#SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU'RE ONLY MAKING IT WORSE

[mixingandmelting]

Secretly Admiring You Artistically

Summary: How he's expressing that you're in his mind through art

a/n: based on scenes in the comics as civilians

Dick: Doodles

He’s dying. Actively decaying in real-time. Why he brought back the notepad from his day job as an officer home or why Haley pulled it out from his bag and gave it to you, he has no idea. To make matters worse, he’s crouching on the ground with both hands covering his very-much burning face as you stand in front of him silently, flipping through each page that’s filled with doodles of you rather than work notes he should’ve been taking for the cases he’s working on.

 It isn’t an exaggeration to say his world revolves around you. He’s not ashamed or has any problem expressing how much of a simp he is for you whether it’s to you or everyone both verbally and physically, 24/7. Seriously, he can’t go a day without getting a kiss from you or telling you how much he loves you, no matter the situation. He’s constantly stuck to your side, always smiling from how you showered him with affection back, spoiling him silly to the point he’s thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world. But artistically? He drew a stick figure once during a game of Scribble. Tim was for sure that it was a basketball hanging on a fishing pole. Bruce had told him he can help him get enrolled for art classes. 

“So, did the sarge or corporal see any of this yet?”

“No…,” He manages to wheeze out. He needs the ground to swallow him up right now. He still can’t believe this is how his (poorly and very much terribly drawn) doodles of you are discovered and exposed to you of all people. When he hears the notepad being closed shut, he musters all the strength in his mind and body. “...Can I please have my notepad back now?” He knows the answer. And he knows what’s about to happen next. But maybe today he’ll be lucky he’ll get it back- 

“Nope.” The way you pop the “p” at the end of the word - of course you wouldn’t. He doesn’t even need to look at you to know the type of grin you have on your face.

With that, he gets up and yells your name as he gets up to chase after your running form. Sure, he’s dreading what exactly you might do with the doodles but his heart is filled with adoration and warmth from how he still managed to give you happiness from them. You are the most lovable person in the world to him - he can’t wait to kiss the ever living lights out of you when he gets you.

Jason: Poetry

Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.  He rubs the back of his neck, face completely dyed red. You snuggling your face into the crook of his neck while embracing his biceps is fine. In fact, he loves waking up to see you sleeping peacefully next to him. His heart always swells with affection from how you feel so warm and right in his arms while being reminded how you genuinely enjoyed and appreciate him and his presence.  The problem was the book lying open on the coffee table next to him. The book filled with romantic poems that he placed on his face after deciding to take a power nap which obviously ended up as a snooze session.

He had been reading each poem, using a sticky note and red pen (because he’s not a heathen to ruin such beautiful and sacred text) to mark which parts or lines reminded him of you the most. Each sticky note had arrows drawn with whatever note he’d make about you, placed on the long-edge of the pages. It was obvious you had found out the contents of the book before joining him on the sofa as you had done the same, only your sticky notes were sticking out from the shorter-edge. 

“Jason… What’s wrong?” He quickly turns his head away, covering the lower half of his face. The fact you aren’t even letting go when you usually would makes things worse, especially when he feels the grip on his arm tightening rather than the opposite. He doesn’t need to turn around to see what expression you’re making, feeling you nuzzle into his side.

“...Are you telling Roy or the others about this?” 

“What? Hell no. This is only for you and me- why would I want to share it?”

With that, he topples over you and wraps himself around you like a giant, warm teddy bear. On top of relief, he’s filled with childish glee from getting to share something that’ll only be meant between you and him. It gets a chuckle from him when you laugh at how ticklish he makes you as he snuggles into you, eventually making you two fall asleep in each other’s embrace with smiles on your faces.

Tim: Photography

He’s pacing in circles in his room. Then he’s flopping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow. Pacing in the room. And again, screaming into his pillow. He’s been repeating this exact pattern for ten minutes straight now after finding the photo album on his desk. How Stephanie found out about them or why she showed them to you when you stopped by while he was out, he doesn’t know nor want to know. But he’s pretty sure  that he's doomed. Best case scenario is break up. Worst case scenario is you choosing to never see him again because you found him creepy. 

But, it’s not his fault, okay? He’s really down bad for you. Even when he’s dating you, he keeps finding himself falling for you deeper and deeper to the point he doesn't want to miss a single moment whenever he’s with you. So, every time the two of you went on dates or plainly hung out, he’d take pictures of you. You standing on a hill during a sunset, looking outside with the window down in his car, laughing in front of a bonfire with a marshmallow on a stick in your hands. He can’t imagine life without you. He needs to be with you even if it’s in a photo. 

Finally, he  gets back up and dejectedly drags his feet to the desk. Might as well put the album away before more people find out about it. Or so he thought when he suddenly freezes at the sight of a note sitting on top of it. There’s only a single sentence in your hand writing, making him do what it says. Having memorized the order of the photos in each album, he immediately finds a photo of him laughing while sitting on top of the hood of his car. It sits adjacent to a photo of you doing the same, making it look like the two of you were laughing while looking at each other. Heart skipping a beat with tears threatening to spill, he doesn’t look away when he grabs his phone and dials your number. 

“So? Are we hanging out tonight?” 

“No, we’re doing more than that. We’re going to go all out, my treat.” 

The way you chuckle does so many wonders to him. With that, he rushes to get ready. Even if he can’t give you the whole world now, he plans on making tonight the best night of your life since there’s no other way for him to express how much he loves you when words can’t cover half of them.

Duke: Notes

He’s an idiot. That’s what he mentally screams to himself when he drops the pile of handwritten notes right in front of you. Not once had he ever mentioned that he had collected all the notes you wrote and slid to him including the ones back before the two of you even got together. All of them were written as your way to cheer him on, sliding them to him in every way you possibly can. It’s as if nothing could stop you from passing him a note, whether it’s during class, passing in the hallways, eating lunch, or slipping them in his school bag. There were even times you managed to place them in his textbooks, right where the assigned reading starts.

All those notes you passed to him, he found solace. He feels that he’s being mentally and emotionally supported unconditionally, no matter the circumstances . You don’t know how he cherishes the smiley faces you draw on them or the words you write. Each and every note he treats like they are a piece of you. It led him to keep a few in his pocket, pulling one and reading it to get the extra boost he needs to get through whatever he’s doing even if it’s homework or patrolling the city. 

Now here he was, caught red handed. He’s so nervous and on the verge of a mental breakdown, fearing that you might think he’s strange. Immediately he starts to ramble, spewing every excuse in the book while watching you pick the notes that dropped from his pocket off the ground. 

“They were growing into a pile inside my bag, so I was kind of in the middle of-”

“Do they work?”

He stops and blinks at you. What do you mean they work? There’s a light blush coloring your cheeks, your hands gently straightening each note to stop them from wrinkling and getting damaged further. 

“Are they making you happy?”  Oh. Oh. He pulls you into a strong hug, hoping his actions convey how he feels about you. It’s not the notes that’s making him happy- it’s you and your efforts to make sure he is that makes him the happiest man in the world.

Damian: Sketching

No. Just no. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t muster a single word right now. You were teasing him a minute ago about how he must have sketches of you when he refused to show you his notepad he carries around. Little did you know and much to his horror, you were completely right and that exactly was the reason why he didn’t want to show it to you. In fact, he had been finishing another sketch of you before your so-called attempt to sneak up on him. You being you, you kept probing him into showing his sketches and with him being so flustered, he ended up getting the notepad snatched out of his hand leading to the current situation where both of you are standing with the biggest blush to be seen from mankind. 

It’s not two sketches he’s drawn too. There’s a whole comic strip he drew in there featuring one of his favorite moments he had with you on top of all the other sketches, some being portraits, some being a compilation of various expressions you make on a daily basis. The way he’s constantly stuck about you has gotten to where Jon had gotten smug at guessing what he was thinking of when Jon found him suddenly grinning to himself. That day, the two of them got grounded by their parents once Damian started to threaten Superboy by getting kryptonite out and the other shot lasers out of his eyes as self defense. 

“They’re so beautiful.” Your muttering snaps him back to reality.

Not wasting a second, he grabs his notepad back. Pride damaged and completely panicked by showing a pathetic side to himself to you, he tries to go somewhere, anywhere, away from you. Only to stop when you grab his wrist. 

“Damian, you're absolutely talented.” 

He mentally groans. He hates how you’re sincere and genuine in these moments. You don’t know how much he treasures you because of this - being open, honest, and accepting of his every being. Worse is you not being aware or truly choosing your battles - it’s how you are; it’s part of your nature. Accepting his loss, he sits back down. He refuses to admit how affected he is by the way you smile with excitement when you pick up his sign. Letting his shoulder brush against yours, the two of you go through his drawings with you commenting on each one while he snarks back though it’s softer and filled with fondness.

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader

2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread

a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul

Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 

“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”

Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”

“But Jeonghan—”

“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”

You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?

The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?

Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 

It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 

“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”

“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”

He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 

“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 

He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”

Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”

“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”

“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”

“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 

“Don't fail.”

He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”

Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 

He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 

With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 

(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)

There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 

His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 

Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 

He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 

In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 

There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 

He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 

Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”

“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”

“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”

As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 

A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 

There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 

“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 

Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”

“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”

“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.

You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”

“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”

“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”

“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 

You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”

Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 

Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 

When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 

You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 

“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”

“You're not leaving?” 

Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”

“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 

He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 

The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 

Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 

You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”

“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”

He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”

“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”

You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  

It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.

Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 

He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 

Him, his thoughts, and you. 

But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @floatingpluto @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @bless-311 @leaz-kpop-life @fluorescentloves @thesunsfullmoon @haechansbbg @kpopjackie @jundundun @http-gyu @mars101 @moonyswolf @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @thecarnivaloflies @p-d1ddy @thatonedemigodfromseoul @foivetimesthecharm

[mariacallous]

I'm seeing a lot of anti-McBride trans people on bluesky acting like being trans is what gives them authority (like a Parker Malloy skeet "it's NOT JUST ABOUT HER. SHUT UP IF YOU AREN'T TRANS YOU DON'T GET IT") and like, idk, I think this really shows that there are other divides within marginalized groups beyond just broad membership in a marginalized group. Contrapoints - who of course got shit from these people for it - has pointed out before that wealthy white trans women who work in tech should maybe chill out on how they appropriate the pain of TWOC who are in high contact sex work, and who make up the vast majority of murders of trans women by male partners. and i think there's a reckoning here that maybe people who work in fields like journalism and academia where there are probably a disproportionate number of people who at least aren't going to throw a shitfit over one trans woman using the bathroom, who are at least trans-supportive enough not to be problems for these people's employment, are mayyyyybe not the best judges of what a politician should do about a rule THAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN ANYWAY, NO MATTER WHAT SHE DOES, BECAUSE REPUBLICANS CONTROL THE HOUSE AND MAKE THE RULES. (the other issue is too many Online Talkers coming from the tech world or other stuff where they don't actually know much about American politics, but are disproportionately likely to think they are experts on everything anyway. This is true of a few fields but I single out tech because I think it's the worst and wayyyy too many online pundits these days come from that world and know fuck all about anything else.) and I think that's why there doesn't seem to be a neat sorting of cis vs. trans in terms of who has sensible, compassionate takes and who thinks yelling online is the only barometer of strength. Because it's really more about whether you understand politics, whether you're aware of how the far right works and the particularly difficult situation the first trans woman is in about how she has to respond to this to not make things even worse, than about being cis vs. trans. ....Although actually one pattern I have noticed is that the most rancid takes are disproportionately coming from white trans people, and a lot of the best takes are coming from POC and particularly black people both cis and trans. Probably because they have some understanding of the issues that surround being the first of a marginalized minority in Congress, and how that has played out for for instance the first black politicians, that a lot of historically- and politically-illiterate white people just do not!

Literally all of this makes sense and none of it surprises me.

[typicalopposite]

👶👶👶👶👶👶👶👶

👀

ohhhh! you're interested interested! lol well since you wanted so many I'm gonna also double this as...

WIP Wednesday

(since I was tagged by these lovlies - @bidisasterevankinard @lavenderleahy @bangpop91 & @quintessenceofdust88 <3)

Evan is so close to him; his eyes searching and sad, his lips parted as he takes long deep breaths. He lifts a hand to Tommy’s cheek and caresses it as gently as he did the first time he initiated a kiss between them. It was after the coffee date, and Tommy walked Evan back to his jeep. Evan turned and grabbed Tommy’s face in the same way, and pulled him into a kiss. Which is exactly what he does now— slower this time… giving Tommy the chance to pull back or speak up— he doesn’t; Evan kisses him, and he just sighs into it, desperate for it. “Then… is— is this really what you want?” Evan asks, pulling back to look into Tommy’s eyes just as a tear falls. Tommy is a coward. He is not brave enough to say no… he’s too scared to say yes (not again). 

“I’m sorry…” he says. Forgive me… he means.

“Okay.” Evan says softly, leaning his forehead against Tommys; he sighs. “Okay…” he repeats and moves his lips back to Tommy’s, and Tommy should pull away… he should stop them from crossing that line, even just one last time.

He doesn’t.

He thought it would be… intense, like it is in the movies. Heated, rough… maybe it would even hurt– hurt in the way he feels he deserves for the hurt he has caused. It should leave him sore for days, limping into work so his team can poke fun and come up with a dozen or more theories… But it wasn’t. Tommy wonders if it’s even possible for sex with Evan to be anything less than amazing. Whether he takes, or he gives, he does it with so much passion and care, it’s breathtaking. Tommy opens his eyes to look at Evan and realizes… that actually makes it hurt so much worse. 

Maybe this is exactly the goodbye he deserves. A reminder he will never find something, someone, like this again. 

It’s over too soon, and he’s left breathless lying on Evan’s chest, trying to soak in every second he can before he needs to pull away for their own good. Evan’s hands hold him tightly, and only tighten when he starts to move, but not tight enough to keep him from pulling free. 

This is for the best. He tells himself this again and again and again as he slowly gets dressed, and Evan lies motionless staring up at the ceiling— Tommy only glances at him a couple times… each one has him wanting to crawl back into the bed and cling to Evan for dear life. He doesn’t. 

He runs his fingers through his tousled hair, tries to find some words so he isn’t just walking out with nothing more said… but none come to him. 

“I guess… I’ll see you around?” Evan says first, sighing out a halfhearted laugh at the broken record of a line— it’s like he knows it’s not true. He turns his head and finally locks eyes with Tommy, and the hold is so powerful Tommy isn’t sure if he’ll be able to break it. 

He could say something… he could take it back… he could come clean about his reasons for running… He simply nods. 

Evan swallows, and turns away from him— thankfully (thought is Tommy actually thankful for it?) breaking the connection himself, and looking back at the ceiling. “Goodbye Tommy…” 

“Goodbye…” Buck— no… “—Evan.”  He watches as Evan screws his eyes shut and turns away from him.  

Tommy stumbles his way down the stairs, determined to get out of the loft— out of earshot— before succumbing to his emotions. He looks back one more time at the ruins that remain of their relationship, strikes a match and tosses it with the closing of the door.

<3<3<3<3<3

Make Me Write!

and throwing out some NP tags forrrrr @30somethingautisticteacher @onthewaytosomewhere @sunnywithachanceofbi @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15 @herrmannhalsteadproduction

@unhingedangstaddict @leashybebes @beanarie @hyperfocusthusly @kinardsevanaaand @weewookinard anyone else who wants to participate <3

[cr33pz-mck3nna]

hey, it’s the same anon who requested the yandere carnival trio hcs, and i absolutely ADORED THEM!!! i was wondering if i could get the same thing but poly (with the reader), and it could be a oneshot or hcs!! up to you! :)

POLY YANDERE HEADCANONS WITH THE CARNIVAL TRIO

Warning: My versions of the carnival trio and mentions of yandere themes and death

Chaos level: 10/10

Yandere level: 10/10

• If you read the last headcanons you would know that none of these men like sharing

• When all three realized they all fell for you it was actually Candy who suggested that they share you, as for Jason and Jack..they were already preparing for war-

• Would absolutely immediately snatch you up just to ask you if you agree to them sharing you, very blunt about it(or in Jason and Jack's case..ask which one you like more-)

• Love bombing. Love bombing. LOVE BOMBING. They don't even mean to, they're just trying to one up each other until you're crying dying of cuteness under a pile of gifts and animals, both stuffed and real-

• Even as a poly couple Candy is still the most loving and understanding, he may not have the same human emotions and sanity as you but he tries to understand them and make sure you're happy with them at all times. Jack is just plain old insensitive due to his own lack of knowledge while Jason is flat out uncomfortable with human emotions, he doesn't understand them but unlike Jack and Candy he is the closest to a human and feels similar things to them.

• Trust me, no matter their stabilityJason or what they may say in the heat of the momentJack, they LOVE you, or as close as they can get to love.

• If you thought in the Yandere headcanons that their trust with you around the crps was bad...whooo boy- It's the fact that they are sharing you...and you let them? Yeah they're NEVER letting you around the crps.

• None of these bitches even remembered that birthdays existed until Jane or Hoodie gave them a present to give you and then it registered...that day is going down in history for the most hectic day next to the day Slender came back from vacation a day early.

• Not many things are different with it being a poly relationship, these bitches still think that living children is a good present, they still will (reluctantly) return them if you ask them to

• They fight.everyday.possibly even worse since y'all got together.

• You and Candy will refer to the four of you as partners, Jason and Jack are still in denial and just call it "A sharing transaction" like they don't have the worst sexual tension out of the four of y'all

• If you left..Candy would shut down completely, no more bubbly joy, only doing his job..Jason would snap, I don't think anyone would ever see him again..Jack, most surprising out of all of them, would cry, everyone knows that he collects bodies well his new collection? People who look like you.

• If you died...I don't think even Zalgo could stop these three from destroying the entire world for you. They would kill every living thing, and if humanity won and managed to kill them then nobody would find their bodies..because they would return to your grave(or your body if you haven't been buried yet) and die next to you.

OMG I WAS WAITING FOR THIS REQUEST!!! I'm SO happy you liked the other headcanons and my mind may not be fully awake yet but I TRIED MY BEST AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THESE!! Little funfact: Three of my earliest ocs, a trio of guys, were heavily based off the carnival trio so my little shitheads helped me with writing this! As always, my requests are open just read some of my previous posts to get an idea of the kinda things I write and pls read the pinned post. Tata for now my lovely little gremlins! -Creepz

[harrietwritesstuff]

fill for 9. inescapable migraine. 1.5k words.

Move. Get up. You have to move. You can’t lie here.

The throbbing pulse of his heart seems to have moved into his brain - sharper, crueller - savage in its all consuming intensity. Saliva pools in his mouth. He can't feel anything other than the swelling ache that pushes against his skull, claws digging in, pulling his head apart - piece by jagged piece.

It has eclipsed everything.

Get up. Now. There is so much to do. You're wasting time.

The palm of his hand rests against the cold floor, fingers shaking. Dimly, Volodymyr knows this is wrong; the President of Ukraine, curled into a ball on the bathroom floor, forehead pressed against the tile. He can't bring himself to care. It’s cold here; cold, dark and utterly silent.

Just let me stay. Let me lie here. Leave me be.

Move. Everything depends on you. You need to get up.

Nausea rises in his stomach again, and he reaches out blindly, opening his eyes to the screaming brightness of the overhead lights, white tiles, ceramic. Raising his head makes him dizzy, the world blurred as he scrabbles about to find purchase on the edge of the sink, pulling himself up shakily. The floor shifts beneath him and he dry heaves. There's nothing in his stomach - just acrid saliva flooding his mouth. It tastes horribly sour, and he retches suddenly, again - again - his head spinning. It passes eventually, leaving his throat scratched, his stomach sore, his skull pulsating with a newer, more savage ache that has slipped behind his eyes now too, taking hold. He sinks back to the floor, or tries to at least, eyes closed - desperate to get away from the stinging lights.

He misses then, a quiet step, a soft voice.

“Oh love. Let's get you back to bed.”

Somewhere outside of the all consuming agony in his head, he feels a strong arm beneath his shoulders and around his back, pulling him slowly, carefully upright.

“You're alright. Hold onto me.”

Vova lists to one side, trembling as he rests against Maks. Maksym's warm, gentle fingers press against his waist, just for a moment, before reaffirming his grip. Their small, shuffling  journey is painfully, horribly slow - even as cold tile gives way to polished wooden flooring; a distance of no more than ten meters. His eyes flicker open cautiously, sensing the change in environment, bare feet still cold against the floor. The tiny pool of light by the bed feels like an assault on his senses, his head screaming for it to stop, for the stabbing pain to lessen as it lances through him, every part of him suddenly tense.

“M’ tired. Hurts.”

His voice is hoarse, weary, and Maksym feels it as keenly as though it were a wound of his own. Vova squints up at him, his face grey-green even in the bare light. There's a blown blood vessel in his left eye, red seeping into the white around his iris, inflamed.

In a voice hardly louder than a breath and determinedly steady, Maks offers out a scrap of reassurance.

“I know. I know. Just keep going for me. You can close your eyes. I won't let you fall.”

Maks would lift him, carry him - he'd do anything for this man - but he knows it will just make the nausea worse; the need for steady ground, for the world not to shift, to move again - just to make it through this moment, and then the next- and the next, and on.

“Mmm-” The responding exhale is half a groan, all Vova’s careful trust implicit in the way his eyes slide half shut again, moving blindly, the weight of him against Maksym, believing him utterly.

“A little further. Almost there.”

After what feels like miles, those same, gentle, constant hands guide him to sit down, a half-collapse to the edge of the bed, sinking into the thin mattress.

“Vova?”

He opens his eyes a little more, Maksym's face filling his vision, blurred and unsteady. There's a cold glass suddenly in his hands, and then a warm, rough hand over his. The world sways unsteadily away from him and then back, those soft brown eyes the only point of stasis. He watches Maksym blearily, the pressure in his head pounding in time with his heart, his bones heavy as he drifts aimlessly forward - seeking the soft quiet he has always found - and will always find in Maksym's arms.

“Oh. Love. Not yet. Drink this for me–”

The instructions are bare, quiet, but still gentle - Maksym aware that every noise, every sound he makes now is too loud for Volodymyr, his hearing oversensitive; each syllable, every breath almost unbearable through the dull, thumping pain inhabiting his skull. Vova does as he is asked, leaving Maks breathless for a moment at such an open, implicit display of unwavering trust encapsulated in the quiet action; to drink from a glass he can hardly see, can only hope, assume it is benign. Something about it nestles into the crack in Maksym’s heart and he takes a shaky breath of his own.

Taking the empty glass and placing it to one side, Maks quietly eases Vova's legs up onto the mattress, his head down onto the pillow. The cotton against his cheek is smooth, cold - but not enough; he longs for the cool, perfect feeling of ice against his skull - the spreading numbness of before - the smooth tiles, pressed against them, begging them to swallow him up in the cold, the quiet. The world outside is too loud, too rough.

What are you doing? You need to get up, move - work.

He can hear the tread of Maks’ boots, horribly loud, but getting further away, leaving him behind. Silence and the looming sense of being left alone fills him, a shuddering fear sliding around his sore, aching head - tendrils of panic squeezing at his heart. Don’t leave me here, not now, not alone, please. I can bear the noise, I can stand it - the pain, anything. I don’t care, just - come back. Don’t leave me; not when - if someone comes; I can’t see, can’t move - the thoughts are entangled with the agony in his head, curling around one another viciously, settling at the back of his skull like some sort of leeching parasite. Face pressed into the pillow, eyes clamped shut, he flinches at the persistent torment, the unintentional movement of his body like a betrayal as another red-hot spike of pain drives through his skull.

A sudden rush of cold air blunts the escalating panic, diverts the thundering agony. The air smells like snow - blank and white; filling the room, his lungs with something piercingly sharp. After a wary moment or two, Vova welcomes it, a strange blissful counterpoint to the relentless pulsing ache in his head, behind his eyes. The light of the lamp dies suddenly, the grey behind his eyelids deepening to black.

Dark, now. Wonderfully cold. Quiet.

In the darkness, Maksym unties his boots, leaves them by the desk near the now open window; toes curling against the cool parquet floor as he tip-toes closer.

For Vova, just the noise of footsteps again, duller this time. The sound grates against his senses and a whimper slips out of him.

Then - silence, save for the rasp of his own breathing. There is the weight of another person on the edge of the bed, and something cold, almost unbearably cold on his forehead, over his eyes - the thudding, shrieking ache of his head stunned into silence. His next inhale is shaky, fingers twitching against the sheets, every atom of him straining blindly against the fat, swelling pain in his head, willing it to go. Maksym moves carefully, maintaining the slight pressure of one hand against the cold, damp compress on Vova’s forehead, his fingers slowly turning numb. Unsure if he can even feel it, he rubs his thumb lightly against the damp strands of hair, curling slightly over his forehead. Even with his face twisted with hurt, he seems younger, delicate almost.

Maksym sits with him in the darkness, the flat of his other palm against Vova's back, just beneath his t-shirt; the steady weight like a grounding anchor against his aching muscles. Maks can feel the coolness of his skin, the tension threaded through each quivering muscle. His thin t-shirt rides up with the movement, a vulnerable strip of skin just at his hip bones suddenly visible between his shirt and the waistband of his trousers. He lies curled on his side, facing the wall, cheek pressed into the pillow.

He seems lost in the gnawing darkness, the shadows slinking around the edges, keen to swallow him whole.

The hours pass in silence, the only movement in the small dark room is Maks, replacing the cold compress, filling the water glass, waiting for the dam to break.

[pinkandpurple360]

yikes at that anon lecturing you, but especially at this part

Paying attention to Stolas language in Murder Family, fucked up context aside, he don't bring up consequences if Blitz didn't accept the trade neither mentioned his power to threat him to accept it either, he offered and even asked if it's fair, someone as powerful as Stolas could control Blitz easily, yet he doesn't and it shows a lot about his character, but of fucking course you all don't care about that, Stolas is a big meanie.

what is it with Stolas fans and acting like what he says is the only thing that matters in that scene? saying 'fucked up context aside' is just trying to sweep away the entire problem people have with that scene

the context is what makes it unfair. the context is the threat to make Blitzo accept the deal - Stolas knew Blitzo was in danger and couldn't think straight and kept the call going anyway. there was a literal threat to Blitzo's life that Stolas was leveraging to get him to agree. the context is also where the control comes in - Blitzo needs access to the book therefore Stolas has control over him, because Blitzo has significant reason to agree regardless of whether he wants to or not to be able to keep being able to eat and house both himself and Loona. this isn't that hard to understand; it's no different than a power difference between a tenant and a landlord. except Stolas is worse because he's literal royalty and Blitzo is part of a species considered less than dirt

and Blitzo especially has reason to think there will be consequences for saying no because Stolas is showing him through ignoring all the signs he's in danger on that phone call that he does not care for his wellbeing - he called when Blitzo's life was in danger and he knew that full well. there's no 'yeah but'-ing to get out of that one. saying 'well Stolas could have been way more overt with his control!' is not a defense. Stolas is such a malicious abuser because he's the one person in the cast who isn't a mustache-twirling silent movie villain about it, because he'll do things like say 'sound fair?' when everything about the situation is weighted in his favor. this part is basically saying 'he could have been super obvious about how he was going to force Blitzo into sex but because he tried to pretend like he was being fair (even when he blatantly wasn't) that shows what a good person he is!'

also this:

This misconception you all have that Stolitz fans think all this needs to happen is Blitz to confess, and that Stolas has nothing more to improve is just wrong. Just plain wrong. I love both of these characters and I hate seeing an enormous mischaracterization of both.

I personally haven't seen the (remaining) Stolitz shippers saying this for one simple reason: I avoid their spaces. I don't like seeing posts similar to anon's where anything Stolas does wrong is the result of a misunderstanding or just Blitzo taking it badly because he's insecure or something, or worse where the very obvious signifiers of abuse on Stolas' part are handwaved away. I know that stuff will bug me so I avoid it

but anon clearly doesn't abide by the same rules. they're so bothered by a 'mischaracterization' of their faves that they're marching into people's inboxes to write long screeds about how antis are just missing the point or whatever else.

if there's only one anon or several my advice is the same: stay out of anti spaces. you clearly can't handle it and you need to stop making it everyone else's problem. if this ramping up of pestering people is some strange attempt to shut down criticism of the next ep before it even drops, you're wasting your time. the view counts on helluva show it's turned off a lot of people and you can't debate someone back into loving something that's let them down too many times

just go enjoy the show in your own spaces and block tags/people whose takes you don't want to see. trying to police people's critiques on helluva is both a losing battle and a waste of time

“Stolas is great if you just pay attention to his sad backstory and try not to think about the bad stuff he did. And attribute all the bad stuff to Blitz being a mentally ill tsundere”

Any time I am exposed to a owlizard shipper it’s always against my will despite my best efforts, because they are absolutely everywhere. The creator of the show is one of them, the entire show was thrown out to instead be catered to them and their headcanons. They make up almost the entire fan space and in fact shippers write and animate the very show itself.

But it’s still not good enough? They still have to rant about people that aren’t on their team?

[gugugyuu]

best friend oneshot ೀ⋆｡🌷🏫

Beomgyu has been your best friend since god knows when. You both grew up together, from being teenagers to young adults, and you knew everything about him. His strengths, weaknesses, secrets, and, unfortunately, his awful taste in girlfriends.

This week alone, you had seen him with two different girls, and each time, you couldn't help but roll your eyes.

He used to be someone who dreamed of true love, always chasing it and getting his heart broken in the process. But now, watching him move from one girl to the next, you wondered if he had changed.

Maybe this time, Beomgyu is the one doing the heartbreaking.

When you saw him kiss another girl goodbye and walk over towards you and your friends, you quickly gathered your things and left. You didn't want to talk to him.

It wasn't jealousy, of course not. You just couldn't stand seeing him act like that, as if none of these girls mattered. And the fact that his best friend is also a girl? it only made it worse.

Later, in class, Beomgyu wouldn't leave you alone. He kept poking your arm, touching your hair, and pinching your cheek, trying to get you to react. You tried to ignore him, but couldn't help to be annoyed. "Shut it or I'll hit you."

His loud laughter finally caught the professor's attention, and Beomgyu, without hesitation, pointed at you, lying that you were telling jokes.

You panicked, denying, and confused by his childish behavior. Beomgyu just laughed harder, making the teacher kick both of you out of the class.

Beomgyu finally managed to be alone with you, but once it happened, he didn't even know why he wanted to be alone with you or what he was supposed to say.

Should he apologize? But for what? He also wasn't even sure why you're angry.

Thankfully, your friends were nearby, breaking the awkwardness between you two.

A girl called Beomgyu's name from a distance, and he casually waved back. That's when Yeonjun's eyes lit up with a realization.

He clapped. "I've been trying to figure out all day who she reminds me of," he said, grabbing everyone's attention.

Beomgyu's heart skipped a beat, he looked at you then turned to Yeonjun as he panicked. "He-hey, don't be an-"

But before he could stop him, Yeonjun pointed directly at you.

"Me?" you asked, confused.

Everyone nodded, agreeing with him. You rolled your eyes, feeling annoyed. "This is stupid," you muttered before walking away from the group.

They called your name, but you didn't bother looking back.

"All of you are idiots," Beomgyu shook his head in disappointment, feeling bad about you being compared to others.

Taehyun chimed in, "Well, all your girlfriends really do kind of look like her. Same face shape, long hair, similar personalities—"

"Except that they're cheaters and none of them are prettier," Soobin cut in, standing up suddenly. "I'll go after her," he said, running to catch up on you.

As you walked away, frustrated by the comparison and the teasing, you still couldn't shake the feeling of irritation building up.

The last thing you wanted was to be dragged into Beomgyu's romantic mess. You weren't like those girls, and the fact that everyone kept saying you look like them? It made it even more frustrating.

Soobin caught up to you, panting slightly. "Hey, wait up," he called out, jogging to your side. "Don't let them get to you."

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his concern but too annoyed to respond properly. "It's fine," you muttered, but it wasn't.

The entire situation felt uncomfortable in a way you couldn't quite explain.

As you walked together in silence, you found yourself thinking about Beomgyu, how he had changed over the years.

Sure, he was still the same playful guy who would steal your snacks and complain about his grades, but there was something different now.

Something that made you feel... off.

Later that evening, Beomgyu showed up at your place unexpectedly. You opened the door, surprised to see him, especially after the weird conversation earlier. "Can we talk?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual. "Best friend?", he called out.

You hesitated but stepped aside to let him in. He didn't waste any time. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I know everyone were being stupid, but... I don't know. I guess it's been bothering me, too."

You blinked, caught off guard.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking nervous. "I mean... them saying that all my girlfriends kind of look like you. It's weird, right?"

You didn't know how to respond. Yes! It was weird, because I'm starting to see it too! but you hadn't really thought too much about it until today. "I guess," you said slowly, unsure where this was going.

Beomgyu sighed, leaning against your wall. "I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I feel like I'm messing everything up, and I don't even know why I'm dating these girls anymore. It's like... I'm looking for something, and it's not working."

You stayed quiet, your heart beating a little faster, wondering what he was trying to say.

"And then Yeonjun pointed at you, I freaked out," he admitted, laughing nervously.

You stared at Beomgyu, waiting for him to continue.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours. "Maybe l've been looking in the wrong places..."

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

"I'm an idiot," he said with a weak smile. "I've been chasing after these random girls..."

You took a step back, only to feel the wall against your back.

Beomgyu walked towards you, gently taking both of your hands. He hesitated for just a second, waiting for you to put up a fight. None. He then leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

Your heart raced, and you stood there, completely frozen.

This is Beomgyu, your best friend.

The one who drove you crazy, made you laugh, one you never thought would look at you like this.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression turning serious. His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with uncertainty yet laced with vulnerability. "If I'm messing this up, tell me now. But I need you to know... I can't keep pretending everything's normal between us anymore."

Before you could respond, Beomgyu buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if he was both afraid of your reaction and desperate for you to understand the weight of his words.

You'd spent years convincing yourself that your feelings for Beomgyu were just friendly, that his endless string of girlfriends didn't matter to you. But now, standing there, hearing his words, you realized maybe that wasn't true at all.

You've been hiding your feelings, just like him.

<back to masterlist> <back to title>

[negativepeanuthoarder]

why does this thing always happen where you point out some godawful thing the mormon church actively does and then there's always SOMEONE in your comments trying to say 'well that's because of a few bad people on power trips, that's not how it's supposed to work!'

I do not care. I do not FUCKING care how it's supposed to be happening because it's being used for harm and abuse right now. Either acknowledge that or shut the hell up.

[lith-myathar]

.

[moe-broey]

Idk I also just hate the future actually. My ass is Always living in the past or simply day to day 💪💪💪

[stormyoceans]

monica!!!

okay, like, i know we haven't gotten confirmation of anything yet

but i can't get the thought out of my head

what if xiao hai tops?

but like!!! babygirl neil. xiao hai being so gentle and careful and attentive. making neil a mess, watching him fall apart. giving him everything he needs, getting off on neil's pleasure, making him come so many times.......

anyway love you have an excellent day 🤍

MY ENTIRE WEEK GOT SO MUCH BETTER AFTER RECEIVING THIS SO THANK YOU

AND LIKE OKAY ALRIGHT LET'S TALK ABOUT THIS because see, one of the many reasons i love neil and xiao hai so much even if im usually not much into age gaps is that they don't adhere to the stereotypical trope of aggressive and experienced older top vs shy and naive younger bottom, but they also don't quite fully subvert it like in other shows such as kiseki: dear to me and minato shouji coin laundry. i just ADORE neil and xiao hai's dynamic because despite everything, despite the age difference and xiao hai being neil's fan, they feel so EQUAL. like yes, xiao hai is younger and less experienced, but he is also the more levelheaded and mature of the two, and while neil is the one actively pursuing him, whether that happens or not is all in xiao hai's hands

all this rambling to say that THEY ARE JUST SO VERS TO ME AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH. like neil whining for xiao hai's attention and being absolutely thrilled when xiao hai gently pushes him down into the bed and takes his time kissing and exploring every inch of neil's body, slowly learning what makes neil moan and arch his back and cry out in pleasure and not stopping until he is satisfied? OH YOU KNOW THAT HAPPENS ON A DAILY BASIS. but also we've seen xiao hai's dreams, no one can tell me that a part of this boy doesn't want neil to bend him over and just take him. AND THE AMAZING THING IS THAT BOTH WORK SO WELL!!!!!!!!! BECAUSE ULTIMATELY WHAT THEY BOTH WANT THE MOST IS TO BELONG TO EACH OTHER!!!!!!!!! AND NEITHER OF THEM IS NORMAL ABOUT THAT!!!!!!!!!!!

this is why im SO EXCITED to see what the show is gonna go with, because due to the nature of neil and xiao hai's dynamic we can't tell for sure which scenario is gonna happen!!!!!!! i wouldn't even be surprised if they actually go with both!!!!!!!

I SAID IT BEFORE AND I WILL SAY IT AGAIN THESE TWO ARE GONNA HAVE THE FREAKIEST VERSIEST MOST SATISFYING SEX EVER

[bunnyb34r]

I wish my brain could be fucking normal for once :/

[quietblissxx]

.

[woednesdayaddams]

♱ continued from here

taciturn raven stood still, watching veronica’s every move. she couldn’t grasp the notion that, perhaps, the way she delivered her statement was, in fact, open to interpretations. “i,” cue the pause, not for dramatic reasons, but for utter confusion, “uh, this is me asking you to spare me from future events.” she finally managed to declare, after an awkward pause, “if i wanted you to turn me, i would’ve asked you to claw me. ripping my throat out with your fangs should assure my imminent end.”

[blapis-blazuli]

"Oh, Clay from Pokémon has a daughter? Did they mention who her other parent is?"

(Searching several threads and seeing multiple "eww but he's fat" and "eww but he's old" and "eww but he's ugly" comments later)

"...The internet was a mistake"