#I can’t even tag this as art 💀

[kiwi-does-stuff]

I drew the white lizard from rain world

[zehl0w]

Mfw both of the guys you have a crush on start holding hands at school

[whereismyhat5678]

Guys, the new year hasn’t started for me yet, I still got a few hours to go but I’ll mine-as-well make this post since I’ll probably go to bed anyways- 😂

First, I’d like to say

WE GOT A NEW BANNER LET’S GOOOOO‼️‼️‼️‼️

HELL YEAH! -I mean it’s just the characters but- HELL YEAH‼️‼️‼️‼️

SECOND. I want to show you something AMAZING and that something I’d never expect??

321 FOLLOWERS????

YOU GUYS ARE INSANE THANK ALL OF YOU SO MUCH MY GOD‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

It really makes me think how all of you guys really like and appreciate my art, and the fact that so many people encourage me to keep doing it, it brings me to tears! 🥹

Every one of you are the best thing in my life!! The first time I got Tumblr I started in:

March 30?? That’s insane- 💀

And the fact that I’ve improved SO MUCH is just INCREDIBLE!

You wanna see the FIRST drawings of Peppino??

YEAH THAT’S ME I DID THIS-

And you’re telling me that this was in what- THE START OF MARCH?? (Or February I don’t remember-) But this is just the PINNACLE of how much I’ve changed in terms in art style and experience.

I bring this up because I think Tumblr is the REASON why I improved so much! I experimented with brushes (digitally) and I found my brushes!! I learned how to EXAGGERATE AND ACTUALLY DRAW CARTOONY LIKE I’VE WANTED TO FOR SO LONG!!

(And NEVER took an art class. That’s fucking what- 💀 I need to take one I actually need to at this point-)

Also also also- I’ve learned a lot of things! Anatomy, exaggerative expression, stretchy cartooniness, ALL OF THESE ARE JUST- I can’t believe I’ve learned all this because one day I decided: “Maybe I should ACTUALLY get a social media for my art? 🤔” AND I DID IT AND CHANGED MY LIFE‼️‼️‼️

YOU GUYS CHANGED MY LIFE!-

My followers!- My mutuals/friends- I NEED TO SAY HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE ALL MY MUTUALS, ALL OF YOU 💖💕💖💕💖💕💖💕

Everything about Tumblr has changed me in SUCH a positive way in not only terms of art but with how many people (TALENTED PEOPLE) I’ve made FRIENDS with AND ACTUALLY got to know!!!

I already said it but you guys are absolutely AMAZING and I just CAN’T FATHAM how much this year has just been a BLAST.

My mutuals:

@noodletime @moon9931 @marclef @margarita-the-pizzeria-worker @lucia-the-mii @lovestryke @lord-yiikes @ijusthavefun @linhfoxmoive @kate-bot @nomlioart @boogiestronic80s @zedortoo @jarroyave4637 @atlaslovesedm @alaskacoolkid1 @remaking-machine @average-amount-of-chaos @cherryxsapphic @dingle-dee @eyeballdrawer @tailsdollsnewlife @radaverse @gongustheawsome01 @fluffygiraffe @qwertykeyboard045 @w00den-h3ad @the-little-knight @oddpizza @misdreavusplush

(OKAY- I may have added some people on here that I think ARE REALLY COOL, I may not talk to you much but I’ve seen you guys like my art and I think ya’ll deserve to be on here 🫶💖✨)

AND IF I MISSED ANYONE PLEASE TELL ME I’M SO SORRY BUT JUST KNOW I LOVE ALL OF YOU THE SAME (Platonically) I HOPE YOU GUYS HAVE A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR AND HAVE A GOOD ONE 🎉🎉🎉

GOOD NIGHT TO ALL YOU LOVELY PEOPLE YOU GUYS MEAN THE WOLRD TO ME AND HAVE A GREAT NIGHT 💖💖💖💖

[chibishortdeath]

I filled an entire sketchbook page recently with just doodles of Simon based on various photos of Jerma I hope you guys understand—

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

🎉 Thank You for 10k+ Followers!! 🎉

A big thank you goes out to @cozymochi for this beautiful celebratory commissioned artwork for this major milestone ✨ It really captures the scope of all the content that had been put out in the last 4+ years—both in terms of official Twst materials and on this blog! I think it’s very fitting that we hit this milestone in the month of Halloween too (I just held off on posting this til the month after); it’s Twst’s biggest holiday of the year, so it’s twice the cause for celebration!!

A lot has happened over the course of my time in this fandom. I’ve written many things of course, but I’ve also had many other exciting opportunities! I’ve been interviewed for a paper, met many cool people from all over the world, attended Twst meetups + events, collaborated with other talented creators, received kind gifts, contributed to various fandom projects, and finished telling the origins of my Twst OC. This blog has been with me through a lot of major changes and difficult hurdles in my life too—it’s really been an anchor for me, a comforting and safe space for me to be creative or analytical whenever I want to be.

When I first started this blog as a very casual hobby in summer of 2020, I never even considered that it would balloon to this extent. It still doesn’t feel totally real to me 😭 I don’t usually fixate on numbers (they make me anxious), but looking back on it, 10k is a LOT, and 4 years is a long time. To put that in perspective, if we were in Twisted Wonderland for 4 years then all of the students we’ve come to know and love would have graduated by now. That’s crazy to me. We’ve come so far as a group.

I feel that a large part of fandom is the community that comes with it. I would have found it so challenging to stick with Twst had I not had so many great people keeping me engaged with it. I’d now like to take a moment to thank those folks. Keeping in line with the idea of “4 years”, think of these as little messages scrawled in a yearbook. I also have a blog event planned to celebrate! More on that later.

Please note that I’ve used pseudonyms for most of the following people, as I’d like to respect their privacy (I’m very private myself) + not all of them are comfortable with being explicitly named or tagged to a large crowd. You’ll know who you are if you see yourself on here.

Without further ado:

MSS — Thank you for being the first Twst space I felt truly a part of. It’s still the place I consider my fandom “home” beyond this blog.

April — Thank you for making MSS as a place for us to share! We’re tsunderes in solidarity.

Drinking Knight — The banners wouldn’t exist without your help. Thanks for getting the ball rolling on those; I’d like to think that I’m a little more confident in designing new ones myself now, but you were the start of it all. Your endless enthusiasm for the most insane otome boys, drinks, and bullying (positive) others is truly an inspiration.

Q. Opinionated — Can’t count the number of times you ran tech support for me 💀 Thanks so much for being patient and willing to laugh at a stupid situation. I WILL grip you (escape is not an option) 🤲

Dad with his Printer — Why are you so cheeky My unofficial proofreader and fact checker. Still treasure the teeny J word and coffin magnets you sent, and, even more valuable than those, the bad dad jokes/puns advice and wisdom you give. Wishing you luck on your art adventure.

A. Cider — An unexpected friend I met very late into the fandom and happened to run into irl by total coincidence. Funny how life works. Your shitposts are great, and I appreciate having a like-minded person to talk with about the J words and story critiques. I’d also like to thank you for the many little doodles you’ve made; I know you’re very busy and have a wife to tend to at home but I appreciate that you still make time for friends.

Hana — Extroverted pink-haired magical girl representation. Your bubbly love for Disney, Diasomnia, singing, and (yes) angst lights up the entire room. Maybe you’re not too confident with yourself are right now, but I know you’ll find your way.

Swan — For being quick on the uptake and giving me the heads up about various things! We may not talk much one-on-one, but I’m thinking of you and enjoy seeing you pitch into the conversation. You’re still banned for L*ona posting though/j

Ly — My secret French twin/j Thanks for being my cultural + equine advisor and a voice of (salty) reason. Never shut up about your hyperfixations! You’re a real one.

Oys — Enabler + encourager of my Yan!Sil delusions. Sorry for making your blood pressure spike every time we talk about our food takes. But hey, at least we get a good laugh out of it :))

Mac and Bean — For being my inspirations. Bean, you have such atmospheric writing. I hope my writing style can be just as magical as yours. Mac, it was your blog that first got me into starting my own Twst writing. You never stop being so, so funny also I blame you 120% for the L*ona rot.

Peaches and Cream — To my local Twst friends, thanks for keeping me company even through the hard times. Peaches, happy to be your local Twst dealer anytime. Cream, thanks for hooking me up with new books.

Salt and Flora — I don’t know where you vanished to, but the sea brought you back to me on its tides. I’m so happy we could meet again. Salt, you’re so talented at crochet and design work; get your coin 😂 Flora, you’re the sweetest person ever. Literally cottagecore personified, even in your art.

Piano — We don’t always see eye to eye, but thank you for being my serial debater and showing me new perspectives. Your open-minded theories and analyses are such fun. And, of course, it’s always hilarious to think about how we accidentally (?) swapped oshis 🤡 You’re a star.

The Anklebiter — For having the most unhinged jokes and ideas. Seriously, THE most unhinged. I never do any of the crazy things you suggest but I’m always really entertained from just hearing them.

Te, Mi, and Ro — Thanks for organizing local events and giving me an excuse to touch grass. It’s a lot of hard work and you guys manage to pull it off every time! Mi, I was flattered to have you reach out to me to help a little with the Tweel cupsleeve event. Happy to help anytime! Te, I remember you were cosplaying as Kalim when we first met and I kept thinking about how perfectly suited you are for the role. You were very friendly and made such an effort to include everyone in the event even when I was Idia-ing in the corner. To this day, you continue to spontaneously introduce me to new people 😂 Thanks for getting me put of my comfort zone. Ro, I didn’t think we’d meet again like this. Small world! You’re learning and improving the big events. Here’s hoping to many more!

Vic — For being Ace Trappola when very few others would. It’s refreshing to have someone tell it like it is. I wish I could be as bold and as honest as you are sometimes. You have such a big heart when it comes to the characters you love; it makes me want to adore them like you do too 🫶

Kana — For being so sweet and patient. You helped me through so many rough patches and have also contributed a lot to the look of the blog. It’s so fun gushing with you about magical girls and pretty boys, sharing our favorite shows and movies… I feel as though I’ve made a lifelong friend.

Zari — Thank you for charms and art book, big fan of your stuff 😭 So honored to have worked with you on projects too. I hope to see a lot more of your Yuu and other OCs around, I love following them ^^

Lala — You understand, encourage, and validate my weird tastes in fictional men 💕 Really admire your sense of fashion and stylish nails too. Whenever I have my shrimp apron on, I think of you.

Arisu — No longer in the Twst fandom but integral in the earliest days. Wherever you are now, I wish you nothing but happiness.

P-san — You’re a lifesaver!! Thank you so much for helping me find cute little outfits and accessories for my plushies… They are forever grateful to be properly clothed.

V, Fa, Fe, Ray, Rea, Sonny, Glimmer Group, and Incognito Crew — Thanks for being so supportive of my hyperfixation on Disney villain anime boys, even if you guys have NO clue what I’m rambling about half of the time. To V specifically 🫵 I am NOT a cat boy kisser

Mango — I didn’t know I wanted you in my life until you showed up uninvited one day and chewed your way into my heart.

Azul Ashengrotto — For being the character that first convinced me into giving this game a shot. The Little Mermaid was something I always held so dear to me, so it almost seems like destiny that you’d be the one to drag me down into Twst. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart for that, even if my feelings have changed since then.

Rook Hunt — For being there when I needed to laugh a little. It’s scary to glance over my shoulder sometimes, but you make it easier to smile as I look back.

Rollo Flamme — For letting me know that having negative feelings is normal and human, even if we don’t always cope with them in the healthiest of ways. Let’s reflect and be better together!

Leona Kingscholar — For showing me that change and personal growth is, in fact, possible. Th-This doesn’t mean I like you or anything though, so get off your high horse—

Jade Leech — For taking my hand and guiding me back on the path when I got lost in the dark. Whatever crimes you may commit in your free time, I forgive you/j

Miss Raven Crowley — The little black bird who could, the blog muse. I made you on a whim and look at where you are now… You went from a background character to the main character of your own story. So proud of you, my child 😭

Asset compilers, fan artists, fanfic writers, fan translators, cosplayers, merch makers, editors, plushie pic takers, video essayists, theorizers, etc. — You’re all so important to keeping the fandom alive, especially during periods of official content drought. It wouldn’t be feasible for me to list out all of the content creators I enjoy (chjsbsksks and it honestly might be awkward since I haven’t directly interacted with most of them), but I hope that this message still reaches you and finds you well. Keep doing your thing; I love seeing the work you put out ^^

Anyone and everyone that I’ve ever commissioned and/or received fan works from — I appreciate that you took time and energy out of your day to create something for me. There’s so much talent in the Twst fandom and I’m honored that you would dedicate some of that to a silly little birb.

You, the Readers — For supporting this blog and and what I do here! You’re an important part of my journey too.

Thank you!! Here’s to a future unknown and a page unwritten.

- The Writing Raven

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier�� there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[sunnie-angel]

Part 3: The Invitation

part 2 | part 4 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x f!reader

summary: an invitation to jason doesn’t go as planned, but you find other ways to spend time together

tags: mostly fluff, some minor angst

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.3k

a/n: this update is still fairly fluffy for this fic, but fair warning it is going to get darker in tone and content as the story continues. my chapter count just keeps increasing from my original outline (💀) so it’s taking longer to reach the darker elements but they will be coming.

The first week of term passes, and life resolves into a series of patterns. Jason slots neatly into your social circles with the confused grace of a man that’s not quite sure how he managed to find himself in his position but is grateful for it anyway. Walking to classes together turns into hanging out with your friends after. Invitations to grab a meal with the group get accepted more often than not. He’s only gone out with the group once, a Friday night that had started out in Danika’s apartment and ended with takeout shawarma from your favourite shop on Gilman Avenue. Snapshots of the evening remain in your memory, the casualties of letting Rei make the drinks.

Between your classes and internship picking up, there hasn’t been any time for going out since. Your days revolve around campus and promises to yourself to visit art exhibitions, to pick up groceries from the farmers’ market, to take advantage of the public library’s programs dissipate unfulfilled. It’s easier somehow, to let those promises to yourself slip away than it is to break a promise to your friends. Monday lunches and Wednesday study afternoons, the occasional movie night organized spontaneously. These commitments are easier to keep because they’re with someone else.

It becomes a weekly thing, then, sharing Jason’s lunch on Mondays. Went a bit overboard meal prepping on the weekends, he always offers, a sheepish hand running through his curls. You notice you’re the only recipient of his overzealousness though, and quietly you wonder. There’s a kind of warmth under your skin every time he pulls out a too large Tupperware container and turns to you, asking for your assistance. You’re not totally altruistic — the food’s too good for you to turn down — but the kind gesture makes you chafe a little bit after a while. All that kindness directed at you, nothing asked for in return, it doesn’t sit right, not with the way you were raised. Kindness was a commodity in the Alley, respected and well-received, but always returned. So you start returning the gesture. Snacks between classes and during study sessions appear out of your bag, pressed into Jason’s hands but never mentioned outright. Your grocery list gets the slightest bit longer but it’s worth it. The gesture soothes that itch in the back of your brain and every time you discover what makes the corners of his eyes crinkle up with pleasure you take careful note of it.

You’d thought, first, about returning his gesture in kind. A first text message with a pasta recipe you’ve never been able to replicate quite so perfectly never really materializes into the connection you’d hoped it would.

You: Dr Okafor said the quiz’s only on week 1-3 right?

You: sidenote I can’t quite get the pasta sauce right, you sure there’s nothing missing from the recipe you sent me?

Jason: weeks 1-4

Jason: shouldn’t be

Jason: you’re only adding the fresh herbs after you deglaze the pan right?

You: Yeah every time

Biting your bottom lip, you hesitate before finally pressing send. The cold light of your screen stares back up at you, unfeeling.

You: You could show me?

You: I’ve been meaning to host more at my place, maybe you can teach me and then I could feed you for once?

A typing bubble pops up on his end, then disappears just as abruptly. Nerves have you still chewing at your lip, the pit of your stomach tight with anticipation as it reappears.

Jason: maybe not this time, yeah?

Jason: my bad, it’s on weeks 1-3, week 4’s the next quiz

Taking a deep breath, you scrunch your eyes up. You want to kick yourself for getting your hopes up. The invitation was too personal, too much. It’s one thing to hangout in an apartment in the nicer side of town with friends and a completely different thing to invite him over to your apartment in the notorious Crime Alley to spend time alone. Even if the area is seeing better days under its new management, reputations don’t get shed as easily as snake skin.

You: Sure! No worries :)

You: oh you had me so stressed for a minute there

And it’s true, though you weren’t so much worried about the quiz as you were his response. But he’ll take what he wants from your answer, and you’ll get away with the truth. The truth is, you’ve become unreasonably greedy when it comes to Jason.

Spending time with Jason is easy. He’s got a sharp sense of humour, one that matches your own enough that you joke it’s the only gift Crime Alley gives to all her former residents. He doesn’t laugh often but when he does, you’re the cause of it more often than not.

“I can’t believe you think Nightwing’s best look was Discowing.”

“Wait— so hear me out Jason. Assuming Nightwing’s not, you know, immortal, he’s gonna get old. And when he’s old and in a nursing home he’s gonna tell his grandkids, “well back in my day” and then he’s gonna be able to whip out the Discowing photos. I’m talking intergenerational trauma when the kids realize “Oh no, grandad was hot AND insane.” It’s probably not your best work, but it turns his snorts into full belly laughter. Quite possibly it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve seen.

So it might not be the immediate close connection you were hoping for on that first day of class, but it’s a friendship. One that’s all the more precious for the ways it's been unexpected. The anticipation of seeing him next carries you through the knowing looks you get from your friends. You’re a little more careful now, extending invitations only to places you’re sure won’t make him uncomfortable.

It’s a little hard to describe what exactly it is about Jason that draws you in, besides the obvious. He’s a deeply attractive person, all broad shoulders and sharp angles, though most of the time he seems uncomfortable with the effect his looks have on others. No matter how many times Lina calls him ‘pretty’, the answering red tinge of his ear tips never goes away. Probably, you decide, it has something to do with the enigma of him. The air of loneliness you’d noticed about him on that first day never quite dissipates. Even in the midst of a crowd there’s a sense that he’s still separate somehow. Despite the distance wrapped around him like his leather jacket, he never stops being kind.

Being around Jason is different than being around your other friends. You’ve known Danika since high school and her first cheerful insistence that we’re going to be best friends, I just know it. Lina, Rei, and Will had followed over the span of university, over long hours in the library and pulling out your hair over last minute assignments. They were good friends, good people, but you never lose the feeling that they expect a specific version of you. The version that got out of the Alley and made something of herself, with the uncertainties of where her next meal would come from or if the lights would still be on next week far behind her. Jason doesn’t have that same weight of expectation built on experience. There’s a sense that he’ll accept whatever version you present to him, even the one that still has a complicated relationship to the past and present. It’s been a scarce handful of weeks and yet he’s already seen you at your highs and lows.

The first time you’d shown up to one of your hangouts, just the two of you, bags the size of coins under your eyes hastily covered with concealer and caffeine jitters making your hands twitch like a marionette’s, he’d gently uncurled your fingers from where they’d clutched at your travel mug and simply listened.

“Sorry, sorry,” you’d tried to explain. “I didn’t mean to be late but I slept through my first two alarms and missed the bus I was going to take. Duvall’s midterm is later this week and that class has been killing me. It’s like he’s forgotten what it’s like being a student, and, you know, having more than one class to worry about.”

“D’you need to be off studying then?” He offers the out mildly, like he doesn’t know just how badly your sanity has been hanging on to the thin hope of seeing him before your exam. He doesn’t, so you can’t really fault him for it.

“No! No, it’s fine. I probably need a break from studying before my brain starts melting out of my ears. Or at least that’s what Will tells me.” You purse your lips together in remembered frustration at your friend’s thoughtless comment.

“But you don’t think so?” He prods.

“No, well— I don’t exactly disagree? Just that everyone else already finished their midterms and they don’t exactly have the same pressure of maintaining a scholarship like I do.”

“‘Kay then, let’s study. What’s Duvall got you doing?”

And you’re torn, really you are. This wasn’t supposed to be how your morning went. There was supposed to be coffee, maybe a shared lunch out on the quad in the last of the good (for Gotham) weather and some shared bitching about how truly terrible midterms are. Maybe a meandering discussion of how the pop culture status of the Justice League was diluting their mission, a point of contention you’d found Jason had surprisingly articulate opinions on. But you really need to do well on this exam, the lurking pressures of tight finances and the fear of failure of proving them right a constant soundtrack to your thoughts.

“I— are you sure? This was supposed to be us celebrating you finishing your exams, not studying for mine.”

“Look, you go grab a refill — something not caffeinated — and I’ll find us a spot to sit. We’ll do some practice questions, you’ll feel better about it, and then I won’t have to be mad at Will for bein’ an unthinkin’ ass. Really, you’d be helpin’ me out.” He grins, then stands up from the bench and dusts specks of imaginary dirt off his pants. “Go get your drink, I’ll be waitin’ on you.”

Jason’s pulled a blanket out of some infinite pocket of the universe and settled it right at the base of the big oak in the middle of the quad by the time you return, apple cider in hand. He looks over your course materials as you lean against the tree and sip on your drink, the stress that’s consumed you for the last two weeks starting to ebb. He’s got one knee propped up so he can balance a book on it and the other stretched out, the full length of it only a hair’s breadth from yours. You could swear you could feel the phantom heat of it anyway even through the morning chill. He nudges you with an elbow to get your attention, shows you the cover of the one short story that you’d struggled with the most but Duvall seemed to have the biggest love affair with. You groan, then start trying to break down the text.

“—so if we aren’t meant to be interpreting the main theme as ‘love of beauty’ then it’s got to be ‘love of life’ right?” You think out loud, frustrated with how the meaning of this text has eluded you.

“I don’t think it’s gotta be that specific. If we just assume the narrator’s motivations all start with love, the big capital L kind, then even all the crazy shit at the end makes sense too. Subject doesn’t matter ‘cause it's just there as the object of love.” And Jason’s good, really good at this. Breaking things down and seeing things from just left of centre. Makes you revisit your own ideas, trying to see that grey area where both of your ideas intersect.

“No but she clearly doesn’t love the woman in the first chapter. The narrator admires her and calls her beautiful, but she never interacts with the woman like she does with anyone or anything else in the rest of the text. If she doesn’t love the first woman doesn’t it disprove the idea of generalized love?”

“Maybe,” he breathes out consideringly. “Maybe it's not a generalized love, but I think the narrator does love the first woman. The narrator knows she’s descending into madness — maybe for her, the love was in the absence. ‘Cause if the narrator didn’t let on, then her most loved one wouldn’t be infected with the same rot. And all the other people an’ things were collateral damage, the scales balancin’ themselves with the narrator’s most unselfish act.”

“Okay, but isn’t that the most selfish part though? The narrator makes sure that there’s no one else around to hold her accountable for her own mistakes. And part of it’s madness, I’ll buy that, but I don’t think it’s really love if the narrator can bear to force the woman to a distance. The narrator is fully aware as she gives in to her paranoia and forces the woman into the distance between them. ”

Jason hums thoughtfully, but you can tell by the tone that he doesn’t fully agree with you. “I don’t think we’re gonna agree on this, but if you lay out all your thoughts just like that on paper you’ll ace the exam. Why don’t we do this one too?” He pulls out another short story from the pile on the blanket, and you grin, because this one, this one you could talk about for hours.

Being with Jason is easy. When you’re close enough to reach out and run your fingers through his curls if only you were brave enough. When you’re close enough to get a whisper of his cologne as he reaches past you for something and you can hear the creak of leather as it stretches over his bicep. Yes, being with Jason is easy. Just as long as it’s on his terms and by his invitation.

Part 4

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader Instagram AU

- (Mía is 18 and EZ is 15 here)

•

Liked by jackharlow, yourusername, urbanwyatt, ezharlow, cassiewyatt, and 5,887,345 others

alizemiaharlow We’re B🅰️ck 🩸

View all 2,00 comments

yourusername Yayyy, can’t wait to watch.

alizemiaharlow 🤝🏻 ❤️

jackharlow Proud of you 💜

alizemiaharlow 🥺 thanks dad 💜

urbanwyatt My niece is all grown up 😢 proud of you princess.

alizemiaharlow 🥺🫶🏼 thank you Nino

•

Liked by cassiewyatt, yourusername, jackharlow, alizemiaharlow, and 6,877,345 others

ezharlow Gazebo Festival ready 🤘🏼 let’s go!!!

View all 1,200 comments

yourusername 😍 That’s my baby boy!!!

ezharlow 🥰 love you ama’

alizemiaharlow 🤮 🙄

cassiewyatt Okkkkk basic fit goes crazy 🔥

ezharlow I hate you! Why are you always coming for my fits?

cassiewyatt Because you dress like every other white boy, step it up.

druski HAHAHAHAHAHA 😂😂😂

ezharlow Shut up with your fungus looking feet

jackharlow Angel Ezequiel

ezharlow Sorry uncle Dru

druski Nahh own that shit up 😂

•

Liked by jackharlow, yourusername, urbanwyatt, ezharlow, and 6,234,986 others

alizemiaharlow A time was had 💥 Day 1 was a success.

View all 2,300 comments

yourusername Yesssss today was fun.

jackharlow Thanks for showing up bug 🐞

alizemiaharlow Always 🤝🏻❤️

cozane It was soo good to see you kid. Don’t forget about us.

alizemiaharlow Uncle Avatar 🥺 never everrrr could I forget about you. Even though I’m upset that I didn’t get a care package but don’t worry, I made sure to cop on my own 🤘🏼🥰

cozane What the? I did send you a package, you were literally the only one who got everything.

alizemiaharlow 🤷🏻‍♀️

ezharlow About that 🫣

cozane Punk ass you got your own

ezharlow I needed more?

alizemiaharlow 🙄

•

Liked by jackharlow, alizemiaharlow, ezharlow, cassiewyatt, urbanwyatt, and 6,877,345 others

yourusername Proud of you baby! Always. I’m always team you and your art. I know things didn’t go as planned for day 2, but seeing how happy you were last night, made me emotional and beyond happy. You put in so much dedication, sweat and tears into this, you should feel very proud because I’m very proud of you. Thank you for allowing me to be part of night 1, it was so special to me. I love you for ever and always. I can’t wait what you have planned next.

View all 1,200 comments

alizemiaharlow Superstars ⭐️ ✨

ezharlow My parents are the shit 😎

jackharlow I love you 🥺 thank you for accepting to perform, I know you were a little thrown off by the idea. It’s us against the world, this is a new era and I can’t wait to takeover with you.

cassiewyatt ❤️❤️

claybornharlow 🔥

user of course she was going to perform 🙄 she was the bathroom break 😂

user no way was she going to perform after Queen SZA that would’ve been dead asf 😂

alizemiaharlow People like you is the reason why my mom was iffyyy about the idea to perform. But I’m glad she did, she did amazing, per usual. You’re just mad my dad is her number one fan and includes her in everything, sorry your dad can’t do that for your mom.

ezharlow 💀 Send me your addyyy, I’ll send some autographed pictures of my dad so you’re not so bitter!

allabouttheharlows One thing about Mia and EZ, they’re gonna defend Jack and Y/N

ezharlow They regret ever giving us permission to be on social media 🤣

jackharlow 🫣 We do.

•

- SURPRISE!!!!!!

I know it’s a surprise for me as well.

Life has bee, interesting, it’s been testing me daily, but I’ve seen some growth within myself and it did me good being away. I see all the messages you guys continue to send me, I feel guilty not replying but I didn’t want to give false hope of me being back 100%! I don’t want to commit just yet, but I do want to come with a schedule for me being here and posting. So let me know which days work for you guys best.

•

TAG LIST

@heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @arination99 @cmalass @jackharloww @minkookie95 @deannaard @jacksmoviestar @harlowcomehome @fdl305 @httpkoylinnn @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hoodharlow @automaticpeachsong @amethyst09 @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @stefansalvatoresgf @violetdreamsworld @carma-fanficaddict @jasminxts @itsaaliyah2 @itsyagirljaz @harrycanyonmoonn @neon-lights-and-glitter @awhore4moree @toocriticalharlow @thefemalestorywriter @lightsoutstyles @violetslays818 @fantasywritersstuff @vanwritesfan-fiction

[sitp-recs]

hi! how are you?

so I read a fic some time ago that destroyed me…… like literally. I enjoyed it but at the same time I didn’t. but now I can’t stop thinking about it bc everything on it was so revolting and fucked. how to make a fic get out of our system? is it possible 😅 not to be dramatic but this fic almost made me lose interest in the whole ship lmao I just wanted to read something I enjoy again, you know? and nothing hits :( and when it does I’m almost finishing the fic and something horrible happens (that wasn’t really tagged) and I endure it until the end 💀 anyway if you have any fic that you read recently that is very romantic and monogamous or even if they are exes but they don’t date anyone else because they just can’t move on, pls share with us!! and it doesn’t have to be drarry, it can be anything. Im going through your lists and whole blog tbh looking for something that will save me lmaoooo I’ve read almost everything that interests me and you recced. (btw your break up make up list is amazing!) still I think the spark left me 🫠 ugh sorry for yapping

I’m sorry to hear that, anon :,( I think we’ve all been there at some point, god knows how many times I felt blocked, uninspired or just unable to connect to any fic. Personally, I find it helpful to take short breaks from fandom and focus on other hobbies for a while. Those fics will always be there when and if you’re ready to return! Also, imho you shouldn’t have to “endure” any fics that you find upsetting. I don’t typically have any triggers but I certainly have tropes/topics that don’t interest me much (or at all), and I have no qualms abandoning a fic when they show up unannounced 🤣

Now, it’s a bit hard to rec something randomly without knowing more about your fic tastes, but since you’re interested in romantic/monogamous stories, I thought I’d share some recs along those lines. This is a personal selection that might not work for you, but if it does I’ll be pleased to know that you’ve found that spark again :) Take care xo

Short fic:

Take the Moon by tackytiger (M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

Long fic:

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by nerakrose, dustmouth (T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Who we are in the shadows by Quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

[lunarfleur]

Earth 42! Miles Morales General Hcs

Tagging: @juneberrie @hiyaitssans @sluggmuffin

Warnings:Mention of death, fighting, insecurity, smoking weed

A/N: I love my silly little guy

I see a lot of people view this Miles as like this scary tough go who one crosses

But I respectfully disagree

Miles is probably a dork in every universe. He’s quiet, reserved, and put together. Ganke’s is really his only friend, but they don’t hang out. He prefers to be alone.

He doesn’t start fights, because he knows his mom wouldn’t like it, but trust he will finish them ☝🏻

He’s actually really silly. Like he makes funny comments when he’s comfortable and jokes around a lot. And his laugh is contagious, it’s adorable.

People don’t like him, but they don’t hate him. Teachers like him cause he’s a good student. Students are able to like him because he’s not hard to work with. He’s smart and quiet and nerdy.

He has a lot of built up anger. He just doesn’t show it because he doesn’t want to make his mother worry.

He loves his mother more than anything. She always comes first.

He saves up his prowler money for her. Birthday gifts, Mother’s Day gifts, Christmas gifts, etc…

He never argues with. She works so hard to support him and he knows that. She tells him to do the dishes even when he’s tired and doesn’t want to? He does it.

He tells her he loves her. Every day. Because he does.

Miles’s anger comes from his frustration with himself about his mother. She overworks herself, but he can’t do more than just be there? How is he supposed to be okay with that?

When he’s at home and Rio’s working late, he always stays up to make sure she comes home. And when she falls asleep on the couch? He’s walking out of his room, slipping off her shoes is she didn’t get to it, and tucking her in tightly.

He always kisses her goodnight.

best bet he HAS slow danced with her in the living roo

Okay okay moving on from the sappy stuff 😭

The difference between him and his 1610! Counterpart is that his music was heavily influenced by Aaron.

He listens to some modern rap, but a very large majority of it is 90’s hip-hop and rnb.

Also some of his mother’s favorite songs

He has a pretty large record collection

And prefers airpods to any other kind of headphone

Literally has a plain black phone case 😭

I hate to say it but bro’s short 💀

Idc what is or isn’t cannon, bro’s tiny

But has abnormally large hands

Was one of those kids with GINORMOUS ears until he grew into them 🧍‍♀️

Bro has literally nothing on his bed, except for like a thousand pillows and one blanket

He used to play piano (still does at school but no one has to know)

And likes art just as much as 1610! Miles.

Except he mainly draws what he sees?

His mother, the sky, flowers, that kind of thing…

His inspiration comes from the world around him versus in his head

He’s a giggly bitch at heart

If he wasn’t so stubborn, he’d laugh at everything

42! Miles was one of those guys blessed with clear skin. I just know it.

AND the prettiest freckles (every version of Miles has this)

Only ever cries in front of his mother or at night when he’s supposed to be sleeping

He’s not actually afraid of being vulnerable? Like he doesn’t like doing it in front of other people but he doesn’t try to stop it?

Bros eyes are majestic

This is going off topic but I love his nose 🧍‍♀️

He’s really skinny for some reason

And he’s got one of those really pretty waists for some reason

Loves cargo pants

He’s actually got really good style 😭

Miles has a pull up bar in his room I just know it

Works out consistently

Is a sucker for rom com movies (and is very ashamed of it)

Hates going to the pool (he hates the smell of chlorine)

But likes going on walks?

Loves the smell of rain and smoke from like blown-out candles and bonfires

Hates the smell of lavender

Also loves the smell of vanilla because it makes him think of his mom

Uses Old Spice Bearglove deodorant

And semi-nice cologne? Like not expensive but not cheap?

Bro smells gooooooood

Purple is his favorite color

But he also quite likes pink because it goes well with purple

This Miles has lips that are not chapped (1610! Miles does)

Uses lotion multiple times a day so his hands are soft asf

Is a straight A student

And this boy was raised right so he’s not one of the guys girls worry about?

Like he’s chillin

If someone asks him out and he’s not interested? He’s cool about it

“I’m sorry, I don’t see you like that.”

One of the few situations where he says “I’m sorry” instead of “my bad.”

He doesn’t want to be viewed as a bad guy. He actually really cares about it.

Bros locker is boring asf 😭

Really likes cats and stops to pet (and sometimes feed) strays

Is surprisingly alright with kids? He’s got baby cousins and stuff

He’s one of the few guys who’s confident in his masculinity

Would paint his nails black if he didn’t hate the smell

One of those early to bed and early to rise mfs

He’s got a good sleep schedule

He has gotten high before like off a cart (for anyone who doesn’t know what that is, it’s basically weed in liquid form)

He doesn’t do it consistently or often, so he’s not addicted, but he’ll do it if it’s there

Has a lot of one sided friends (??)

Like he’s a friend to them but they’re not friends to him?

A lot of those are guys who are dicks to girl and doesn’t fuck with that

Cause his mother always taught him to ask himself, “would I want someone to do that to my mother?”

He doesn’t go out of his way to correct them, cause (A) it’s probably just gonna start a fight and (B) chances are, they won’t listen anyway

He’s an honest boy, you know?

He’s pretty craft with like machinery and stuff

He’d make a good mechanic

His least favorite class is English, but he’s a pretty good reader

He’s a math, science kind of smart

There’s pictures of him and certain family members around his room, as well as like 2 of him and Ganke

He thinks of his dad every

And talks to him sometimes, too.

After his dad’s death he kind of pushed his mother away?

But he ended up alright.

Likes buying flowers to keep in vases around the house because his mom likes plants and color

He takes care of them for her

He loves the Rush Hour movies

Actually considered joining the basketball team

Snuggles with blankets and pillows at night

And really likes the tight shirt and baggy pants look

He’s got a nice build

His phone’s wallpaper is a picture of him with his parents

He’d never change it.

He really loves The Boondocks

Miles has a collection of small pieces of memorabilia?

Like movie tickets, dried flower petals, polaroid pictures…

His room is always terrifyingly organized

Like more than a normal person’s

He doesn’t even know how he does

Overall, he’s a chill guy.

[fanfoolishness]

My Bad Batch Fanfiction Masterpost

Looks like I've started writing enough Batcher fic that a masterpost would be helpful! Fics are always tagged under #my batcher fic. My stories are typically canon-compliant genfic focused on angst, whump, family feels, PTSD, and grief. But, there's also the occasional bit of fluff and TechPhee. And Crosshair, Crosshair, Crosshair ❤️💀🖤

The whole series can also be found on AO3 in my Clone Force 99 series.

If looking specifically for Summer of Bad Batch 2024 prompt fills, my SoBB masterlist is here.

Last updated: 10/10/2024

Here's what I have so far, laid out in roughly chronological order from the Clone Wars on:

Growing Pains: Crosshair can’t sleep, but Tech has an idea that may help. Cadet fluff, 1700 words.

Stargazing: Crosshair and the batch go stargazing. Summer of Bad Batch prompts stargazing/you think you're going without me? not a chance. 2500 words.

Injury: Crosshair's first use of the Firepuncher. Crosshair and Wrecker, cadet days, summerofbadbatch prompt injured, drabble + art.

Comfort Zone: Tech and Crosshair relaxing on Kamino, drabble + art, summerofbadbatch prompt.

Flash and Bang: Wrecker loves the poetry of explosions. Drabble.

Field Experience: On one of the Batch's first missions, Hunter is unexpectedly injured and learns a valuable lesson. Hurt/comfort, whump, ~2000 words.

Lightweight(s): The Bad Batch's first night ever out on the town. Boys being boys and plenty of shenanigans at 79's! 4200 words.

Kashyyyk: Headcanons about each of Clone Force 99 from a mission on Kashyyyk during the Clone Wars. Drabble.

The Armory: Written for summerofbadbatch, prompt "It's not what you think." Wrecker and Crosshair visit the Armory in 1x01, drabble.

Evaluations: A series of evaluations of CT-9904 through the years. Nala Se POV. Angst, medical whump. 3200 words.

32 rotations: Drabble/art of Crosshair after being rescued on Kamino. Whump.

The Poncho: Wrecker and Tech debate the merits of ponchos. Cut and Run, Ruins of War. 450 words.

Ill-fitted: Crosshair prepares for his first mission after the fall of Kamino, but something feels wrong with his armor. ~1000 words.

The Hug: Drabble + art of Tech and Omega hugging.

A Light in the Darkness: Crosshair and Mayday struggle through the frozen night, 1100 words.

The Soldier: Hunter isn't sleeping well on Pabu. Set in late S2. ~830 words.

A New Fascination: Tech isn’t sure why Phee fascinates him so, but when she tells him about a mysterious creature near the shore, he takes the opportunity to investigate further. TechPhee first date fluff, 8000 words. Illustrations: TechPhee cuteness, Crosshair whump.

When You Wake: Hunter tries to figure out what to tell Omega, after Tech calls Plan 99. -1000 words, angst.

Radio Silence: Echo tries to send a message to a familiar channel. Written for the summerofbadbatch prompt of the same name. Plan 99 angst, 483 words.

the mess you left behind: Tech called Plan 99. Wrecker’s still here. Wrecker tries to cope with newfound grief, but he can’t do it alone. Shortly post-Plan 99. ~ 3500 words. Sibling grief.

Pretending. Omega pretends on Tantiss, but grief will always out. Drabble + art.

Something’s Off: Drabble + art. Crosshair tries to grapple with news of Tech’s death.

Visitation: Hunter has a conversation with a visitor, shortly after Plan 99. 1400 words, sibling grief.

heightened: Hunter struggles to understand Tech’s death, but even heightened senses don’t help. ~1000 words.

Lost Time: Echo works on Omega's crossbow after Plan 99. Drabble.

haunted: Crosshair's first trip to Pabu is more fraught than it would seem. Or: Crosshair sees Tech's goggles for the first time. 1375 words, all hurt no comfort.

dust: Crosshair reconciles with his old armor. The Return. Drabble.

Patching Up: After the events of The Return, Crosshair realizes Batcher needs patching up. She’s not the only one. ~2770 words.

Blind Side: Wrecker catches Crosshair for a heart-to-heart, and reminds him of something that happened long ago. Set between 3x05 and 3x06, ~ 1700 words. Illustrated by @collophora!

Breathless: After Crosshair nearly drowns in 3x07 - Extraction, the Batch heads back to Pabu to rest and regroup. But the danger isn't over yet, and they'll need to work together to save one of their own. Crosshair angst, medical whump, family feels. Canon-compliant/missing scene, ~5100 words. Illustrated by @collophora!

Still: When Crosshair can't hide his tremor any longer, Omega does her best to help. Maybe this time it'll be different. Fill-in-the-blank for episode Bad Territory. ~1900 words.

Patience: Set shortly after Bad Territory. Crosshair continues to attempt meditation with Omega's encouragement, but it's slow going, especially when the rain interrupts. 1500 words.

Under Sun and Shade: Omega and Crosshair share memories of Tech on a sunny day. ~ 900 words. Illustrated by @collophora!

Dawn, After: Hunter finds Crosshair after Point of No Return. Drabble.

In the morning: Hunter takes Crosshair aside before leaving Pabu. Set during Juggernaut. Drabble.

no choice: Wrecker struggles in the approach to Tantiss - no he doesn't. Whump, drabble. Written for summerofbadbatch prompt, "it's just a scratch."

Captured: drabble with art of Crosshair and Hunter being transported to the CX conditioning chamber during the finale. ;_; WHUMP.

aftershocks: Wrecker struggles to get through the assault on Tantiss and the aftermath. But no matter what, he’ll always look out for his little brother. Wrecker and Crosshair angst and whump and family feels. SPOILERS for the finale. 2200 words.

Breaching the Wall: After Crosshair’s injuries on Tantiss, AZI is forced to treat him with heavy doses of pain medication — and Crosshair starts talking. To everyone. Family feels, whump, hurt/comfort. 5800 words with 2 illustrations :)

Need a Hand? Crosshair knows he can ask for help, but it’s harder than it sounds. Post-finale, 655 words, summerofbadbatch prompt.

a rain that sounds like home: Complete; 43,000 words, 8 chapters. After the destruction of Tantiss, the Bad Batch is safe at last. As Crosshair begins to recover from his injuries, it becomes apparent that not all of his scars are physical, and that guilt and grief are wounds that cut deeper than any blade. His family is determined to be there for him -- if only he can let them in. [Chapter 2] | [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Getting a Haircut: Wrecker helps Crosshair. Drabble + art, summerofbadbatch prompt.

Five Times We Woke: Five times the Batch wakes up in the middle of the night. Nightmares, PTSD, hurt/comfort, soft ending. ~2200 words.

sweet tooth: Wrecker and Crosshair, there for each other through the years. Drabble.

touch: Crosshair has nearly forgotten what it's like to be touched, but time changes that. Whump, hurt/comfort, family feels, soft ending. ~1160 words.

morning caf: It's an early morning on Pabu, and Crosshair hasn't slept well. Neither has Wrecker. When Crosshair goes to check on him, he doesn't expect the question Wrecker asks: "What was it like?  When your chip… when it activated?” Angst, family feels, ~2400 words.

Healing: COMIC. Crosshair finds a new use for his mirror pucks.

The Bad Birders: Headcanons and art of the Batch as birders. Crosshair’s up first, the rest to follow :)

Sick Day: Crosshair wakes up sick, and Omega proves herself the best big sister. ~1000 words.

the waves flowing, the dawn blooming: Hunter and Crosshair have a heart-to-heart, after their girl takes wing. Set directly after the epilogue, stuffed full of soft Dad Batch feels, lots of healing, and Hunter and Crosshair being close again. ~1900 words.

Senescence: Clones have always lived on borrowed time. On a trip home from the Rebellion, Omega and her brothers reach a new understanding. 2700 words, bittersweet family feels. Written for multiple prompts.

Clone Studies: a little meta post about the field of clone studies, long after the clones are gone — but not forgotten.

[nefarrilou]

🌟✨🌟✨🌟 Send this spark to 10 (or more 💌) mutuals to brighten their day and let them know they're amazing! 🌟✨🌟✨🌟

This is sort of random but…I was going through an old notebook of mine and found a quote from you that resonated enough with me to write down. It was so humble and encouraging.

I genuinely think about this often. Thought you might like to see the impact your art and your work ethic had on me, specifically. Thank you for sharing the work you create and I’m excited to see what you have in store for us next! 💀😉

Take care! 🌟

Wow, I can’t even put into words how that made me feel — honored? moved? On the verge of tears? Not gonna lie, I teared up a little bit (➜😭 what actually happened) It’s unbelievably wonderful to know my words reached you in that way. For some, this might sound cliché, but I genuinely meant it! Having that positive mindset about (slow) progress and enjoying the process is the greatest happiness — at least, that’s what I’ve come to realize for myself ☺️ Little anecdote: a while ago, I lost my job due to the financial struggles of the company and I fell into a really dark place. I got so down on myself for not… improving or growing in any way. That’s when I started my Tumblr — to give myself a reason to create something that might also be interesting to others and wouldn’t just end up lost on some hard drive. It’s been, to this day, my creative outlet to stay active and inspired! 💪

It’s truly incredible and so heartwarming that this had an impact on someone else 🥺💝 It motivates me even more to one day share my sim story, full of hidden messages 😉

And honestly, it always touches me that you guys take the time to read my tags or the little updates I sneak into my ask-answers. Maybe I should do more of those 🤔 (I’ve actually been thinking of running several polls for my upcoming project — it’s so big that you could help decide which post comes first. But that’s still future talk, haha.)

And because this message is so important to me, take some flowers straight from the headquarters of the aforementioned project! (more spoiler 📢‼) ✿💀✿ Funnily enough you’ve actually inspired me to create an edit for the first time in almost two months, so you’ve had a positive impact on me too! 😊

All I want to say is: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me know. It means the world to me! ❤️

[camilaxmartin]

gonna put them emoji’s again💀😭 so it would be: 🥑🍬🌸🐝🎨🍄

I love using these TOTALLY USEFUL emoji’s so I picked em🥰

you don’t use avocado/bee/mushroom everyday? what are you even doing?🙄

BUT ANYWAY

🥑: you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

probably @bunnylove1 and @blookyag, idk why tho honestly, just getting the vibes they’d help somebody out with hiding the body💀 (it’s a compliment, i swear-)

🍬: post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character:

okay uhh- (don’t cancel me plz) i respect with my whole heart that alastor is asexual and (?) aromantic but i don’t get the hate people receive when shipping him with someone? as far as i know being on the spectrum means he can still date? like i know, he doesn’t show any interest in that but if its just for a silly au or for a cool drawing then what’s the fuss about? i’m not talking like about erasing that part of him because that’s a big no no for me, but like…? respecting it but still having fun with his character? i saw a great tiktok explaining my thoughts exactly so maybe i’ll link it here if i can find it (add the link here later camila:) (besides all that i project a lot of myself onto alastor (still debating if im aromantic or not) and i want to explore myself with his character (if i can even phrase it that way) so all the hate and shit really bother me, you know?)

(another thing more about whole thing not a character is that “whatever it takes” is in my top 4 songs and i don’t get the hate it gets?? i love this song?? it’s so great?? two latina (?) girls singing together?? cmon??)

🌸: do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them:

i do actually! i have a dog and three rats:) (also had a rabbit but he died not so long ago and he was like my whole world so i got a tattoo to remember him, i’ll add it as well just because i can)

🐝: tag your biggest supporters and say one nice thing about them:

@kimmyisachiisaiakuma - ugh of course?? like in my head we are already besties fr fr, what can i saaaay😭 idk i love you and how supportive and just friendly you are!!:) and god of course, i love your art?? but i’ve already said it a thousand times??? so here’s one thousand first??

@bunnylove1 - just how supportive you are towards my stuff and how with exactly one request i felt like we also became besties? maybe it’s just me but yeah😭

@blookyag - liking my every post and responding to every single one of them!!! she’s a treasure, really. i’m surprised someone cares about my rambling this much💀

@informist - i’ve noticed that she’s also reacting to a lot of my stuff and she’s so quick with it like?? idk it makes my heart jump okay? i love attention from people even when it’s just my stupid rambling😭 (#iamanattentionwhore 😗😗)

@rougecreator1 - liked a lot of my posts as well, and somehow i feel like they enjoy my stuff? idk tho?😭😭 yeah just noticed interactions in my activities:)

@riveramorylunar - i feel like we were more active on each other’s accounts when i was still in my lady lesso era, but idk i really liked you then and i still love seeing your stuff pop up on my main page:)

and of course, all of my lovely anons who send me their ideas that i can’t wait to write!!:)

🎨: link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it:

okay so like it changes every day?? but for now i must say this one:

click!

why? simple. a. brokerdoll b. the marvellous style? c. i want to draw like that d. just… just look at it okay? e. lesbians.

(and a special mention for THIS as well, as it’s the first time someone ever drawn my oc and besides the fact that she looks so pretty here it’s just… idk i just love it okay, she stole my heart)

🍄: share a headcanon for one of your favourite ships or pairings:

let’s start with the fact that i even have a favourite account for all the headcanons about brokerdoll which is @vypridae (adore all the hcs, really)

buut! my personal headcanon is:

• carmilla didn’t really expect to fall for velvette, i mean in my head she just saw her as so… respectless and dumb and stupid and careless and carefree and wild and free and pretty- wait

yeah, so in my head velvette was the first to initiate anything and at first carmilla was like “ha! no way, you stupid girl” but then she started to think more and more about velvette as the time went on and one day she just got along the fact that she might be attracted to the young overlord and somehow… went with it? like she didn’t make a big deal out of it… but velvette definitely did, despite the fact she was actually the first one to say or act on her attraction in any way.

(i need to write more headcanons for them, they’re literally eating up my brain)

[chibishortdeath]

Simon doodles I drew at like 1 AM or so recently. In an absolutely genius move, my dumbass started getting sleepy and decided to draw him being sleepy too about it instead of just going to bed 💀💀💀💀💀. Literally thought about The Guy before I realized I could (and should) go sleep

[no1ryomafan]

Thinking about how everyone talks about how arma always gets so much outside material of all the getter series, like it’s practically most of the merch and whenever getter is repped in crossovers-SRW or not-they always use arma as their iteration but probably due to the fact this a bit of obscure knowledge, I never hear anyone mention the fact arma afaik is the only getter anime to get some side stuff:

<In shin manga there is a singular bonus chapter that is set in armas verse that shows the end of the moon war, written and drawn by ishikawa himself <got its own audio drama cd midway through the shows production that covered events post moon wars but pre show, it also contained two songs that were character songs for go and ryoma, who their vas also sung for <In early 2000s, imagawa, the first director for the anime, in a magazine for a SRW manga he wrote his own three chapter manga that covered some of his ideas that didn’t make it in the final show after he left

Merch and crossover appearances are one thing but it’s kinda crazy how putting aside arc as it’s a full on adaptation, arma is the *only* anime to actually get some manga stuff even if it’s a few chapters, and a audio drama that’s like a hours worth of content on top of that. Like still kinda baffles me that during the whole period of the franchise post-ishikawas death that no one made mangas about any of the OVAs when each of them have potential for a prequel/sequel story that could just be a volume or so long, expect for arma getting a tiny bit of it. It’ll always be so weird to think about it’s the most popular iteration of the franchise despite there being a lot of disinterest for it in the mecha circles nowadays bc of how overused it is yet it’s clearly the one people care about the most and it seems early on it was so apparent it was the money maker.

[lingy910y]

Weekly Tag Wednesday - Firsts!

tagged by @mybrainismelted, @energievie, @deedala, and @creepkinginc 💘

name: ling

age: 17 (you see, this will explain my following answers)

first pet? turtles, i’ve talked abt them before. but idk if i’ve had fishes before them

first word? mama i’m pretty sure

first celebrity crush? i can’t remember…prob jake gyllenhaal?

first irl crush? this guy in 1st grade, we were friends but we joked abt marrying each other?? then in 5th grade he was dating another girl and the three of us were joking abt it (if you count 5th grade relationships as relationships) but i don’t think i even liked him 🤔 there was another guy in 2nd grade but it got awkward when my then best friend promised me her chip bag if i told her who i had a crush on and swore she won’t tell anyone but then told him right after 💀

first kiss? none

first car? none

first apartment/house/dorm/whatever away from your parents? none

first time on a plane? when i was less than a year old and going to china to live with my grandparents

first cellphone? the iphone 7 i’m typing on rn, i got it 4 years ago

first concert? none

first foreign country you visited? china

first sport you ever played? in terms of professional sports none

first career aspiration? an author and i still wanna be one

and finally…tell me about the first time you wrote/drew/created whatever something that made you think “wow.” in sunday art class, a color pencil drawing of a town by the sea

tagging @michellemisfit, @mmmichyyy, @lupeloto, @heymrspatel, @iansw0rld, @doshiart & @blue-disco-lights *super boop + evil boop combo*