#LIVING RENT FREE I TELL YOU

[tunastime]

tuna I was just telling shep this, but between shep's dbhc au and your sen au and reading redstone and skulk, helsknight and evil xisuma have built like a permanent house in my mind lmao

I'm going to start shaking uncontrollably I am filled with horrors unbeknownst to anyone else < just knows a little too much about all the au helsknights

this is so funny though. take my hand. we can make you exponentially worse

[syluses]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”

[andstuffsketches]

girl who lives in a cave

[grey-viridian]

Sillies

[capsicle107]

✦favorite outfit/hairstyle(s)✦ for @peggynet’s day 5 prompt of peggy week 2025! ‪‪❤︎‬

[taradactyls]

It's thinking about Darcy desperately yearning running into Elizabeth at Pemberley hours.

Like, you fell in love with this woman, but rationally (pridefully) you though it wasn't something you should pursue. But you can't forget her, and then she's at Rosings... and the more you see her - with her wit, her eyes, the liveliness of her mind - the more she undoes every expectation of who you should marry that you'd ever had. You prolong your trip to see more of her, you start imagining what it will be like married to her and unwisely after only seeing her again for a week begin asking how she'd feel living far away from Longbourn, and even hint things like she'd be staying at Rosings next time she visits Kent.

It's too much. You're feeling too much.

She's due to visit for tea the night before you take leave, and an evening gives far more opportunity for privacy and conversation than sitting in Mrs Collins' drawing room for half an hour the next day.

But she doesn't come, she's feeling ill, and you won't see her. If you don't make an effort, you might never see her again. It's not like Bingley will be going back to Netherfield anytime soon, after all.

You bail on the evening and go check if she's ok.

It's late, but you have to see her.

She's not super friendly when answering your questions about whether she's feeling better, yet that's to be expected when someone has a headache. But she's there, sitting with you quietly, and then you're so agitated that you begin pacing.

It's inescapable. You love her too much.

You'll marry her, and deal with all the impropriety of her family's connections and behaviour. She's worth it.

Because of course she'll say yes. You've been so open that she must be expecting your addresses. It doesn't occur to you that you're wrong to assume she's wishing for it.

Then she rejects you.

And she doesn't only reject you: she shatters your entire perception of self. Not immediately - oh, she creates a large crack, but it takes some time for you to do justice to her words. But they linger, inescapably.

"Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

You're bitter, and angry, and hurt, and offended, and the sense of doubt isn't going away. But there is one thing you can do, that you have to do.

You write her a letter to explain yourself against the accusations she levied your way - some unjust, but others will eventually gnaw at you until you're forced to face them and stare directly at all the faults you didn't know you had.

You know it won't make her accept you.

The turn of her countenance you'll never forget, as she said that you could not have addressed her in any possible way that would induce her to accept you.

But you need to write the letter: to explain, to warn, and maybe - just maybe - make her think a little better of you.

If she even gives credit to anything you say.

She thinks so little of you she might dismiss your arguments and only hate you more for what you said of her family.

God, you basically insulted her family again in the letter. With an apology, yes, and as an explanation, but you knew at the time that those comments and what you divulged of Wickham would give her pain. But it's necessary. You still believe that, even as time goes on and you begin to wonder if all it achieved was making her hate you more.

The last time you saw her was as you handed her that letter.

She hadn't spoken.

You weren't yet master of your emotions enough to see her and be friendly, the best you could do was try be composed.

If only you'd been truly as calm and composed as you thought you were when you wrote that letter. You can see now that you wrote in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. There were some expressions you used, the opening of it, which alone would be enough to justify her hate. Though, despite your emotions, you never doubted for a moment in her goodness - never doubted that she won't spread around what you divulged of your sister.

She hates you, but all the reasons you love her are still there.

That's something that doesn't change as you slowly unravel the flaws her reproofs revealed to you and you try to become the person you always thought you were. So many behaviours, and the emotions that governed them, were not what they ought to be. Your principles were always good but you followed them in pride and conceit.

You were blind until she cut you to the quick. Opened your eyes to yourself and taught you such a hard lesson - but it was for the best. She properly humbled you and taught you how insufficient all your pretensions were to please a woman worthy of being pleased. Even if you never see her again you will be worthy of the title gentleman.

You will work to become the person you want to be.

Her rejection doesn't hurt so much as the knowledge that she was right and you failed yourself and so many others. Any anger or blame you felt for her words when refusing your hand are long since passed. If she had been able to overlook those flaws she wouldn't have been the woman you love.

The more you reflect and seek to rectify your behaviour the clearer it all becomes. In trying to understand yourself you realise that so many of these flaws have existed almost your whole life. And yet, despite how obvious it now seems, you had no idea.

Though your parents were good themselves they spoilt you - first as an only child, then as an only son - and you grew selfish and overbearing, caring only for your small family circle. Thinking meanly of the rest of the world, wanting to think meanly of their sense and worth compared to your own.

You owe the world so much better.

Your position, far from giving you leave to treat others as inconsequential, means you have a duty to think of others and ensure they are not wronged. Yes, you've done that broadly - especially on your estate, and always with servants and the poor - but what of in smaller ways, to those closer to your own rank? Have you directly treated them with civility and respect?

You know the answer now, but you're doing your best to fix it.

For almost four months, you ruminate on her words and turn yourself into a gentleman you can respect. Someone worthy of the respect you've so rarely had to actually earn. Someone who might've been worthy of her respect from the beginning.

You've never stopped loving her.

Almost four months, and you're not sure if you'll ever see her again.

You certainly weren't expecting to leave the stables after arriving at Pemberley and find her standing in front of your house.

Your eyes meet.

You freeze in place.

Four months of distance and then twenty yards away from each other.

She's blushing (so are you).

Your brain is too surprised to work.

She's here.

She's here and you're just standing there.

You have to go to her. Even if you didn't still love her, it's the polite and friendly thing to. (But you do still love her, and so her presence is a physical weight in your chest that you could scarce resist).

She had turned away briefly, but turns back when you approach.

You hardly know what you say, she hardly raises her eyes to meet yours, but you hear her voice, and she doesn't sound annoyed when she answers that her family is well.

Honestly, despite how discomposed you are by seeing her without time to prepare, your instinct is to stay by her. Even if it means speaking like a fool. You're pretty sure you ask her when she started travelling and how long she's been in Derbyshire at least thrice. But you start to recollect yourself, breathing a little more evenly, and run out of things to say. Remembering that she's here with friends and you've just come from the road, you take your leave.

Your thoughts stay with her though.

She was still just as lovely as ever. More civil to you than you have any claim to.

Your housekeeper says a gentleman and two ladies were taking a tour of the house, and have now gone with the gardener to see the accustomed part of the park. You know the place.

As your valet helps you change your thoughts solidify: you can meet them, and, through every civility in your power, show her that you aren't resentful of the past.

She's so close, and you can't lose this chance to perhaps obtain her forgiveness, lessen her ill opinion, by showing that her reproofs have been attended to.

And, maybe, you're just desperate for any excuse to see her.

By now, you've been in love with her for more than eight months, despite trying, really trying, to forget her both when you left Hertfordshire and Kent. It's pointless, either you'll recover in time or you'll spend the rest of your life in love with her. At this point you don't even want to fight it. Despite the pain of her not feeling the same way, she did you the greatest good anyone could, by showing you who you really were. You improved yourself because you should, without any expectation of seeing her again, but one thing that you can't alter about yourself is your love for her.

Right now, what matters is being near her and showing her you can be a real gentleman.

So, you follow her and her companions to the stream.

She speaks first this time. Putting herself forward to be friendly and polite. Proof, surely, that she doesn't hate you so much anymore? She's almost her usual smiling self, though she goes red and silent while admiring Pemberley's beauty.

You can understand why - you had determined to not ask whether she liked your home in case it sounded like you were wondering whether she regretted rejecting you and thus Pemberley. You know she didn't mean anything by her praise (and she'd known you were rich when she turned you down) but you understand her sudden embarrassment.

Although... when did she start caring that you might misunderstand her and think badly of her? She didn't care the last time you met.

But that's not important now. It's for you to ease the conversation and prove yourself. So you change the subject, and ask her to do the honour of introducing you to her friends.

Her surprise is obvious, and fair. Seeking the acquaintance of strangers, even respectable-looking ones, just wasn't something you used to do regardless of what the well-bred and civil action was.

And what does it say about you - with all your newfound respect and civility - that you're still surprised when the fashionable couple she's with turn out to be the very aunt and uncle you'd previously declared would be a disgraceful connection. You recognised you were wrong to be so dismissive, so rude, but the core assumption that the tradesman brother of Mrs Bennet and his wife must be noticeably vulgar had clearly remained. Yet here they were, everything elegant and well-bred.

How right Elizabeth had been about you.

But now you can show her that was the past, and your manners are improved and prejudices lessened.

You walk back with them, talking to the uncle, who has intelligence, taste, and sense. You like him a surprising amount. He points out trout in the water, and you're glad to invite him to fish here while they stay in the area. You have all the supplies he might need, and know the best spots. As you speak with him your attention is only half distracted by who walks behind you at a short distance.

Hopefully her uncle's happiness makes her happy also.

You have the chance to see, when the walking arrangements change and then she's the one walking beside you.

Honestly, you're not immediately sure what to say, but again, she speaks first.

Yes, she almost certainly doesn't hate you anymore.

Her explanation that she'd been assured of your absence before visiting sounds more like she doesn't want you to think her rude, than expressing disappointment that you are here.

Yes, whatever her past insults, she definitely cares that you don't think badly of her...

As though you ever could.

In mentioning why you returned a day early you mention who you're with, and too late saying Bingley's name reminds you that the last time you two spoke of him was when she (rightfully) blamed you for separating Bingley and her sister.

That silences you for a moment - but she doesn't respond with anger.

Composing yourself, you ask if your sister might be introduced to her. You've spoken of Elizabeth so highly to Georgiana, and so often, that your sister would love to meet her. You don't need to ask - your sister is the social superior, her wishing for the acquaintance is strictly enough for the introduction to be made - but you want to. You mean it, when you ask Elizabeth whether you're asking too much by facilitating the introduction. You want her to have the chance to say no.

But she says yes.

(Even sounding pleased about it, though surprised.)

Which is also a yes to seeing you again during her stay at Lambton. Renewing your acquaintance, despite everything.

The happiness, however irrational, this creates cannot be quelled.

You love her too dearly to not appreciate every fragile overture and sign that she must no longer think you so bad. The letter - your own improved civility - one or both has done away with her dislike.

Replaced it with... well, anything other than dislike is a place to begin.

This time the silence stretches as you walk; she, perhaps, just as lost in thought as yourself.

You could get used to walking around Pemberley with her.

A dangerous thought.

You scarce know what to say as you wait by the carriage for her aunt and uncle to catch up, after she declared herself not tired when you asked if she wanted to come into the house. But, again, she makes the effort to talk to you. You've never spoken of Matlock or Dovedale so persistently, but you want to keep talking to her - hearing her voice - receiving her smiles - for every moment that you can steal.

Four months apart and then the first day seeing her again your heart loves her more than ever before.

And she no longer hates you.

You would have them all come inside, take refreshment, stay, please stay a little longer, but they felt it was time to return to the inn. They're leaving, but you've already organised to bring your sister to see her the day after tomorrow, so it's only a short parting.

Not another four months.

You hand her aunt up into the carriage - and then Elizabeth.

Who is dearest and loveliest to you still, though you might never be able to say those words to her.

You're so aware of feeling her hand in yours, though gloved; the weight and warmth of it. The brief tightening of her fingers on yours as she takes the step up, leaving you bereft when she lets go.

You don't watch them drive away, though you feel her absence palpably as you slowly walk back to the house.

But it's only two days - two days before you'll see her again.

And they're staying for a little while.

All of it is more chances to show her the person you are now. Both the good qualities you never properly revealed before, and the newer ones deliberately acquired to remedy the errors she revealed. Show her you're a man she might admire.

Perhaps a man she might one day be able to love.

It's almost embarrassing, to admit how quickly that wish introduced itself after seeing Elizabeth again.

It probably took under half an hour after you saw her again.

[lyxthen]

Tumblr. Tumblr are you seeing it. My vision. Do you see it.

[mightytato]

hekp, i have so much optimus art, transformgrs has hit me like atrain

[nekrosmos]

Seduce the handsome hitman hired to kill you and put him on his knees, that will teach him a lesson or two

Aka Hitman Price and Mob Boss AU Nikolai inspired by @panchulien 's lovely AU

[pengu-kiwis]

The Menagerie

[steviesbicrisis]

Steve’s best relationship wasn’t even a relationship. He could barely call it a fling, a flirt. They never even went on a date. They never kissed.

Steve still thinks of it as the best whatever-it-is he has ever had with someone.

At the beginning it was mostly infuriating, how quickly Eddie managed to win the kids over, compared to Steve’s months of work as babysitter/nailbat swinger/monster fighter. Steve had to literally bleed multiple times to get an ounce of respect, Eddie only had to run a nerdy club about fictional bleeding and monster-fighting.

Then somehow, and Steve still has trouble pinpointing when and how it happened, everything changed.

Taking the kids back home from hellfire became something he impatiently waited for.

He and Eddie would barely talk for a few minutes and he would find himself replaying the conversation in his head for days. Anything he could say to get a reaction out of Eddie became fundamental, and if he started by picking subjects to piss him off, he ended learning about Eddie’s favorites, because few minutes after hellfire were never enough and Steve needed Eddie to talk as much as possible, until the kids were begging to drop it and go home.

Steve never questioned the change, most likely out of fear. He doesn’t think he ever was clueless, just really scared about what would potentially mean to be staring at another dude’s eyelashes as he goes on a rant about why Ozzy Osbourne is the best artist of his generation. Or blush whenever said dude would call him “baby”, or “sweetheart��.

Steve convinced himself that the thing he and Eddie were having was as good as it was going to get, nothing more.

Then Chrissy Cunningham died, Eddie ran, and Steve realized that the thing will never be enough for him.

He couldn’t not have Eddie. Not watch him as he entertains a bunch of freshmen, as he stomps with his worn out sneakers on top of forniture, as he puts his terrible music on to push away anyone who doesn’t care enough about him to stay.

Steve needed to see Eddie being alive, doing what his heart desires, and he needed to be next to him when he does.

Obviously, this realization came at the worst possible time.

Steve tried to tell him so many times: when they found him at the boathouse, when he was hiding at refer Rick’s house, when they were taking a stroll in the upside down, and even when they were driving a stolen trailer to a gunshop.

But, it seemed, Eddie had come to a realization just as important and he tried his best to avoid Steve at every given chance.

Steve tried to initiate the conversation as Eddie did his best to run away from it. And he ran until Steve had no chances left to tell him how he actually felt.

———

Steve doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say he lost something he never had. To mourn a relationship he never began. A partner that, technically, never became a partner.

After Eddie dies, Steve has no one to be next to but he can’t say he ever did.

Steve just exists waiting. He can’t tell if he’s waiting for the pain to go away or for Eddie to jump out of a bush and yell “ah! I got you sucker!! By the way, I’m in love with you too.”

For obvious reasons, that never happens.

What does happen, is a call.

It’s a normal Tuesday, as normal as you could define it after Hawkins almost collapsed into the upside down. Steve got into a routine, between checking on the ones at the hospital, helping out at the shelter, allowing Robin to check on him to see if he’s still alive.

The call happens while Robin is doing her kitchen check up - aka making sure he has food and that he’s eating it-, so she picks the phone like she did a million times before.

“Harrington residence, this is Robin” she says, cheerfully.

Steve doesn’t pay much attention to it as he’s folding his dad’s old clothes that intends to donate to the shelter, until he hears Robin’s loud gasp.

“What is it? Is it the hospital? Is it Max?” He rushes to the other room where Robin is.

She doesn’t answer but she gives him a look as she passes him the receiver.

Steve goes quiet, a million thoughts going through his head as he takes the phone from Robin.

He’s still unprepared when he hears that unmistakable voice “Baby”.

Steve gasps for breath “Eddie?”

Is that really you? What happened? Are you hurt? Isn’t this impossible? Is what goes on in Steve’s head, but he ends up just asking “are you okay?”

He can hear a chuckle, Eddie’s wicked chuckle, a further confirmation that it is him, “I’m- hanging in there… are you okay?”

Steve finds the question absurd. He isn’t the one who got left in the upside down, the one that got eaten by demonic bats, the one who died before Steve had the chance to tell him how he felt.

He answers truthfully nonetheless, “I’m… I’m not okay.”

“I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“Please Eddie, come quick.”

“I’ll break the sound barrier for you.”

[halethleia]

art for the incredible fic "No, I'm Not Afraid To Disappear" by @s-c-g-s-c-g!!!! PLEASE check it out if you haven't already, it is AMAZING

[ozymandien]

later, ouyang thought esen wouldn't even had noticed: the moment his stillness of anticipation flicked into the stillness of shame, as quickly as capping a candle. his blood ran cold; his body burned. it was the feeling of a blade slid gently into his heart.

[despazito]

I agree dogs shouldn't be let in every establishment and it's unfortunate there's people abusing service dog accommodations for their reactive untrained pets but also it feels like some people just really hate seeing folks out in public with their dogs lol?

like you do realize that for most of human civilization's histories there were dogs wandering around, it's a fairly recent phenomenon that you can walk around your town without encountering street dogs, that's how ubiquitous they once were (i'm not saying we need street dogs, i don't want rabies). You have a right to not be jumped on, mobbed, barked, or lunged at but i don't think you're privy to the right of never ever sharing a public space around dogs even if you have phobia of them, that's just human society.

Like it or not there's always been people who consider their dogs to be part of their families and there should be some public infrastructure available to people with dogs, the notion that everybody's dogs should not be seen and not be heard when you're out is just incredibly unrealistic.

[breadandblankets]

Duke, despite being out and about in the day has just as many vampire rumors as the rest of the bats.

Evidence:

Sparkles in sunlight

Doesn't show up in reflections

Can't be photographed

Shows up both at night and in the day (when does he rest??)

Unnatural (supernatural??) charisma

[rodentopiaa]

Are you down for a round of chess? Coming back from such a long break with a Homestuck fanart. Nature is healing, I AM HEALING, buahaha