it's been a long time since I’ve been serious with someone. Actually,” he takes another deep breath. “This is the only time I’ve been serious with someone. Being with you is the longest relationship I’ve been in to date.”

He stops here to see how you’re taking his words, and to give himself a break. He's doing so shockingly well at sharing his feelings with you, he's almost surprised.

He's glad he showed up for himself. You're worth it.

Jason peers over at you from his side of the bench, trying to gauge where you're at. Your eyes haven't softened, but the line of your mouth has loosened, jaw more relaxed. Jason pushes onward.

"I—I've got some shit, sweetheart," he says quietly, carefully. "I grew up in Crime Alley. My dad wasn't around, and my mother was a druggie. She died when I was ten." He closes his eyes. Jason is so far removed from that life, so distant from that distant past, but it doesn't get any easier to talk about. It's—it's hard. It's still hard.

"I went into...foster care," he says. He has to lie here, he can't chance you putting together the Jason Todd that went to live with Bruce Wayne and the Jason Todd that died tragically two years later. He isn't ready to tell you about that, not yet. He figures he's allowed this much. "At first, it was great with my foster father, but then...it wasn't. I ran away a few years later." Jason maneuvers around the snarled timeline. "I was on and off the streets for a bit there. I got into some...bad shit. But things are better now. I'm trying to be better," he finishes stubbornly. He is, despite what Bruce might say.

Jason can't get himself to look at you, not after depositing all that shit into your lap. Instead, he glares emptily into the horizon until you sigh, then clear your throat.

"Thank you for telling me that," you say evenly. Jason whips his head up to stare at you. "I appreciate you..." You pause, sucking on your teeth as you choose your words. "You giving me some background."

Jason is silent, still. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to breathe until you've finished. Until you tell him...what you want to do next.

If you're even considering staying with him, after all this.

You sigh again, swallow thickly. "I've...you're not the only one who has shit." You go silent, looking away. He waits patiently, guessing at what's coming.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," you say, matter-of-fact. Jason winces, even though he already knew. Still, he has to ask.

"Does that mean...last night..." he trails off.

You look at him steadily. "Yeah. That's what that was."

"Fuck, princess, I'm...I'm so sorry," he says brokenly, guilt spilling out. "I'm so sorry I did that to you."

"Thanks," you say quietly. "Look, I, I want to explain. Uh..." you look away, blinking. "It got really bad when my Dad died. It was really sudden, car accident. Hit and run."

Shit. Jason grips the sleeves of his jacket, tension rippling through his forearms.

"My family just kind of...fell apart, after that. My sister and my mom got really distant, and I was away at college and I just...yeah." You suck in a breath. "A couple of years later, I got into a car accident. It was a DUI. I was okay, but it kind of...woke my sister and my mom up, I guess. They helped me recover."

Jason waits a couple of moments after you go silent, making sure you're finished. "Thank you for telling me," he says, copying you. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, that you lost your father like that," he says gently. "That...that sounds really bad."

You shrug. "We all have our shit, you know?" Yeah.

The two of you fall silent, chewing through your confessions. Jason runs a hand through his hair, across the back of his neck. He didn’t realize you were carrying all that on your shoulders. It makes him view you differently. You’re…tougher, than he thought. You’re made of stronger stuff. He needs someone like that, he thinks. Someone who might understand. Maybe the two of you are well-suited for each other.

That is, if you’re still willing to try.

He clears his throat, and you glance at him. “So, what, uh,” he coughs awkwardly. “What happens now?” Jason holds his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes narrow. Then you sigh, slide over to him. “Now,” you let your shoulders bump against his, “you’re going to take me to the coffee shop across the street and buy me an overpriced latte. As an apology.”

Jason’s heart soars. “Not one of those stupid flavors,” he snorts through a grin.

“Yeah, one of those stupid flavors. It’s going to be a large, and I’m going to add, like, four extra flavor pumps, because you were being such an ass. And I’m getting a cookie.” You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to comment.

Jason stands up, offering you a hand. “Anything for you, doll.”

You accept his hand, but then surprise him, pulling hard enough to make him stumble, legs hitting the bench. He regains his balance as you laugh at him, hopping up. “That’s right,” you look at him meaningfully over your shoulder. “Anything for me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Jason nods at your challenge. Yeah. He can do that.

Satisfied, you slip your hand in his and lead him towards the coffee shop.

----

anyway. that was fun. i hope you had fun.

tagging: @candlewitch-cryptic @somenerdydancer

[narfin-frood]

Silly question but how do you art?

Or more like, how is your process to draw? Your lines and posing are so loose and show the feeling of a character so well, like, how do you make your art so real with only a few lines is what most amaze me. Anyway I hope I'm not bothering you and that makes sense, thanks for reading!<3

you're not a bother, don't worry! i'm not sure if there's an appropriately concise answer to a question like this, but i'll try to explain my process for poses a bit, and if there's anything else specific you'd like to know about my process, feel free to ask, and i'll try to answer!

for posing, i find it's very helpful to start by thinking about what situation the character is in. you don't need a location or a background or anything (unless you're being #serious about it). for this, i chose "picking up something way too heavy" (cont. under cut, wall of text ahead)

keeping it very simple is key!!! do not worry about details!!! i am very bad at this. i love to add a little detail or two, like his eyes or his little expression, but i have to catch myself before i get too into it, otherwise i'll forget the point of what i was doing and/or get bored. use just enough strokes to get the point across, and stop there (for now).

i draw fast and loose, with long strokes, which also happens to help with the problem that happens if you start with any specific part of the body. it's important to start with... everything at once, or else you won't be able to see what needs to be changed or fixed until it's too late and you've already decided on where you want the head and the left arm to be!

to display effort & strain without just contorting the character's face, you gotta think about just how heavy the object is, how one would go about grabbing it comfortably, and whether your character is smart enough to lift with their legs.

wander is great (read: BEST CHARACTER DESIGN EVAR. i love him kisskisskiss) because he's not grounded in any sort of reality until necessary, and his limbs have no bones, but he still has specific proportions and volumes to refer back to if you get carried away with the wackiness. posing a character made up of several noodles of varying widths is very simple, because you can do basically whatever you want to push and pull and make it as clear (and/or as funny) as possible.

start with your line of action, in this case the long line connecting his neck and his left foot. think about where the floor is, so you can make the feet of your character and whatever else is touching it coexist in the same reality. think about clarity: big, simple shapes are your friends, and if you're not getting the gist of the pose through the silhouette alone, try again! there's NO shame in hiding the first layer and doing a couple more sketches until you land on something you really like. Don't polish a turd, especially if you yourself think it's a turd. it'll make you feel like you're wasting time, and drawing is about having fun and experimenting, so if it's getting boring or frustrating, it's time to try something else.

wander and other characters with no bones and no rules are great for posing because you can do things like make their arms bend the wrong way just to play with the clarity of the pose. this:

un-breaks the arms and makes a little more sense for somebody with elbows, but some clarity in the action is lost when the arms don't curve upward and away from the very heavy object he's straining to pick up.

grounding your characters is both more complex and easier than it sounds, and it unfortunately requires you to think about perspective (i know. i know. i know it sucks and it's confusing. i hated it for a very long time but once it clicks, you'll have it in your brain forever)

fudging a perspective grid is fairly easy, just draw several parallel lines and have them get closer to each other as they recede into the distance, and then do it again in the opposite direction. you can use the transform tool in whatever program you use most to fudge this for even less effort, by just getting a png of a grid and fucking with it

now that you've got your floor, think about those feet. the grid makes it fairly easy to envision how a shoe would look sitting on that floor:

this is also where having an understanding of volumes comes in handy, because things farther in the distance will in fact look smaller, but it's up to you to figure out just how much smaller it would be in comparison to the other identical thing with the same volume that's closer to the camera. usually it's almost negligible, but it becomes easy to spot if it's a little off.

and here's the pose i settled on! i made his noodle arms more extreme for extra XD factor and i put him on his tippy toes for that extra bit of height!

a lot of the principles i'm talking about in this post i mainly pick up from consciously watching my favorite cartoons (and live action shows) and if i really, really like the way something is done, or if i see something that i've never really registered before, i'll screencap it or i'll pause or i'll just keep thinking about it until i draw again.

this is called "building a visual library" and it's the #1 easiest and most important way to practice. it requires no drawing, unless you want it to. look at lots of art by artists you love, and if you see something and you think to yourself, hey, this looks really good, by all means, absorb it.

art is great and it's really fun and there's literally nothing wrong with taking inspiration where you can find it!! seriously!!! absorb your favorite parts of every art style you find cool and fun and put it into your own! you're the only person who can draw the way you draw, and while replicating an art style is fairly easy (or it can be, depending), matching it perfectly is Literally impossible, so don't worry about being derivative. Nobody will notice, and if they do, it's okay to say you're inspired by them! encouraged, even!

my own art style, like everybody else's, is a frankenstein's monster containing all of the things i've loved before!!! and i think thats beautiful and if anybody tries to tell you you've gotta be 100% original and have "your very own style", they're a filthy liar and they're definitely (consciously or not) already taking inspiration and reference from the things they themselves find cool and awesome.

ANYWAY. wall of text over.

TLDR: draw quickly, use long strokes (try not to pet your lines), have a specific situation to put your character in, get familiar with volumes and proportions, and have fun!!!

[artytaeh]

i'm not having the best of days lately, so i'm making it everyone's problem now. ❄️

that popular audio of heartstopper s3 has been on my mind for a while. we know, as a fandom, that theodore and mattheo are each other's best friend— or closest person, ever since childhood. and even though mattheo can see how theo's girlfriend is doing him good, sometimes it feels as if mattheo's presence, which has been a steady constant in theodore's life, became so 'normal' that theo ends up forgetting about it.

mattheo can't really go back home. theodore doesn't like to go back to his own, not wanting to risk being in the way of his father's mood swings. so, the two of them spend the winter holidays at hogwarts, together. it's almost tradition, at this point.

so when theodore's girlfriend so gently offers theo to spend christmas with her, at her house, with her heartwarming family, theodore sees the opportunity of, for once, having a normal christmas. at least, the holidays that he sees in movies and are told by students that don't have the same complicated family that he does.

without realizing it, theodore replaces the usual winter tradition with mattheo, and accepts spending christmas with her.

which, consequently, deeply hurts mattheo.

'can't you at least spend christmas with me?' even though mattheo despises being vulnerable, this is theodore. and theodore is his safe person, even if mattheo would never admit it to himself— such stupid vulnerabilities, because he shouldn't need anyone. 'you spend all your time with that girl anyways.'

on the other hand, theo can't help but be selfish about his own needs. like a thristy person in the desert, he clings to the chance of normalcy, of living what he could only envy for years, and years on end.

'because she treats me as something more than just the son of a death eater,' theodore rages, because even within his friendgroup, its silently said between the lines.

that's who they are. specially mattheo, draco and theodore; rooted to dark wizards, born doomed. even blaise and lorenzo, with calmer families, wouldn't escape such a fate. outside of slytherin's dungeons, away from the blood supremacy ideology and hatred amongst the wizardy community— his girlfriend seems him as theo, and not theodore nott.

and perhaps, worse than being forgotten and left alone for two weeks in this freezing cold castle, this is what hurts mattheo the most.

'i do, too.'

three words, that never sounded as painful and broken from the mattheo quick-to-anger riddle. it cracks on its way out of his mouth, weighting on his tongue.

theodore rolls his eyes: 'you say that as if our damn families aren't a constant topic between us.'

'because you understand me,' mattheo answers, dumbfounded at how, for such an intelligent wizard, theodore seems to stupidly dumb right now. 'out of everyone, even more than draco and his stupid family, you are the person who knows how it's like.'

at that, theodore doesn't answer.

he doesn't vitimize himself, because that tactic never works with mattheo, who'd rightfully tell him to fuck off. mattheo's strategies never work with theo either, cutting his bullshit at the same moment. and that, as mean as it sounds, never failed to oblige each other to be truthful with the other.

so, this time, theodore shuts up.

and doesn't aim to be the one gaining the last word.

because in the end, theodore enters the hogwarts express, holding his girlfriend's hand as she enthusiastically tells him all that they can do during these two weeks— instead of watching the chaos on the top floor of the bell tower, smoking the usual cigarette with mattheo, as the two deal with the utter disappointment and hurt with mean jokes about happier students.

this time, said tradition happens too, but one-sided. this december, mattheo is alone on the bell tower, much quieter than it usual is without theodore's sarcasm to cheer him up. smoking a cigarette alone, and already with the second one in end which he'd smoke for theodore, he's alone.

alone, and for the first time in a while, mattheo discovers what loneliness truly feels like.

today, as he's left alone in the hogwarts castle.

tomorrow, when he wakes up and sees that theodore's bed, right in front of his, is empty.

that feeling would stretch for long two weeks, more than fifteen days, perhaps for even longer than that. the moment theodore stepped on that damned train, something was broken.

mattheo is torn between being petty and praying that this christmas is just as terrible for theodore, so that next year, he won't hesitate to spend all of his time with him, and fucking apologize for being an asshole this year.

... however, a tinier, even more painful side of mattheo, hopes that theo feels welcome there. in a warm home, in his girlfriend's arms, experiencing what mattheo never hopes to experience someday. because deep down, no matter how hurt he is—mattheo discovers that he's stupid like that.

that he cares about theo too much, to truly desire harm coming his way.

no matter how lonely he is.

[deaddee-anime-brownfanlady]

One of the things I love about mouthwashing in terms of its well-written story. Is how human and realistic each character feels, especially in regards to Curly and his blindness towards Jimmy red flag behavior as a friend which I find to be realistic and very human.

Because let's face it, I feel a lot of people would have extreme difficulties believing that someone they are super close too and care about as being the type of person capable of doing horrible acts or being a terrible person.

Be it a family member or a lover or a child or best friend, you do have people out here who will deeply refuse to believe also see that someone they know and have a close bond with as " Bad people ",

Even if said person there close towards have obvious red flags and other signs of them not being all that "great "... , you'll still get some form of denial and pushback against said claims.

Something like " You don't know them as well as I do" or " We've known each other for years " or maybe " My Child or So & So would never! Do such a thing! " and something along the lines of " You only known them for like an hour while I've known them my whole life OK "

Curly seems like the type of person who sees the good in everybody and believes in giving people second chances, even if it is from those who really don't deserve it.

Curly refusing to fully see and come to terms with the major red flags / issues within Jimmy until he is left in a severely vulnerable, helpless position were he's basically forced to see how Jimmy truly, actually is as a person.

I think it is a super realistic portrayal of how actual people can be when it comes to having serious difficulties with dealing with the hard reality of seeing someone they've have a close relationship / friendship with as a potential horrible person capable of harming others and even harming them as well.

That some people might not fully see those red flags until they're far too late and the damage is already done.

[hypernova-writes]

Crown Jewel. [Medic][Pt.1]

Synopsis: Being involved with the King shouldn’t have happened. Yet every night you continue to warm his bed, so what made you think you had the right to take that all away?

a/n: This is the start of a little mini series of the yandere royal!TF2! Medic’s fic will have two parts, and here is part one!

A little information before you start! A Crown Jewel is what a darling is referred to in my little series. They are seen as the final piece to the puzzle that is the royal family. Each member is allowed their own Crown Jewel, and if that jewel "fades", it is highly encouraged to replace them. Many women try to be a Crown Jewel, thinking that they would be living the good life, only to realize too late that it is not all that it seems to be. Medic is the first in this series! I will be writing for all 9 mercenaries, they could have fairytale themes and many other things, but they are all surrounding one theme. Royalty.

“…mhm..Come here my Schätzchen..”

You couldn’t resist the pull of him. His voice was smooth and soft, always calling you some sort of pet name that had you so weak in the knees for him.

Stepping into his quarters the door was quickly closed behind you as you made your way over to his bed. He was there, waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt long gone, sleep pants on as he beckoned you.

“Your highness..”

“Ah ah… vhat did I tell you to call me vhen ve are alone..”

“Ludwig.”

But not the Royal’s you knew.

People would call you foolish, if you were to tell them that one of the nine royals were in love with you.

They would probably think you’re insane, tell you that you were imagining things and that the royals didn't dare bat an eye at commoners.

They were crazed…Love sick fools that Her Ladyship used to her advantage. They loved hard..and that would end up in death for most of these women who only see them as a way to the top.

You’ve witnessed numerous women come into this palace, trying to sleep their way through the royal cabinet, only to realize before it was too late, that all that glitters is certainly not gold.

“Liebling?”

You jumped as Ludwig pulls your attention back to him as he runs his hands along your hips, he smirks softly as his hands move to your stomach.

“I vonder..how much longer until ve have our little one..Hmm?” He says as he chuckles.

You squirmed as he changed the positions, so that your back was against the plush royal bed. He slowly removes your panties, pushing your dress up above your breasts, groaning softly as he reaches up to caress your body.

“You are going to have my children, y/n. Youll be my Queen..my darling until the end of tme..” Ludwig pulled you forward until you stumbled into his arms.

He chuckles as he nuzzles his face against yours. “My my..You’re falling for me already?”

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes nearly roll back as he started with deep and hard strokes, pulling all the way out and slamming back into your cunt. “Look at how you take me…you are made for me..just for me..”

“Mein..Gott..you’re so fucking sexy..” He says as he spreads your legs, adjusting your legs as they sat up on his shoulders.

As his cock pushed against your entrance, making you whine as he holds you in place as he slowly pushes his cock into you.

“B-but y-your high-”

“Shh..Shh..” He shushes you, “You’re all mine…don’t worry..no ones gonna touch you..” He moans softly as he leans forward more, nearly bending you in half, pressing your legs to your chest as he slowly picked up his pace.

Ludwig could barely control the needy and breathy moans that left hs throat as his cock delved deeper into your needy hole. His mind was going blank, all he could see was you.

You swollen with his kid, showing you off to the others, making sure that any man or woman who dared even breathe around you knew that you were his.

Because they were his. You were his.

You gasp out and arch your back as his cock was slamming against that sweet spot, it had your once soft whines reaching a new pitch, your nails dragging down his back.

His forehead pressed against your before he attacked your lips with a rough kiss, swallowing all the moans that came from your lips.

And no one was going to take that from him.

You were the air he breathes, the reason that he got out of bed to rule this damned place with his fellow royals. They all could have their own *jewel*. So why couldn't he?

"Mhm..take it..yes..take it like a good girl..for your king..yes~" He cooed as he watched as your face contort in pleasure, signaling that the sweet orgasm he loved to bring you to was coming.

And that was only the first one of many more to come that night.

You weren't leaving that room until he made sure you were his.

Inside and out.

—---

The next day, you were catering to the needs of Prince Jeremy, who you often accompanied at the request of Ludwig, mostly so he could stay out of trouble.

You were also accompanied by Jade.

She believed that they were all beneath the royals. And for some reason she was on the same level as them…just because she was around the longest.

Jade was the head maid, the eldest of all of the maids in the palace.

She had this jaded view on the world, that when she saw any of the staff being friendly and too close with any of the royals, she’d punish them.

“Your highness. Maids are not to mingle with royals. You have ladies in the court of higher standing who can accompany you.”

“Tch. C’mon y/n! You promised you’d help me out wit this! Even ludwig said you would!” The younger prince pouted and you could only offer a sheepish grin.

And Right when you were about to answer, you were interrupted by Jade.

Jeremy sneers at her, rolling his eyes. “Yea? But they’re all a buncha stuck up prissy princesses! I want to hang with Y/n” Jeremy said and Jade only rolled her eyes in response, holding firm.

Once he was out of sight, Jade dragged you into a secluded area before gripping you by your hair and yanking your head back roughly.

“No. Matter of fact.” You wince as Jade roughly grabbed you by the arm. “She has to go help with cleaning tonight for the ball. Good day.”

Jade gripped your arm with a hurting grip, making you wince as you were pulled away from the prince, who glared at Jade, walked away to go to another part of the palace.

“You don’t think I see what you are doing Skank?” She growled at you and you tried to pull at her hand to get it out of your hair but she would only tightened her grip.

“I-i’m not!”

She slams your back into the wall, and she cages you between her arms.

“Liar! You’re just another one of those fucking whores trying to fuck her way up to the top. To get in her ladyship’s good graces. I see right through you!!” She yelled at you before basically tossing you into the wall.

“Don’t think i don’t see you enter his highnesses quarters. You’re not particularly quiet.”

“If I catch you going around them. You. Are. Dead.” Jade threatens before she backs away. She smirks. “Oh. And don’t bother showing your face at the ball tomorrow. It’s for higher ups. And you are not one.”

She turns and leaves, chuckling, leaving you hurting and confused. You didn’t want this position, you weren’t even dong what she accused you of doing. Ludwig…was more obsessed with you than she could even understand. And if you didn’t go to his room tonight, he’d know something was off.

But her threats were not one to be taken lightly. Several maids that she didn’t like have disappeared before, never to be seen again.

So for the first time since being here.

You disobeyed.

GAHHHH I HOPE YOU LIKE THIISSSSS SECOND PART WILL BE OUT TOMORROW <3

[prev][Next]

[m00nymonster]

Birthday

Prompt: present

What do you give a spaceship?

This was a question Seth was asking himself now because two cycles ago Iris had had her fifth birthday party, and for the first time Perihelion had asked for one too. It hadn't seemed interested before, but lately had become more verbal (literally) about its wants. Apparently after years of seeing Iris get birthday parties it wanted one for itself. This party had to include presents, which was the problem.

The party itself would be simple to organize. Peri wasn't fond of the other AIs in the program--it had trouble getting along with them, especially Holism, who was popular with the other AIs--so the guest list would simply be the crew and Iris. A party with seven adults and one child was easy enough. The present part? That, not so much.

A spaceship didn't need much. Fuel, for the few times its power core needed a boost. A good cleaning every now and then. A happy crew for company. However, one did not usually associate a vehicle with possessions. Spaceships weren't sapient enough to even ask for such things.

For now the crew was plotting in a university faculty room at PUMNT, though Iris had been brought with them and was currently happily playing with dolls at the table.

"I requisitioned party streamers and decorations," Kaede said.

"And cake?" Iris said hopefully.

"Yes, and cake."

"Chocolate?"

Kaede smiled. "Of course."

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!" Iris chanted. "Oh! And starchy foods!"

"Iris, we'll have all your favorites," Seth said patiently. It wasn't like Peri was going to eat them.

"Yaaaaay!" Iris squealed. "I want to give Peri a teddy bear!"

"A teddy bear? Where would we put it?"

"On the bridge! Captain Teddy!"

Martyn laughed. "Okay, we'll find one for you."

"I wanna find it," Iris pouted. "And it has to be pink!"

"All right, starlight. We'll go shopping," Martyn said. "Seth, we'll leave the rest to you."

"Sure," Seth said. The two left, and Seth looked at his crew.

"Peri's expecting a present from us, too," he said. Kaede made a face.

"What the heck do you give a spaceship?" she asked.

"I was wondering the same thing," Seth said dryly. "I don't think we can get away with a teddy bear."

"It enjoys Iris' media," Matteo replied. "Maybe we can give it...a game based on some media?"

"Peri devours those. We need something that'll keep it occupied for more than five seconds. Literally."

Matteo looked stumped. Kaede shook her head.

"We've got to think outside the box. What would a machine get use out of? And 'a good polish' is not the right answer," she said, glaring at Matteo, who closed his mouth.

The crew and their captain sat in thought. Finally Seth said, "it's disembodied, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't have a body like the rest of us."

"I suppose," Kaede said. Seth grinned.

"I know what to get it," he said. "Let's get to work."

Two weeks later the crew had Peri's first birthday party. Peri enjoyed watching its humans play silly games, including pin-the-appendage-on-the-fauna, and eating cake (although Iris wore more cake than she ate). But it was by far the most excited to open the two packages it knew contained its very first birthday presents. Well, Iris would open them, anyway.

Is it present time? it asked eagerly as Seth finished wiping cake off of Iris. Seth nodded. "Iris, would you open the presents, please?"

"Mine first! Mine first!" Iris squealed, and grabbed a hot pink box. She ripped it open and pulled out an equally pink teddy bear. "Look, Peri! I got you a teddy bear!"

Thank you, Peri answered seriously. Can we put it in my engine room?

"Whereever you want," Seth replied. "Iris, if you--"

Iris was already ripping the packaging on Peri's second present to shreds. When she pulled out its contents she looked confused.

"What is it?" It was a machine of some sort, the same size as Iris, with a large dome top and several wiggly metal arms underneath.

"It's a very special drone," Seth said. "Peri, try it."

Curious, Peri downloaded a part of itself into the drone. It floated in the air and the arms wiggled. Iris giggled and grabbed one. "Hello, Peri," she said, and shook it like a handshake.

Hello, Iris, Peri said, and shook back. The drone gently wrapped two arms around her like a hug.

Thank you, Peri said quietly, its feed voice filled with emotion. I love it.

Seth smiled. "Happy birthday, Peri."

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Hi!! If it's alright could you do a gang(separately) with a reader who never drinks(or just usually doesn't find it interesting) getting drunk for the first time and being like “i don't think I like this” if not that's fine

Summary: Answering prompt xx Warnings: drinking, Author's Note: never let anyone peer pressure you into drinking girls Normally, you're not the type to drink, like at all. You swore off alcohol, much to the dismay of most of the gang. They let you continue as you were though, you were much too fun while sober to worry about alcohol. However, one time a fruity drink caught your eye and you gave in to your desire. The first sips were genuine heaven, the flavors mixed brightly, but the burn of alcohol left you cringing at the taste. Then, after a while, the world started to tilt, something about the feeling you were having made you want to crumple, your boyfriend, however, noticed your problem.. PONYBOY is so careful with you. He sets you down on a couch and grabs you a water. He will sit with you for a while, making sure your calm before asking if you wanted something. He will return with food, water, a blanket, anything you ask for. Then, he'll wait by your side for the drunkeness to subside. JOHNNY knows exactly how you feel, because he sometimes gets the same feeling. He knows how to help too, he takes you to a dark room, letting you lay down before getting you water and sending you to sleep. He knows it will only pass with time, so he makes the time so comfortable for you. SODAPOP is absoluetly willing to help you! He starts by adressing the situation, something he's picked up from his brother, asking you what was wrong, if there was something you needed, etc. He'll make sure you are well fed and then will cuddle with you until you fall asleep. STEVE calms you down through water, a blanket and a comfy place on the couch as well as promises of security. He will hold you all night if you needed him to. He's staying up late, just to check you're alright and comfortable. He makes sure to never let you have more drinks unless you really convince him. TWO-BIT notices somethings wrong the moment it happens. He makes you sit down and slowly drink water. He talks you through it with things that he thinks would make your time better. When you're comfortable enough, he takes you to the other room and makes you take a nap. While you sleep, he'll sit in the chair opposite, sipping his beer and watching over you. DARRY actually had no clue you drank the cocktail Two Bit had prepared for himself so he was already alarmed to find out you were both drunk and sick. He quietly took you to another room as to not embarrass you, and then tucked you in to his bed. He kept an eye on you the whole night and lectured you the next morning about taking others drinks. DALLAS doesn't really believe that you're sick or that you 'don't like it', his mindset is "everyone likes it why dont you?". But he'll just tells you to go take a nap. He'll check on you through-out the night and he'll make sure you don't ever get pressured into drinking.