#I never reblog stuff but this is everything to me

[nameless-ken]

Between Us and the Dark - Billy Hargrove x Reader

Part One

I've had lots of different thoughts lately and needed to get this one out there. I think it might be a short series!

Please comment & reblog <3

Word count: 4.5k

The usual heat of the California sun beats down on you, but it doesn’t faze you. You’ve grown used to it, the warmth on your skin almost a comfort as you walk down the familiar path to your dad’s auto shop. The smell of oil and gasoline greets you before you even reach the door, a sharp, earthy scent that’s become part of your life. You can hear the hum of engines in the shop bay, the rhythmic clanging of tools striking metal in a symphony that’s as routine as breathing.

You smile as you approach the door, holding it open for an older couple leaving the shop. They thank you warmly, their smiles lighting up their tired faces. You return the gesture, gripping the paper bag in your hand tighter to make sure it doesn’t slip. It’s become a habit, one you can’t quite let go of.

Inside, the shop is a blend of grease-stained work uniforms, car manuals, and the ever-present scent of motor oil. Your eyes immediately fall on your dad behind the front counter, scribbling something in his worn leather notebook. The same notebook he’s kept for as long as you can remember. His brow furrows in concentration, but the moment he sees you, his face brightens.

“There’s my favorite daughter!” he calls out, a grin stretching across his weathered face.

You roll your eyes playfully, but the warmth in his voice never fails to lift your spirits. “I’m your only daughter, but thanks for the honor,” you say, stepping closer to the counter and passing him the brown paper bag. “Here’s lunch.”

“You know,” he starts, opening the bag and peeking inside, “I keep telling you, you don’t have to bring me lunch every day.”

“I know, but Mom always did, so I thought I’d keep up the tradition.” Your smile wavers just a little, sadness seeping into your voice. It’s a subtle shift, but your dad notices.

“She’d be proud of you,” he says softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. The weight of his touch is reassuring, familiar. He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, the noisy shop around you seems to fall away.

“Same to you,” you say, patting his hand as you both take a beat, a quiet tribute to the one who should still be here.

After a pause, you clear your throat and offer, “I was thinking maybe we could order pizza tonight and watch Ghostbusters, you know, like we used to.”

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re twenty-one. You should be out with friends, raging, bar hopping, staying out until three in the morning, not sitting here with an old man like me.”

You follow him as he walks towards his office, leaning against the doorframe as he sits at his cluttered desk. “Maybe I don’t want to do all that stuff. I like our weekly dinners and movie nights.”

He takes a bite of the sandwich you brought him and looks up at you with a mix of affection and concern. “I understand, sweetheart, but you can’t hide away from life forever. Trust me, you’ll regret it. And… she wouldn’t want this for you.”

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. Your mom had always been the one pushing you towards your dreams, always talking about what your future could be. She’d been so excited to help you look at colleges, to plan for what came next. But then, in a blink, everything changed. A normal day, a routine drive to bring your dad lunch, and she was gone. A collision. A wreckage you still couldn’t fully comprehend.

Your dad never says it directly, but you know he hates that you keep bringing him lunch, just like she used to. It’s a shadow you both live under, even if you don’t talk about it often.

Before you can respond, the sound of a deep voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Hey, boss. We got an issue with the engine on the Mustang, and I’m not sure what’s up with it.”

You turn, slightly startled, and your breath catches in your throat. Standing a few feet away is possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. His curly, sandy-blonde hair falls messily over his forehead, his strong jaw covered in a light scruff. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built, with grease smudged across his muscular arms and the collar of his work shirt. His striking blue eyes flicker toward you for the briefest moment before he looks back at your dad.

Suddenly, the air feels a little thicker, and the usual warmth of the shop becomes stifling.

“I’ll check it out after lunch,” your dad responds casually, glancing between you and the man. “Oh, Y/N, this is our new hire, Billy. Billy, this is my daughter—Y/N.”

For a moment, Billy’s eyes meet yours, and something unreadable flickers behind them. He’s stoic, almost detached, but there’s something intense about the way he looks at you, even if it’s just for a split second. He gives a quick nod, muttering a brief, “Nice to meet you,” before turning back to the shop floor.

Your heart skips a beat, but you quickly shake it off, offering a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, too,” you manage, though your voice feels oddly small.

As Billy disappears back into the garage, the clanging of tools picks up again, but you’re still stuck in that moment, staring at the spot where he just stood.

Your dad chuckles, noticing the slight flush on your cheeks. “Be careful with that one,” he says. “He’s got a lot going on.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” you reply, more to yourself than to him, already feeling your curiosity about Billy stirring, though you can’t quite place why. There’s something about him that pulls at you—a mystery waiting to be uncovered.

And you’ve never been one to shy away from curiosity.

You glance at your dad’s office phone, your thoughts drifting to his words. You’ve never been much of a drinker or partier, but maybe, just this once, stepping out of your comfort zone wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Your fingers hover over the phone, a moment of hesitation gripping you before you pick it up and dial.

After a few rings, your best friend answers. “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?”

You take a deep breath, feeling a spark of excitement mix with nerves. “Call the girls. We’re going out tonight.”

You hang up the phone with a mixture of anticipation and nervous energy thrumming in your chest. Tonight will be different. As you move toward the door to leave the auto shop, your hand on the doorknob, you pause when you overhear two workers talking in hushed voices just outside the office.

“I’m telling you, no one really knows why he moved here,” one of them says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“From Indiana, right? Hawkins, I think it was called,” the other one responds, sounding skeptical. “Strange though… he showed up out of nowhere, didn’t talk much about it.”

“Yeah, kinda makes you wonder what he’s running from.”

You frown, straining to hear more, but the workers move further away, their voices fading. Indiana? Hawkins? The mention of Billy catches your attention, and suddenly, his quiet demeanor and distant gaze feel more than just personality quirks. It feels like he’s hiding something. Questions swirl in your mind, and you can’t shake the unease that settles over you.

Just as you’re about to leave, you catch sight of Billy through the garage’s wide door. He’s standing by a vintage Camaro, focused intently on the engine in front of him. For a moment, you watch him, captivated by how effortlessly he works—his hands moving with practiced precision as he tightens a bolt.

There’s something mesmerizing about the way he moves, but it’s more than just his skill that keeps you watching. It’s the way his shoulders tense, the slight furrow in his brow. Even when he’s alone, he seems guarded, as if he’s carrying something heavy inside. You can’t help but wonder what it is.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoes from the other side of the garage—a dropped tool, maybe. Billy flinches, his body jerking in a way that’s too sharp, too instinctive for someone just surprised by a noise. For a split second, his face changes. His usually controlled expression slips, revealing something raw and haunted beneath the surface. His eyes dart around the shop as though expecting some unseen threat. Then, just as quickly, the mask is back, his jaw tightening as he returns to the car, his focus seemingly restored.

But you saw it.

Your heart races a little faster as you stand frozen in place, wondering what could have shaken him like that. It wasn’t the reaction of someone merely startled—it was the reaction of someone who’s been through something. Something bad.

You swallow hard, the overheard whispers of his past mixing with the image of that brief, vulnerable moment. There’s more to Billy than the quiet mechanic who keeps his distance. Much more. And suddenly, you’re not sure whether you’re intrigued or unsettled by it.

Before you can think too much, Billy’s eyes flicker up and meet yours. For a moment, you think he might have caught you staring. His gaze is unreadable, but there’s a tension in the air that makes you shift uncomfortably.

You quickly turn, pulling the door open, your pulse still racing as you step into the afternoon sun. The warmth that once felt comforting now seems stifling, and as you walk away, the questions linger in your mind, heavier than before.

Who is Billy really? And what exactly is he hiding?

The bar is alive with energy the moment you walk in. Dim lighting casts a warm glow over the crowded space, with low-hanging bulbs swaying slightly as the door swings shut behind you and your friends. A jukebox in the corner hums out classic rock—The Eagles, maybe Fleetwood Mac—songs everyone can sing along to after a few too many drinks. The scent of spilled beer and fried food lingers in the air, blending with the constant murmur of conversations, punctuated by bursts of laughter from groups huddled around tables.

Your friends lead the way, weaving through the crowd with the confidence of locals who’ve been here more times than they can count. They head toward a high-top table near the back, just close enough to the bar to keep the drinks flowing, but far enough from the dance floor to avoid the inevitable chaos of drunken swaying. You slide into your seat, the polished wood cool against your hands as you try to settle into the night’s atmosphere.

But something feels off. The noise, the clinking glasses, the shouts for another round—it all seems distant, like you’re watching it from behind a thick pane of glass. You force a smile, laughing at one of your friend’s jokes, but your mind keeps wandering back to earlier that day.

Billy.

You hadn’t been able to shake the image of him—his tense posture, the way he flinched when that loud noise echoed through the auto shop. And the whispering... The workers had been vague, but the mention of Indiana and Hawkins kept circling in your thoughts. What was Billy running from? Why did he seem so… haunted?

“You alright, Y/N?” one of your friends asks, her voice cutting through your haze. You blink, realizing you’ve been staring down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim of the glass absently.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m good. Just… tired, I guess.” You force another smile, trying to push the day’s thoughts aside.

“Sure, that’s why you’ve been spacing out all night,” your best friend teases with a knowing grin. “Bet I can guess what—or who—you’re thinking about.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the flush creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really. Just… something weird happened at the shop today.”

“Oh no, here we go.” Another friend leans in dramatically, her eyes twinkling. “Spill it.”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “It’s nothing big. I just… overheard some of the guys talking about Billy.”

“Billy?” your best friend raises an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “The hot new guy who works for your dad?”

You nod, glancing around the table, feeling their eyes on you. "Yeah, they said something about him moving here from Indiana, but no one really knows why he left. And then, today, he kind of… flinched when something loud dropped in the garage. It was like he was spooked, you know? Like something was really bothering him."

There’s a pause before your friends burst out laughing, not in a mean way, but in that teasing tone they always use when they think you’re overthinking things.

“Oh come on, Y/N. You’re making it sound like he’s hiding from the mafia or something,” one of them chuckles, taking a sip of her drink.

“Or maybe he’s just shy,” your best friend adds, winking. “He is ridiculously good-looking. Who wouldn’t flinch under that kind of attention?”

You can’t help but laugh along, but inside, there’s a nagging feeling you can’t quite shake. It’s not just the attraction that’s eating at you—it’s something deeper. 

“You know what?” your best friend interrupts your thoughts again, leaning in conspiratorially. “You need to relax. Let Billy be mysterious and brooding. Tonight, we’re here to have fun. No more deep thoughts—just drinks and dancing. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, though your mind is still partly elsewhere. You’re trying to shake off the tension as the waitress brings another round, and your friends dive headfirst into lighthearted banter. But as you glance around the bar, your heart skips when you spot a familiar figure sitting alone in the far corner.

Billy.

He’s at a small table by himself, his broad shoulders hunched over a glass of whiskey, one hand resting lightly on the rim as he stares into the amber liquid. He looks as out of place as you feel—detached from the noise and energy surrounding him, lost in his own thoughts. The dim lighting casts shadows across his face, making him appear even more guarded, more unreachable.

“Earth to Y/N,” your best friend sings, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Are you seriously zoning out again?”

You blink, tearing your gaze away from Billy, but not before your friends follow your line of sight.

“Oh my God,” one of them gasps. “Is that Billy?”

Your heart races, and you nod, feeling exposed under their playful stares.

“Looks like fate,” your best friend says with a mischievous grin. “This is your moment, girl. Go talk to him.”

“What? No. No way,” you protest, shaking your head quickly. “I can’t just walk over there.”

“Why not?” she teases, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not like he’s going to bite. Besides, you’ve been thinking about him all night, right? Now’s your chance.”

You glance over at Billy again, and your pulse quickens. Part of you wants to approach him, to figure out what it is about him that’s pulling you in, but the other part of you is nervous. What if you’re reading too much into this? What if he shuts you down?

“Come on, Y/N,” another friend chimes in. “We dare you. Break the ice.”

You look at your friends, all of them grinning, eager to see how this plays out. The teasing pushes you, but underneath their laughter is a genuine push for you to step out of your comfort zone, to live a little like your dad suggested.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you down the rest of your drink, take a deep breath, and slide out of the booth. “Alright, I’ll do it,” you mutter, heart pounding as you take the first step toward Billy.

Your friends cheer behind you as you weave through the crowd, each step feeling heavier than the last as you approach his table. And then, you’re standing in front of him. He looks up, his intense blue eyes locking onto yours. For a brief moment, there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, maybe even curiosity—but it vanishes as quickly as it appears. His expression remains guarded, a wall firmly in place between the two of you. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t dismiss you either. He just watches you, as if silently weighing whether to let you in or push you away.

The tension between you stretches like a rubber band pulled tight, and for a second, you consider turning around, making up some excuse to leave. But then you remember the way he flinched at the auto shop, that vulnerable moment when no one else was watching. Something inside you pushes forward, refusing to be intimidated.

“Hi Billy,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though you can feel the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “Mind if I sit?”

Billy doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flicker over you, then back down to his drink. For a second, you think he’s going to say no, but then he shifts in his seat, gesturing subtly to the empty chair across from him. You take it as a sign and slide into the seat, your heart pounding.

You clear your throat, feeling the weight of his silence pressing in on you. “I’m Y/N,” you say, even though you know he already knows your name. It feels strange, but you say it anyway, hoping it’ll break the ice. “We’ve, uh, kind of met already, I guess. At the shop.”

Billy nods slightly, barely acknowledging the obvious. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “I remember.”

Another stretch of silence settles between you, awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. There’s something about his presence that’s heavy, but it doesn’t repel you—it draws you in. You grip the edge of the table.

“So,” you start, leaning in just a little, trying to sound more casual than you feel, “my friends dared me to come talk to you.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of surprise breaking through his guarded expression. “Dared you?” There’s a slight edge of humor in his voice, though it’s barely noticeable.

“Yeah,” you laugh nervously, grateful for any response. “I guess they think you’re a bit of a mystery.”

His gaze sharpens for a split second before he looks away, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. The humor fades as quickly as it appeared, and you suddenly feel like you’ve touched on something sensitive. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” you add quickly, trying to recover from the awkwardness. “I just thought I’d come over, you know, because… you don’t exactly look like you’re having the time of your life over here.”

Billy’s lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but close enough to give you hope that you haven’t completely blown it. He shifts in his seat again, his eyes flicking back to yours for a brief moment. “Bars aren’t really my thing,” he admits, his voice low, barely above a murmur.

You nod, feeling a little more at ease now that he’s actually engaging. “Yeah, I get that. I’m not much of a drinker either.” You glance around the room, the lively noise of the bar in sharp contrast to the quiet bubble that seems to surround your conversation. “But, hey, sometimes it’s good to just… get out, you know?”

Billy gives a noncommittal shrug, his eyes distant again, as if he’s only half here. You can’t shake the feeling that something is weighing on him, something heavy, and you want to ask more, but you don’t want to push too hard too soon. Instead, you decide to keep things light, hoping it’ll coax him out of whatever shell he’s hiding in.

“So, are you always this mysterious, or do you save that for work?” you tease lightly, offering him a small smile.

For the first time, Billy’s gaze softens just a little, his expression almost amused. “Do you think I’m mysterious?”

“Well,” you say, leaning back in your chair, “you haven’t exactly been the chattiest guy since you started working for my dad. Not that I’m judging or anything—it’s just…” You hesitate, then add, “I guess I’m curious. I mean, you kind of keep to yourself.”

Billy looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out your angle. Then, finally, he lets out a quiet sigh, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “There’s not much to tell,” he says, though you can tell by his tone that there’s more beneath the surface.

“I don’t know,” you reply softly, your curiosity growing. “Sometimes the quiet ones have the most interesting stories.”

Billy doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink, his eyes still distant. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more contemplative. “Maybe,” he says, barely audible above the noise of the bar. “But not all stories are meant to be told.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re unsure of what to say. There’s a heaviness to his statement, a sense of pain or regret that he’s not ready to share. You can feel it in the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers tighten around his glass. He’s closed off again, retreating behind his walls.

“Everyone’s got their stuff, right?”

Billy doesn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of something crosses his face—acknowledgment, maybe even understanding. Billy’s eyes remain fixed on his drink for a moment longer, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass, as if he’s contemplating something. Finally, he glances up, locking eyes with you again. There’s a brief pause, and you wonder if maybe he’s going to say something more, maybe open up just a little.

But instead, he shifts in his seat, straightening up slightly. “If this isn’t your type of place, why’d you come out?” he observes, his tone neutral but edged with curiosity.

You laugh softly, shrugging. “According to everyone, I’m supposed to be having more fun in life.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, looking around at the chaos of the bar before his gaze settles back on you. “And this is your idea of fun?”

“Well,” you smile, glancing back toward your friends, who are huddled together in a corner booth, laughing and sipping their drinks. “My friends mean well. I guess they just want me to let loose, stop overthinking everything.”

Billy doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s watching you closely, trying to read between the lines. 

“What are you overthinking?” he asks quietly, surprising you with the directness of his question.

You blink, taken aback by his unexpected interest. You weren’t expecting him to ask, let alone seem genuinely curious. You glance down at your hands, feeling a little exposed but somehow comfortable enough to answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit, letting out a small sigh. “Everything, I guess. My mom died a few years ago, and it’s been… hard. I haven’t really figured out how to move forward. I’ve been helping my dad at the shop and just… keeping things steady, I guess. It’s like I’m stuck.”

Billy’s gaze sharpens slightly at the mention of your mom, his blue eyes clouding with something darker, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, his expression unreadable.

“I know my dad means well,” you continue, your voice softer now, “but he wants me to get out more, live my life, you know? It’s just… hard. Every time I think about what I should be doing, I feel guilty. Like I’m leaving him and my mom behind.”

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and suddenly, you realize how much you’ve said. You glance at Billy, worried you’ve overshared, but he’s still watching you closely.

For a moment, there’s silence again, but this time, it feels different. More charged, like you’ve opened a door that wasn’t meant to be opened. Billy shifts in his seat, his jaw tightening just slightly, and for a second, you think maybe he’s going to brush it off or change the subject.

But then he surprises you.

“I get it,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the bar. His eyes meet yours, and there’s something raw in his gaze, something that makes your heart skip a beat. “Losing someone… it messes with you.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. It’s the most vulnerable he’s been since you sat down, and it catches you off guard. There’s something in the way he says it—like he knows exactly what that kind of loss feels like.

You study his face, noticing the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker with something deeper, something he’s clearly not willing to talk about just yet. But it’s there, hidden beneath the surface.

“I didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” you say softly, breaking the tension with a small, apologetic smile.

Billy shakes his head, his expression softening just a little. “It’s fine. Sometimes… it’s easier to talk to someone who can understand.”

You nod, feeling a strange connection forming between the two of you, even though you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Billy really is. There’s still so much you don’t know, so much he’s clearly keeping hidden, but for the first time, you feel like you’ve glimpsed a piece of the real him. The guy behind the walls.

The noise of the bar seems to fade away for a moment, the world shrinking down to just the two of you at this small table, surrounded by the chaos of laughter and music. You feel the weight of his gaze on you.

Before you can say anything more, Billy’s eyes flick toward the door, and his entire demeanor shifts. His shoulders tense, his jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow as if he’s just spotted something—or someone—that makes him uneasy.

You follow his gaze, but all you see is a group of rowdy guys stumbling through the door, shouting and laughing as they head toward the bar. Nothing unusual, just another group of late-night partiers. But Billy seems… on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Billy shakes his head, standing up abruptly. “I’ve got to go,” he mutters, his voice tight.

You stand up too, confusion swirling in your chest. “Billy, wait—”

But he’s already moving toward the exit, his steps quick and deliberate. You watch him push through the crowd, disappearing into the night before you can stop him.

You stand there for a moment, frozen in place, trying to make sense of what just happened. The bar feels louder now, the noise crashing back into your senses as the door swings shut behind him. You’re left standing by the table, your heart racing, questions swirling in your mind.

As you glance toward the door again, a knot of unease tightens in your chest. Whatever just spooked Billy—it wasn’t something casual. It was personal. And whatever it was, it’s clear that Billy’s past, the one you’ve been so curious about, isn’t as far behind him as he’d like to pretend.

You feel it now—an undeniable pull toward him. Whatever darkness he’s running from, whatever secret he’s keeping… you can’t shake the feeling that you’re about to be pulled into it too.

Comment to be added to the tag list for this story!

[golyadkin]

I cannot express enough that if your reaction, as a hobby artist, to not getting that many notes on your art is to say "maybe I should just stop doing art altogether" you need to stop posting art to tumblr

not necessarily forever, not even for long, but just stop putting your art on here and start doing it for you again, remember why you enjoyed doing art in the first place and stop relying on the attention of faceless people on the internet for your enjoyment of your hard work

believe me, I get it, nothing crushes the artistic soul quite like labouring for hours on a piece only for it to get like 10 notes, so you need to find your own source of joy in the act of creation and a lot of the time that means making art and not showing it to anybody

[stunie]

ZEVIE’S LIL ANNOUNCEMENT!

Aaa ok I saw others make one & I wanna add mine too > < I’ll try n keep this short! School and work picking up -> a little busier!! So that being said:

1) REBLOGS :

Please tag me! If you post something, I would like to read it— so 100% tag me! I don’t scroll through the dash that often, so I miss a lot. If you’re a new moot, even if we haven’t spoken, etc— tag me anyways! I don’t care what fandom it’s for ^ ^

If you see things you want me to reblog at all— moot or not, tag me. I’ll reblog it as long as it’s not super dark (I worry I might mistag & trigger some. This is still a DC friendly page, so don’t worry!). I also can’t reblog if the writer is <18, has no age in their bio, or has a DNI page that I cannot follow.

^ TLDR: TAG TAG TAG. As much as you want. If you’re shy, you can send me an ask or message (or discord!!) that you posted. If I know it exists, I’ll reblog it. If I’m too busy to read it, I’ll still reblog it so others can at least see it.

2) OTHER THINGS:

Writing: slowing down for Kinktober 2024! I hope you all enjoy reading that when it comes :> I’ll make a section for Kinktober in my recs masterlist too! It’ll have masterlists, resources, everything.

[witchqueen]

Does anyone have any tips to help stop yourself from comparing your artwork to others, or equating your value as an artist with likes and reblogs?

I've struggled with this for a while and it's getting old, I don't know how to just shrug it off. Any genuine advice would be nice

[n0bluev]

@fushiglow hmm….wonder who i’d draw this for all of a sudden and why… 🤔🤔

[kyouka-supremacy]

kyotag im blushing thank you for complimenting my silly doodles im glad to know you like em ♡♡

I don't just like your doodles I absolutely love them!!!!! Especially everything with Akutagawa I think about the bow one every day 🥺🥺🥺🤧🤧🤧

[stormyweaver]

Being on here isn't even fun anymore. Idk, maybe it's just me. Maybe it's just this site. Did I ever even actually enjoy being on here... I'm kinda skeptical about it.

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[darkeneddawningmain]

I live! And I'm writing a fic

Hello, everyone! :) I've re-started the process of moving this blog over to a side blog (@darkeneddawning) when I have time. End goal is to have all my art and stuff from here over there, so my main blog (this one) can be used for everything. The side blog will be where I post new phandom art and stuff.

Hopefully the transfer isn't too confusing for everyone. If you want to follow me to see my phandom art and stuff, you might want to wait until my side blog is all caught up, or you'll be spammed with me reblogging all of my old art over there for the next while. I'll announce on this blog when it's done and wait at least a week so people have time to unfollow this blog if they don't want my reblogs of everything I like to clutter up their dashes.

But I'm too impatient to wait until I'm done with that before I start posting again, so here's a blurb from the DP x DC Circus Gothica crossover fic I'm writing! It's going to be a while before I can post it since I've got a lot going on and I'm a very slow writer so far, but I'm hoping posting about it will keep me motivated to continue working on it :)

It's not a very long blurb, but I'll put it under a read more anyway (along with a synopsis of the fic):

Fic synopsis:

Wait, but if I’m mind controlled, and you’re mind controlled, then who’s catching the evil ringmaster??

Jason wasn’t expecting to join the suspicious circus he was investigating on Dick’s behalf, but a day in found him planning a heist with his new posse of co-slaves. At least getting in on the action gave him the answers he was looking for, as well as some others to questions he’d forgotten he was still asking.

Or: A new circus rolls into Bludhaven, trailing a history of too many pilfered towns to be a coincidence. Dick asks Jason to look into it on account of Dick’s circus related trauma. Jason was expecting to find evidence, not a one-way ticket to minion town, or a mysterious boy who somehow calmed the insatiable waters of the pit. Who is this boy, and what can he teach Jason about himself?

----

Though he felt compelled to come, he didn’t know what was wanted of him now that he was here.

“This area is off limits to guests. Can I help you?”

That reaper kid from the performance, head attached, was looking at Jason with a raised brow. The same Red color that was swirling around Jason’s brain occupied the kid’s irises. Now he was up close, Jason could see how the kid’s stage eyeliner was only a slight enhancement to the genuine dark circles under his eyes. With those in addition to the gaunt hollowness of his cheeks, the kid looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

Jason smiled. It wasn’t a natural smile, but the Red liked it. “I’m here to, uh… cross over to the dark side?” That was all the Red was giving him to work with.

Reaper kid squinted at him, then drew back in surprise. “Woah, I totally thought you were human. Is that a disguise?” he asked, walking up to Jason.

“Disguise?” Jason glanced down at his body like it would clue him in to what reaper kid was talking about. He looked plenty human to himself. “What else would I be?” Was this important to the Red’s mission? Red was starting to feel a little more impatient.

“Uh, you know,” the kid gave a dismissive hand wave, but clarified: “Dead?”

[compassmili]

The alter I mentioned in the tags of that last post is named Othello and tbh when I see her growth I'm like ohhhhhhhh. Maybe it'll all be okay.

[kavehater]

Guys …. Should I ask for her discord

[seventh-district]

so was anyone gonna tell me that Neil Newbon is the VA for Astarion or was i gonna have to find that out myself when he suddenly started uploading his playthrough of the game on YT

[coldgoldlazarus]

Hate when fundamentally incompatible brands of neurodivergence turn out to indeed be fundamentally incompatible

[britneyshakespeare]

ppl will just reblog posts w outright historical misinformation in them

[ivyloveheart]

Yeah idk I guess I’m just gonna go back to just reblogging things idk. Not really too in the UTMV fandom anymore and I still can’t get many interactions.

[somekangarookid]

i'm always so proud of people who are fighting so hard to try and be better. it's not always an easy thing. it's not always just realizing you made a mistake and you can apologize and learn to do better in the future. sometimes it's learning your whole worldview was painted for you, that you were raised to hurt yourself and others. breaking away from that is hard when it's the "reality" you've been living for possibly decades. you were actively shielded or punished from learning otherwise. here's to everyone who managed to escape and to everyone trying to escape a hateful reality.