#This was the first one i did bc the idea hit me like bricks

[daboyau]

FOR THE PROMPT ASK GAME :3 ;

4. “You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.”

dont rush don't force yourself take care of yourself and only do this if you want to and luv ya dabo!! <3

Hiiiii!!! Thank you!!! ^3^ ily too and hope you enjoy!!! content warnings for gore and sibling death. Prompt from this list by @promptsbytaurie. Anyone is welcome to send more. :)

Is it a curse, Leo wonders with the idle distance that experience and being burnt out on grief grants him, that he is always the last to die?

He has the latest Leonardo curled against his chest, one arm wrapped around his chipped shell and the other pressing his blood streaked face into the crook of his neck. He feels teeth digging in, and the vibration of screams against his sweat soaked skin. The other Leonardo is grasping at his arms with a bruising grip, holding on like it is the only thing keeping him tethered to this realm at all, even as he thrashes and fights with all that he has. Leo is, unfortunately, all too familiar with the feeling by this point. 

He holds Leonardo a little tighter, turning his head away from the carnage all around them. There’s no way to shield him from the horrible truth of it, but he doesn’t need to see it right now. Blood is creeping slowly across the floor, the puddle expanding and moving steadily closer to them. Leo rocks his counterpart gently, and uses the movement to mask how he’s subtly shifting them further from it. 

God, this Leonardo is so small. It’s not fair that he’s lost them all so young; usually, they at least get until their mid-20’s before their family starts getting picked off. Leo’s doing his best to keep himself from staring too long at the slack jawed gaze of this tiny, chubby cheeked Mikey. His tongue is out, nearly touching the floor where drool and blood have pooled beneath his split open head. He’s doing his best to keep his counterpart from looking, too. 

The little guy is sobbing, wet and wrenching, like someone has split open his plastron and begun pouring boiling oil inside of it. He shushes him gently, swallowing over and over to try to chase away the knot of grief inside his throat. His voice only cracks a little bit when he opens his mouth to speak at last. 

“You’re okay,” he lies. The words taste like a dirty penny sitting heavy on his tongue. Little Mikey stares at him while the blood continues to puddle. He wishes that he could reach out and close his eyes for him. He wants to let him rest, at least, but he can’t let go of the bundle of raw grief in his lap. He knows exactly what the little guy’ll do to himself if he does. 

The mission was a failure. One brother after the other fallen in some frantic, childish plan to rescue their father. It was a valiant attempt, and Leonardo didn’t let his family go without a fight. That much is easy to see from the scattered human bodies all around them and the injuries marring every inch of his tiny frame. That’s knowledge he’ll be able to hold on to late at night, when the ghosts are whispering their quiet litanies.

Leo cradles him closer once he’s finally cried himself out, and the kid doesn’t so much as flinch as broken limbs are jostled by the movement. He rises slowly to his feet and sets his sights on the hole he’d blown through the wall while stumbling his way into yet another shit universe. He pauses only long enough to shift the kid to one arm so he can kneel down and press his calloused fingertips carefully to Mikey’s eyelids and drag them down. His voice is low and carefully gentle when he speaks again, rising to his feet again. 

“You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.”

He’ll come back later. Retrieve the bodies. Lay the brothers to rest side by side. For now, he needs to take care of his counterpart before he’s torn away to the next hell. 

[astupidweeb69]

hello!! I am kinda nervous to write this bc I absolutely love your writing and the way you portray Toby is just so real. I love how you make him both a loser and a force of nature, like just bc he has no rizz doesn't mean he can't do anything lol. But I was lowkey thinking about your stories the other day and like, what if Y/N also had some screws loose? Like he pops up at her house covered in the blood of some guy who wouldn't leave her alone and instead of calling the police like a smart person she's just like: " 😳 omg you did this for me??" I know it's unrealistic and silly but it's also kind of interesting???

Ticci Toby x Violent! Reader

Toby with an unhinged reader? Well - there's a recipe for disaster lmao.

I know I said I'm not taking requests but this ended up becoming a scenario. I just had some inspo - hope this is what you were looking for! Because the reader isn't submissive? Idk

Y/N has some messed-up thoughts and there are mentions of violence under the cut!:

The reader I imagine in this case would have only seen how cringey Toby is - thinking he was just a creepy guy who's taken a liking to them and would avoid him at all costs. Probably up until this point assume that he's a wimp (Toby would initially try his best to seem weaker and unassuming when he approaches the person he likes)

The scenario I imagine is that Y/N grew up around conflict, and is fully comfortable around violence, even throwing a few punches themselves here and there. Maybe ended up in Juvie when they were younger and now works in some retail job - something where they regularly interact with the general public.

A customer tries to hit on Y/N when Toby's there - big mistake.

But Toby doesn't say anything at first.

He doesn't have to.

Y/N immediately shuts the customer down. But the guy doesn't let up. Curses are thrown back and forth, Y/N's wrist is grabbed.

He touched you.

Toby doesn't like that. Not one bit.

You get reprimanded by your boss after you punched the unruly customer in the face.

Luckily they didn't press charges.

You had a bit of an edge, from your surly demeanor and fucked sense of humor, but Toby had no idea you'd do that.

Kind of turned him on. He knew he picked you for a reason.

But alas, that was the extent of your revenge. You already had a record of aggravated assault and you didn't need another one added to the list.

Luckily for you that scrawny, lanky boy who always stared at you when he came in had a plan in motion.

Late at night, a knock on the door wakes you up from a nap on the couch. Of course, you look through the peephole first before answering.

Red.

Everything is red.

Only until you hear a familiar voice pipe up do you realize who it is.

Toby.

The blood covered so much of his face it was hard to point out who he was at first.

He speaks to you through the door, somehow already knowing you're there.

And he tells you what he did.

It takes a moment for you to process all the grizzly details, the way he followed the man, cornered him in an alley, and beat him so hard he'd pretty sure he cracked his skull on the brick wall.

He sounded giddy about it. Gleeful.

He was far from the loser you thought he was.

And you liked it.

Liked that he did that for you.

After all, in your head, hurting someone for someone else was the greatest form of love. It was the kind of devotion you'd always dreamed of from a partner.

You open the door.

Toby is surprised, but soon sees a look on your face he recognized. The kind of expression of sick joy and arousal that comes with blood lust.

You're blushing too. Blushing for him.

Everything was finally coming together perfectly, and once you let him into your home, he's never going to leave.

The relationship would start right off the bat. Toby is one to rush things.

It's all to claim you. Both mentally and physically. So you're attached to the hip pretty much. Expect a lot of PDA (Toby does not care who sees lol)

And a reader who's fully on board?

Yeah you're going to bring out the worst in each other. He'll encourage you to do more crimes, to get bloodier, to join him.

It would be a very bad situation for everyone involved.

But especially for anyone unfortunate enough to cross the paths of you two lovebirds.

[izzyhandswhore]

Thinking abt season 2 Izzy x Reader where after everything w Izzy’s leg Reader will sneak down into his room and just comfort him and hold him, just coddle him a bit bc he deserves it<//3

((I too am thinking about this :) Don’t ask me what’s going on with the format bcs I have no idea))

Comforting Izzy in Season Two, pre-Unicorn.

• It starts with you and the crew watching as Izzy painfully and drunkenly crawls down the corridor after sawing the unicorn’s legs off. It shatters your already broken heart to see him suffering like this, but you know any attempts to follow him would be futile. Then you feel the eyes of the crew burn into you next and white hot shame rubs through you. You should know what to do, you know Izzy better than almost anyone, you’re the one he lets in and cares about.. Or you were. With tears in your eyes, you simply walk away.

• You can’t sleep that night. You and the crew have started construction on Izzy’s new leg but your anxiety prevents you from being excited. What if he hates you it? What if you get it wrong again? Heart hammering, you get up. You can’t take it anymore, you just need to see him.

• Before you can even knock on his door you can hear him talking to himself. He’s drunk, obviously, slurring his words and cursing himself and Ed and the sea and any other poor fucker he can think of.. Though notably, you’re not included in his hit list. Knocking on the door just earns you a “fuck off!” but you persist. “Izzy, it’s me,” you call quietly. Silence follows. You let yourself in.

• The stench of alcohol hits you like a ton of bricks but you don’t care. You only care about the haggard, broken man who’s sat on the bed, glaring at you, swaying slightly despite the sea being calm. You start to approach. “Thought I told you to fuck off,” he spits, stopping you in your tracks. You only have to give him a stern look to take the wind from his sails. He averts his eyes like a naughty schoolboy and mutters, “what d’ya want?”

• You’ve brought him some warm water and a washcloth along with a few other supplies. He protests a little at first but eventually lets you strip him of his dirty clothes and gently wash away the grime he’s let build up. He closes his eyes and leans against the wall, head lolling a little as he focuses on your warm, gentle touch rather than his aching body for a bit. In his drunken haze he thinks about how much he’s missed this, how much he’s missed you. The words just won’t string together and come out somehow, making him feel more ashamed. He was supposed to be the one taking care of you, not the other way round.. Just how the fuck did it come to this?

• When you reach his leg he snaps to attention and grabs your wrist, holding it tight. You look up at him expecting anger but instead you just find shame.

“Don’t,” he grunts, “you don’t have to touch it.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” you assure him, “but it might be good to just check it’s alright.. You know, after you fell earlier.”

He scoffs and automatically reaches for the rum again, letting go of your wrist. “Bet the crew fucking loved that..” he mutters, earning another sad look from you.

“They’re worried about you,” you tell him, “everything you did for them hasn’t gone unnoticed, you know. Everyone knows how much they owe to you, how much you - you sacrificed.”

A heavy silence falls over the room once more as he processes the information and you do your best not to get emotional. You can’t even imagine what Izzy’s going through, what happened between him and Ed behind closed doors.. You focus on carefully unwrapping the bandages around what’s left of his leg. A couple of stitches have split and are crusted with blood, but it’s nothing serious. You get to work cleaning and redressing everything. Izzy doesn’t even flinch. Whether he’s numbed by the alcohol or exhaustion, you’re not quite sure.

• When you’re finally done you pull back and dare to smile at him. You ask if he’s feeling a bit better and, though he sneers at first, he eventually nods and admits that he does. You even get a thank you.

• Then comes the awkward part. You and Izzy haven’t slept in the same bed together since Stede abandoned Ed. You want more than anything for things to go back to normal but you know that’s probably a long way off. You point out the obvious.

“You should sleep, Iz.”

He laughs and holds up the near-empty rum bottle. “I will,” he says, “eventually.”

You bite back a sarcastic comment and just sigh, pulling back the blanket and fluffing the pillow, willing to play this little pantomime for as long as he’ll let you. He grumbles something about you not being his fucking mother, but there’s no venom in it. He lets you guide him under the covers and finally put the bottle down. You perch on the edge of the bed, knowing now you really should leave, but you just can’t. You need to find any excuse, any reason to stay just that bit longer. Just when you’re about to give one, he reaches out and gently holds your hand.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice either,” he murmurs, eyes glassy and sincere, “how much you’ve done for me. Even before all this shit, back when we first met Bonnet, I -“ His voice breaks. “I was a fucking dick. And you stood up for me and I - “ He’s getting worked up now, shaking you to your core. You’ve never seen him like this. “I didn’t know this was going to happen. I didn’t know Ed - “

“Shh..” You hush him, squeezing his hand, “you are not responsible for that man’s actions, Iz. At all.” Anger seeps into your voice before you can stop it. “You didn’t deserve to be hurt like this.”

He just stares at you, his chest heaving with sobs that he refuses to let out.

You decide you don’t care to hesitate anymore. You kick off your boots and slide in beside him, taking him in your arms where he belongs. He doesn’t protest and just quietly cries into your shoulder, clinging to your shirt like it’s a lifeline. You stroke back his damp hair and pepper kisses along his forehead, assuring him over and over again that it’s all okay. No one’s ever going to hurt him like that again because you won’t fucking let them. You both know that in the life of piracy promises like that are fragile, but right now neither of you care. This is the safest he’s felt in a long, long time and he doesn’t have the strength to pass it up. Eventually his sobs dissolve to quiet sniffles and you feel his body start to relax against yours.

“You don’t have to stay,” he whispers.

You just smile and hold him even tighter.

“I know.”

[igncrxntripley]

their secret weapon pt. 4

request (anonymous): Just thinking it would be funny if secret weapon has an ex who's like 6'10 and they're on good terms, right person wrong time vibe yk? And he shows up to support her and they're like whomst???

tags: SFW, poly!judgement day, fem!reader, ex!brooks jensen, possessive TJD

A/N: i’m on a brooks jensen kick lately so he may not be 6′10 but forgive me...also i needed to put this out bc the inspiration is hitting me like a brick and i have ideas you just aren’t ready

mentions: @babybatlover​ @ripleyswhore​

Before The Judgement Day welcomed Y/N with open arms, she didn’t have many solid connections to the people she shared the ring with. Of course she had friends, but the industry sometimes made it difficult. That changed when she met Brooks, who had started training at the Performance Center not long after she did. He was someone she could confide in, someone she felt a connection with as more than a friend. Their relationship developed, but the two decided to split. They both still loved one another, but it wasn’t the right time. 

Y/N had to admit that ever since becoming the fifth member of The Judgement Day, she hadn’t thought about Brooks once. He hadn’t reached out to her since it was revealed that she was a new member, and it spoke volumes that she hadn’t thought about picking up the phone once to call him. Little did she know, he was in shock. And now that it had been a few weeks, Brooks thought he needed to saw something. 

The group was backstage at Monday Night Raw the five of them relaxing in their locker room before their appearance for later on in the show; Damian and Finn were stretching in one corner, Rhea was in another doing pull ups, and Y/N had her head in Dominik’s lap as they played video games together. For a crew who was so tough on the outside, they really were just five normal people. They all looked at the door when a knock came from the other side, and they were confused as they weren’t expecting anyone. Finn was the first to move, so when he opened the door he was shocked to see none other than Brooks. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” He asked the taller, larger man. “Last I checked we didn’t invite you.” Brooks rolled his eyes a little and tried to look behind Finn for Y/N, in which they made eye contact from her spot on the couch. “I need to talk to Y/N.” Brooks said confidently, Y/N already standing up even though Dominik tightened his grip on her waist. No one knew who Brooks was or what his connection to their girl was, so they were on edge once he said why he was there. “Sorry pal, she’s a little busy.” Finn said and began closing the door, but Y/N got up and stopped him. “Brooks…hi.” She said softly. 

To say the other four members in the room were shocked was an understatement. Not only were they surprised, but they were protective of Y/N and wanted to know who this was at the door. She turned to them and gently put her hand on Finn’s arm since he was the closest. “Give me a few minutes.” Y/N was going to go with Brooks regardless, but once her partners nodded in agreement and gave her the space she needed she closed the door and walked down the hallway with Brooks. 

Once they were alone the two embraced each other for the first time in a long time, and it felt good to Y/N to have someone there she knew cared about her. “God, baby. It’s so good to see you.” Brooks said into her shoulder as he squeezed her smaller body. She still smelled the same, of strawberries and flowers but now with a hint of cologne from each of her boys in the room. And her feminine aesthetic hadn’t changed in the slightest either, but he was still worried about the long term effects of being involved with The Judgement Day. “I’ve been worried about you.” 

Y/N pulled back to look at him with furrowed brows. “Worried?” She asked softly. “Brooks, I…I know you mean well but you don’t need to be worried. The four of them are amazing, and they’ve helped me so much.” Brooks put her down and gently held her arms. “You feel that way now, but they’re going to turn on you like they’ve turned on others in the past.” He warned her. “I just…I hate how people have treated you in the past and I don’t want it to happen again.” Y/N gave a soft sigh and looked up at her ex. “As if you wouldn’t be the first one I’d call if I needed help.” She teased softly, making him chuckle. “I promise you, I’m happy, And the four of them take amazing care of me.” Brooks just had to trust Y/N like he always had, so he nodded and pulled her into another hug. “I’m proud of you. And I’ll be watching you tonight front and center.” 

Y/N could feel herself buzzing with excitement when Brooks told her. She smiled at him and practically jumped up and down. “I think You’ll like the new stuff I’ve been working on. But I have to go get ready, so I’ll see you later?” Brooks nodded and gave her one last kiss on top of her head as a good luck before she ran back to the locker room. When she walked inside, she was met with four stares from four quite large individuals. 

“Care to explain?” Rhea asked first, her arms crossed over her chest and the look on her face making Y/N nervously play with her fingers. “He’s…he’s my ex. And we still have a really good relationship so he just wanted to talk.” She explained quickly. Damian shook his head a little and stepped closer. “Do you remember what we told you when you became a member of The Judgement Day, mi amor?” His words made Y/N shiver. Finn followed suit and stood in front of Y/N, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. “In order to be the very best you can be, you need to leave everything behind that was holding you back.” He reminded her softly. Y/N frowned and looked at the four of them again. “I-I know, but…but that’s not Brooks! He’s always supported me…” she said softly. 

Dom was the next one to speak. He shook his head and stayed where he was, running a stressed hand through his hair. “That’s what you think. But you need to trust us for all of this hard work to truly pay off.” She turned her head from her partners and tried to think about what they were saying, but she knew they were right. “Yeah, I guess.” She said softly. In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t going to be that easy to cut off Brooks. But she still had a match later in the night and she couldn’t think about anything other than that. 

Her partners all smiled in response, and this time Rhea was the one to step closer and wrap her arms around Y/N. “We promise this is the right thing to do, baby. You won’t regret it.” She said softly. Y/N nodded and leaned into Rhea’s touch. “Thank you all. I mean it.” Even though she still meant every word she said, she was still thinking about seeing Brooks in the crowd during her match tonight…and whether she should tell her four partners about that.

[bunnyluvs-blog]

The 1 (Bangchan x reader)

Heavy angst ‼️‼️ lots of tears, asshole! Bangchan

I made this bc of my own relationship issues so I know it's a lil iffy but please enjoy

Hurt. Tears. A shadow. Thats what you were reduced to at this point. Your boyfriend Bangchan whos a one of a kind idol, who used to come home every night, kiss you good morning, play with your hair when you were having a bad day. The one who always took such good care of you. The one who you truly thought could never hurt you. He promised he would never hurt you. So why were you a mess, on the couch of your shared apartment. Most nights you wouldn't even stay up to wait for Bangchan to come home. You knew his job was hard but now these days it seemed loving you was twice as hard. You just sat there the clock reaching 4am. No call no text no nothing from him all day. You sent him good morning text and all you would get was read popped up under your text. You weren't even worth responding too. You couldn't stop the tears from falling at this point. You tried so hard to defend him to yourself. That he has a life outside of you but at this point you werent in his life at all.

You passed out on a couch. Now it was 9am, your body didn't really let you sleep after your tear fest last night. You looked around the apartment. A cup next to the sink, the bed sheets messed up, and his clothes in a corner of the bedroom. He was home. And he didn't even notice you were gone. He didn't miss your warmth or cuddles or light kisses on his face. He didn't miss you like you had so badly missed him. You couldn't ruin yourself anymore, you couldn't do this, all the restless nights hoping he's eating and taking care of himself. And he couldn't even care if you were home or not. You had given 2 whole years of your life to this man, what a waste. You text him a whole essay on how you felt ending it with the words "Lets break up" and you sent it. You were shaking. Even if you wanted what was best for you you still loved him. He wasn't a bad man but he just wasn't your man anymore. You tried everything you could to get your mind off of it. Putting your phone on do not disturb and mindlessly watching stranger things all the way through.

You've set up your bed for the night on the couch and your stuffed animals to keep you semi happy. That's when he came home. The man who didn't even check his phone today. The one who didn't even read your message of you pouring your heart out. "Hey babe, w-whats all of this? It isn't movie night is it?" He says, confused. The first words you've gotten in weeks, real words, not an im sorry or I love you or something fucking cheesy like all your friends tell you their boyfriends do. "Oh I'm just sleeping out here tonight until I can find a place to move too.." you said, Chan raised an eyebrow. "Move too? What are you talking about" It hit you, it hit you like a fucking brick. He didn't even check his phone. "Check your phone" that's all you said before you put on some shoes, grabbed your phone and wallet and left. He didn't even go after you. Not that you were expecting him to but a small bit of you hoped he did. You just walked. Your normal route you did when you wanted some air in the middle of the day. The world looks so different at night. You've never really seen it before before now. Nights became a blur, maybe you could learn to like them more.

You heard panting along with your name, it was Chan. A baseball cap, black shirt, and sweats. "Y/n love please i head no idea you were feeling this way" he panted trying to catch his breath. "Look this comeback has just been twice as hard as anything else we've done and they're just asking more of me and I know that isn't an excuse but I would never truly try to ignore you, i love you baby I really do, please dont leave me I can't live without you, i know I'm a shitty boyfriend and I know I'm not giving you what you need but please, let me change, for us" he was begging, pleading. He wanted to change, and if people set their mind to something they can do anything right? Truth is you really didn't want to let him go. "Promise to never hurt me again..?" You asked, voice shaky, your holding back your own tears from falling. He nodded and let out a soft please before you hugged him, just sobbing into his shirt. He took you home and tucked you into bed after a shower and some medicine from the headache you got after sobbing.

It's been 2 months since then. And things have been going ok..ish. Things were perfect for a month. Until he fell back into the same habit. With no comeback to plan for at the moment you couldn't help but be confused on why this was happening again. You prayed and prayed that he would change and pull though, and you really though tonight would be the night. It was your 3 year anniversary. You couldn't be more excited. You got a new black dress and pretty earring that he bought you for your birthday a year ago. You guys had dinner planned at a restaurant you both wanted to try. Dinner was at 8 and you were ready at 6:30. You felt so pretty. You knew you were pretty. You walked into the restaurant around 7:30. You watching the couples smile and enjoy eachother before the staff sat you. You waited for a bit then until 8 hit the clock. You played with the end of your dress. You ordered a semi cheap wine for you and Chan. 30 minutes, 1 hour, 2 hours, 2 hours and 30 minutes later you gave up.

You called an Uber to take you home, walking up the steps to your apartment. Opening the door, putting down your keys and kicking off your heels. You hear the tv on and your heart drops. He was home. You looked around to see if there was any sign of a happy anniversary or a gift or something that would make you feel like he still cared. He must have heard the keys and a few sniffles because he was facing you. "Oh hi honey? Woah hey why are you crying? Where have you been? What happened" he got up walking over to you trying to give you a hug when you moved away from him. He looked at you confused. "Do you even know what day it is today Chris?" He pulled out his phone to see June 28th. The same date you two made it official. Oh how everything seemed so perfect back then. You could remember it like yesterday. Small talk, the big question, the giggles and cuddles, how happy you felt. It was all gone now.

"Love I promise I just forgot I'm sorry I'm such an idiot" he said grabbing your hands. Looking at you with those big brown eyes, how you could get lost in them. "It wont happen again" that's when you broke, you were tired of giving him chances to redeem himself. "Your right it won't, because we're over" He froze, mouth slightly opened "You clearly dont care about me anymore Chris and I can't go on pretending like you do to make myself feel better" You sighed and walked past hime, going to pack a bag. "Wait wait hun lets talk about this" he said going after you. "We have, we have at least every 6 months and nothing changes, im tired of being last place in your heart" you angrily said shoving whatever you felt was right into your bag. "I wish I was what you wanted" you said before leaving. You couldn't face him. You didnt want you. You know yourself better then this. You knew if your friend was dating someone like Chris you would tell them to break up and they can do so much better. It was time for you to do better for yourself for once.

[quillsareswords]

hii, for #QFWW could you do a romantic ghost hunting with the demonologist!reader and damian bc i miss those freaks

A/N: thank you sm for requesting them I love them so fucking much

WARNINGS: language, ghost, mentions of eating/drinking

MASTER LIST in BIO

"You can hold my hand if you get scared."

   Damian snorts. "You watched me punch an eight foot lizard monster in the face on Friday night. I think I'll be alright." He accepts the maglight you hold out and shoves it into the backpack you handed him first.

   You bend at the waist and dive back into your arsenal-slash-trunk of your car. It's a glorified pile of miscellaneous weapons, tools, and occult paraphernalia, and he has no idea how you find anything as quickly as you do.

   "Okay, firstly," you start, rifling through another bag you've dredged up from the back, "Croc is nine feet tall. Easy. Secondly, you screamed like a nine year old when we watched Insidious." You produce an unopened canister of iodized salt and blindly extend it toward him.

   He drops it into the bag with a scowl. "Okay, fine, he's technically eight and a half. And I did not scream."

   You turn over your shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Oh? No? Timestamp forty-six minutes, five seconds. The Red Faced Demon is standing behind the husband–"

   "It was the sound effects–"

   "–in seven years I have never heard you make that noise–"

   "If you wouldn't have cranked the volume up–"

   "–you made me stop the movie–"

   "Okay! Yes, I was startled. It was a jumpscare. And I live with someone who fights them for a living—I'm one of the few people to watch that movie and actually know how dangerous a demon attachment can be." He huffs.

   You roll your eyes, but you go back to digging around your stash. "I didn't scream. Do you want a knife?"

   "You summon a few to play poker bi-weekly. And yes."

   You slide a bowie knife into the sheath on the back of your belt, pull out another, and stand up and slam your trunk closed. You trade him the knife for the backpack. "Constantine plays poker, I play Uno. I hate poker."

   He looks down at the knife in his hand, weighs it absently. He's seen it around before, somewhere in your office, maybe in your glove box, probably on the floor at some point. "Of course you do."

   You sling your bag over your shoulder and grab the bolt cutters from the roof of the car.

   He cocks an eyebrow and follows you toward the door. "I thought you said we had permission to be here? Why do you need those?"

   "We do," you assure him. "The owner paid me to come. He wants me to prove it's haunted so he can rent it out to shows and internet personalities." You lead him around the front of the building, out of the last strips of dusk and into the shadow the beast of brick casts. "Unfortunately, he couldn't fine the key to the chain on the door, so, you know. Bolt cutters."

   There's another door waiting for you between some overgrown hedges. He focuses mostly on his footing and allows your footsteps ahead to guide him. Between the debris and the vanishing concrete, it'd be too easy to trip.

   You clip the blades onto one link of the chain looped through the door handles and start squeezing. He stands at your back, subconsciously keeping watch while you're busy. The chain hits the cement, and you wedge the blades between the doors to help wrench them open.

   The interior is in much better shape than the exterior. Where outside, it's easy to see that all four stories of the office has been empty for several years, inside, the only thing to suggest its vacancy is the film of dust covering everything and the lack of electricity.

   You pull the first maglight put and click it on while Damian hauls the door mostly shut. The side entrance opens into a hallway that probably leads back around to the front door and the security desk.

   Damian's tiny flashlight beams cleaner and whiter beside yours, skimming down the doors lining the corridor. "What are we looking for, again?"

   "We hate-watch Ghost Adventures; it's just like that but without Zac fuckface Bagans. And, you know. We aren’t huge babies and this isn’t staged.”

   “Of course not. You’d never be satisfied with a safe, staged film set.”

   You nudge a door open and shine your light inside. An empty room with one, very depressing desk. “No, absolutely not. I had to go and solve a paranormal murder at age twelve and here we are.”

   He chuckles.

   The first floor is as barren as it can be. It looks like it was cleaned out pretty efficiently when the doors finally closed. The only interesting thing to be found is a heavy pen with the name of some paper company printed in sharp gold letters. The second floor is more of the same, save for a conference room with a projector and screen left behind. Damian talks you out of going back to the car for your computer to find out if it works.

   “If we don’t see an activity up here, I’ll just run through the next two with the K2 and call it.” You use your shoulder to convince the stair access to the third floor to open. “If it spikes, I’ll just send Jerry over tomorrow or something.” It squeals open easily once the latch is unstuck.

   He follows you into the main room. There are still some desks scattered around, and one of the fluorescent light covers is hanging open from the ceiling. “This entire endeavor seemed like more of an assistant’s errand. Why didn’t you send him to begin with?”

   There’s no bite to the question. He’s not accusing you or insinuating anything–he’s just curious. You look away guiltily anyway, because in your mind, you hear, why, this week of all weeks, did you have to do this?

   Valentine’s Day is only in a few days, and he blocked out almost his whole week to spend with you. You’d try to do the same, bumping clients around and turning phone calls into emails until you were nearly free. Unfortunately, it’s just not enough. You’ve had somewhere to be every day. He claims he isn’t irritated, that he understands, but you know it isn’t fair. 

   “I wasn’t sure if the place was haunted or not, and Jerry hasn’t exactly gotten the whole some spirits want to eat your eyeballs thing through his head yet. I didn’t want to risk him coming face to face with a poltergeist without me around,” you explain, the beam of your light sweeping across the personal offices on the farthest wall. “I’m sorry, again.”

   He nudges an old, empty file box with his shoe. “For what?”

   You sneak a glance over your shoulder at him as he wanders toward an alcove boxed in by an extra wall. “I feel bad I had to work, I guess. I know you’d rather be at home, enjoying your time off for once.” You move forward, checking between the abandoned desks for any crouching figures or lucky finds. “You really didn’t have to come.”

   You can hear him turning around, and the beam of his light reaches toward your feet. “I wanted to come,” he corrects you quickly. “And you don’t have to apologize, my love. You made as much time as you could. I know your career isn’t exactly the most forgiving. Speaking from experience.”

   You snort. “Well, sure, but–”

   “Don’t. How many dates or events have I missed?” His long legs carry him across the room a little quicker than you anticipate. “We’ve been able to spend more time together in the last few days than we have in weeks. I’m more than content with that.” His palm is warm, flattened in the small of your back. “Besides, I enjoy accompanying you. Especially when there aren’t any demons flying around swinging swords or firing flaming arrows at us.”

   “Don’t jinx it, you ass,” you swat jokingly at him with a smile. “But thank you. I like it when you come with me. Makes it a lot less boring," you chuckle. "And–"

   Bang!

   You whip around toward the sound, dominant hand curling around the handle of your knife while your light finds the source.

   Nothing's seems to have been touched except for–

   "The stairs," Damian whispers. Sure enough, the door you just had to ram open is now firmly closed. 

   You take a step closer to Damian. "Somebody there?" you call. You trade your grip on your knife to unclip the K2 meter from your belt. It ticks quietly at the lowest level.

   You didn't feel any wind that might've closed it. You don't smell sulfur or smoke. The air still feels light, if dusty, and not as oppressive as the atmosphere would be with something evil in the building. You aren't necessarily surprised by that, though. The buildings history was clean as a whistle when you looked into it—which was surprising, considering it stands in Gotham City, murder capital of the world.

   By process of elimination and lack of evidence, you're confident that any entity living here is probably a human spirit that's either wandering in from the metaphorical street, or someone who worked here for so long that it was more familiar than home was when they died.

   There's always a chance you're wrong, though. Definitely wouldn't be the first time.

   Beside you, Damian is keeping an eye on the rest of the room so you can focus on your senses. You're better at picking up on things than he is in these situations.

   "If you want to talk, we'd really like to hear what you've got to say," you announce. "Might even be able to offer you something."

   The meter ticks up a level. You slowly move it side-to-side, checking for an environmental interference. It stays steady.

   "Do you think you can talk to me? That door was really heavy, and you closed it by yourself, so you must be pretty strong."

   Damian bumps his elbow into yours. You turn to see him, hoping you aren't about to find something that will haunt your dreams for the next few months. He points his flashlight at a puddle of papers on the floor between two desks. The edges of two of them are lifting and falling like they're being caught by a breeze. There aren't any open windows, no holes in the ceiling. None of the other papers move.

   You bump his shoulder and smile proudly. "Okay, I'll tell you what." You sling your backpack on top of one of the empty desks and jerk the zipper open. You dig past the short-nose shotgun with its rock salt rounds, the box of banishing bullets, your demonic identifier keys. Out comes the spirit box. "I'm gonna set this on the table and turn it on. It's gonna flip through a ton of radio stations really fast. You just need to focus on the word you want to say, and the radio will say it for you."

   Damian watches you set it out on the table. His eyebrows furrow. It looks…familiar. "Is that the old police scanner from the Cave?"

   You pause. You look over at him sheepishly. "Tim said I could have it. He helped me rework it."

   He closes his eyes. "You took a four thousand dollar piece of equipment that could scan any radio frequency in a twenty mile radius and made it into a ghost translator?"

   You pull out the antenna and shrug. "Technically, your brother made it into a ghost translator. And it's called a spirit box, thank you very much." You flick the switch for emphasis.

   It crackles static for a moment, sputters broken words from different shows and songs, and then some talk show somewhere says, "Asshole," clear as a bell.

   You burst into laughter. Damian's eyes narrow. "Even the ghost thinks you're a dick," you wheeze. A woman's laughter coughs through the continuous static.

   "Don't you have a proposition for it, oh great and powerful sorcerer?" He rolls his eyes.

   "She," the radio corrects.

   You get a grip on your composure, tucking away comments you're definitely going to make about this later. Damian Wayne, trans-dimensional asshole. Damian Wayne: even the afterlife hates him! You fake wiping a tear away just to annoy him a little more.

   "Yeah, actually, I do." You straighten yourself back out. "I'm gonna talk to the box since I don't know where you are, okay?"

   "Sure."

   Damian leans against the desk behind the one you're using, just within your line of sight. He's naturally very quiet, and he knows it makes you uneasy when you don't know exactly where he is in places like this.

   "Great. Well, we should start by introducing ourselves." You give it your nickname freely (you never use your real name—something about how names have powers and a bunch of other magical nonsense that went over his head. He gets the gist, at least. She tells you her name is Bethany. "Well, Bethany, it's nice to meet you. Do another spirits live here?"

   "A few," she crackles. "They're—nice."

   You explain the situation to her and trust that she'll relay the information on to the others. You tell her about the landlord wanting to rent the place out, that he'd be willing to trade favors for a good show. Things like leaving a television or two on to chase off the boredom of being stuck in an office building as a weak human spirit. She thinks it's funny, but she likes the idea. She tells you that she used to watch ghost hunting shows all the time when she was alive.

   Damian keeps an eye out for any other activity, but for the most part, he just wants to watch you. You sit on the desk with the box, negotiating casually with a dead woman like it's just some other Sunday night.

   He knows better. As sick of your career as you get some days, for as many problems it's caused you over the years, despite all the things it's taken from you and held you back from—you love these parts. Even though this is just another Sunday night for you, you're still fascinated by the afterlife, by how thin the veil between worlds is.

   It's what you were born to do. You're in your element in this empty building, laughing at a bad joke told by someone you can't see. This is your purpose. Bridging the wide gap between the living and the dead; protecting people from things they never even knew existed. 

   Your job is trying at best, for both of you. It strains your relationship at times, just the same as his heroic duties. His opinion of your work is best described as a love-hate relationship. He hates it for what it does to you, for the trials it puts you through; but he loves it for what it does for you, the purpose it gives you. 

   His opinion doesn't matter there, though. It's your passion, and he'll support you in that until the day finally comes that you turn your back on it. He'll be here to pick you up when it knocks you down. He'll be waiting at home when you drag yourself through the door. He'll go ghost hunting with you for Valentine's Day.

   "Hey, Dams?"

   "Hm? Yes?"

   You're already looking at him, gently packing the spirit box back into your bag. "Ready to go?"

   "Of course." He picks himself up from the desk and waits for you to reach him. "Does this mean we're going home?"

   You fall in step with him back toward the stairs. Hopefully the door wasn't jammed by your new friend. "Oh, I don't know. I thought we might stop for food. Usually we're covered in dirt or worse when we finish up, but we're clean this time. Might as well take advantage of it."

   He grabs the door's handle and yanks it open for you with relative ease. "What did you have in mind, Love?"

   You cock a shoulder. "Insomnia Cookies is open. That tea house on Ballet Street is, too. I don't care, you pick. My treat." You step out to the stairs.

   He follows you with a scoff. "That's hilarious. I pay."

   You chuckle, "Sweetheart, you just helped me make two grand. I'm paying."

   You stop abruptly, turn, grab him by the collar, and pull him down to meet you halfway. You kiss him there, on the stairs of an abandoned office building, where three or more ghosts are probably watching. "Happy Valentine's Day, by the way."

[charms-of-earth]

ok i have a new hobby. reading thru Wikipedia while high. i was microwaving a frozen enchilada and realized i had no idea how microwaves worked and the thought of turning a frozen brick into fully hot and ready to eat food was amazing, but microwaves had been around for my whole life so i never stopped to appreciate them. so i looked up when was microwave invented and the first thing i saw was that awful ai search that you cant turn off for some reason, and the second thing i saw was Wikipedia. you can guess which one i picked. i scrolled down until i got to "History - Early Development" and i started reading and omg i never realized how interesting this story was! did you know that one of the very first things microwaved was an egg? which exploded into one of the researchers faces? who hasn't microwaved an egg before? we were all unknowingly experiencing the microwave as kids just like the first users of the first microwave. did you know that a major component in microwaves, the cavity magnetron (by the way who came up with that name? sounds like a transformer that your dentist made up) was built for World War II for short wavelength radar. the way it was written too is charming in a way. i mean that you can tell it was written by a human who is passionate about this subject. not ai. just look at this section if you don't believe me.

an unprecedented discovery. that sounds like you admire them you nerd. and why wouldn't you? they played a big part in the creation of a super fast oven that can heat up your food in a couple minutes instead if setting aside hours for mealtimes. for many of us, we feel like life happens in between work, cooking, cleaning, anything we HAVE to do. the moments where we are just going mind blank on a video game or binging a favorite tv show or hanging out with the people we love, those moments are when we are truly living. ok but heres the best part of the story and the reason why i think that the story of the invention of the microwave would be a hit in the box office if it was ever made. here, i'll just let you read it.

can you just imagine that scene in the movie? it would be so funny, he'd pull out the melting candy bar and go hmm? and the looks on the researchers faces when the popcorn started popping in there? i would love to have been there bc those reactions would have been so precious. like a kid discovering they can cook for themselves for the first time bc of this appliance and the wonder in their eyes as they look up at you, amazed and impressed with themselves. the first place commercially to have a microwave was a restaurant in Boston. i wonder if they advertise that on their sign? the last thing i learned from the wikipedia article is where i stopped reading. it just became a little too much to ponder when i was in that state.

reanimate cryogenically frozen hamsters?? so you're telling me. there are real life necromancers? ok i know what i'm looking up next. BUT ALSO. the link on those two blue words just define what they are, they dont add any further context. why were they trying to reanimate a hamster? no clue. why did they have cryogenically frozen hamsters on hand? was it bc they were testing to see if people can be cryogenically frozen but they had to use hamsters first? actually thats pretty likely isn't it...ok you gotta admit thats cool. maybe they would include that part in the movie somehow.

[goldentigerfestival]

The 30 day Tales challenge... in one post or else it would never get done!

Favorite Tales game: Legendia

Favorite Main Male Hero: Yuri and Senel

Favorite Main Female Hero: Kohaku

Favorite Side Male Character: Moses

Favorite Side Female Character: Stella

Favorite Canon Pairing: Senel/Stella + Shing/Kohaku

Favorite Non-Canon Pairing: how official is stahn/leon at this point i wonder

Favorite Opening Song: Destiny

Favorite Location: ??? idfk the entire Legacy??? I'll go with Werites Beacon for simplicity I guess. feels like home

Favorite Mascot: Giet. don't tell me he's not a mascot, I'm not listening. (and if you want to try having that discussion my answer is still the Oresoren so we're not getting far, are we)

Favorite Monster: ??? also dfk, probably something cute except i don't like hurting cute so i guess we're stuck

Favorite Boss Battle: UHHHH listen it hurts to say but Vicious; bc the raw emotion that went into that entire storyline ate me whole

Favorite Villain: since I'm avoiding antagonists here (such as Duke who aren't explicitly villains) and prefer to go full villain, Creed.

Least Liked Character: not opening THAT can of worms!!! :D

Your First Tales Game: boooo boriiiing. Symphonia like the other half of the western population. no fancy answer here

Your Favorite Scene: ??? I mean, there's... a lot I guess??? Stahn pleading with Leon moments before disaster??? Kanata crying that Vicious was okay and came back to them??? Moses saying literally anything ever in any scene ever??? the end of Innocence but when you choose Spada as your soulmate bc I'm a bias little fuck??? anything with Yuri and Flynn being happy together??? the entirety of Legendia???

Funniest Scene: idk but it either had Moses in it, Vicious in it, or it was Spada's "I can't believe you mixed up Frosty the Snowman with the Abominable Snowman"

Saddest Scene: Moses' Character Quest cutscene (if not the whole fucking CQ), moments during disaster with Leon, moments during disaster with Asch

Favorite Quote: a lot of stuff Vicious said ngl. can't think of nor pick one off the top of my head but every time he Gets Serious it's one of those and I fall in love further every single time. but if we wanna be REEEALLY simple? "Yeehaw". thanks, Moses. maybe Yuri has said something cool enough to get on the top list, but I'm not sure anything is trumping "yeehaw", and maybe that's equal to something Vicious said

Favorite Piece of Gameplay Music: Scutum - Decisive Battle. Pour one out for Rebirth having the fucking BEST battle theme ever.

Most Shocking Reveal: ??? I'm... not sure at this point. Giet??? was it Senel??? maybe Mathias and Ruca??? Ratatosk and Emil??? I kind of want to say Ratatosk and Emil because I remember being very impressed with the direction of the plot, in that the main protagonist/player character was actually the villain the whole time that the antagonist was trying to kill the whole time. definitely not a plot direction you usually get in JRPGs. Giet's story still hit like an entire brick building 100 storeys high falling on me though

Favorite One on One Fight: that was actually FUN??? uhhh idk Vicious against Kasque. what did you expect me to say???

Favorite Skit: way too many skits to have even a semblance of an idea. I'm going to assume it was either something related to Yuri and Flynn, Moses, Vicious, Spada or Stahn. that's about the closest I can pinpoint

Favorite Tales Spell: I don't... think I have one...

Favorite Tales Weapon: -bangs fist on desk and gets really obvious really fast- BLOOD SINS, BLOOD SINS, BLOOD SINS. after that the Swordians

Tales World You Want to Live In: honestly Legendia's and Graces' seem the most reasonably normal compared to the rest, but also shiny fingertips and Moses is a pretty solid Legendia

Favorite Animated Tales Series/OVA: (don't say rays don't say rays don't say rays don't say stahn/leon) probably First Strike if only because it focuses on Yuri and Flynn who I love, but Abyss' anime was very solid compared to the other Tales animated series that were just heavily condensed versions (or worse in Eternia's case, not even being relevant to the main story). like, I would not recommend the animated series to anyone prior to playing the game except for Abyss, which is the full major story and I have inarguably rewatched that anime more than I've played the game. I guess in terms of general animated, FS, but in terms of actual consistency to the game it came from and dedication it had in retelling the story faithfully without skipping 80 percent of it, Abyss

Favorite Tales Outfit: RICHARD??? HEEEELLO??? not arc F though that shit is too fruity for me. also Leon has VERY enjoyably bright colors that make him stand out and as a Very Deeply Definitely Not Obsessive Leon Enjoyer, I very much love that. Aegis also has a really nice outfit. Asbel's is pretty but definitely not Richard level of I'm obsessed with this look

Favorite Game Plot: -breaks everything in your room and your neighbor's room for good measure- TURN IT BACK ON NAMCO I'M PAST MY LIMIT SO I'M PROBABLY IN OVERLIMIT (Crestoria. it's that or I'm saying Legendia again. Innocence and Hearts both are really close runner ups tho!!! definitely the most unique in the franchise imo out of the mainline games and sadly confined to "nobody fucking cares about them and never did")

Favorite Game Ending: so that's got... layers. it really depends on the sub topic. I guess in terms of a happy ending, Graces (the Wii version specifically, getting Richard back. don't really care for the ending of arc F and lean more toward disliking it). in terms of a depressing fucking ending that makes me Very Upsetti, Destiny. there is literally nothing happy about Destiny's ending for me. like yeah we saved the world, but at a LOT of cost and it's just depressing. I've wanted to make a post about that anyway, but basically it's a type of ending they don't really make anymore (especially in Tales), and the emotional impact for me was a lot heavier than the other games, with Destiny 2 lingering right behind it. both Destiny games were just DEPRESSING, and no matter how bittersweet Destiny 2's ending was, it's still DEPRESSING. Vesperia at least had a more outright happy ending (that wasn't completely changed by a post game ending arc with a totally different ending) and I finally at that point didn't lose my favorite character to Certain Final Boss Death or Recurring Side Character I Came To Love Dying Unceremoniously and Undeserved. only a couple of top favorites actually came out of their games alive for me by Vesperia in terms of games I know + release timeline (to put it into perspective, by the time of Vesperia in release order (so not the order I played in bc I don't really remember the whole actual order at this point), out of all the games I know, my favorite character death toll was five to three survivors not counting Vesperia. still haven't played Eternia so I'm not counting that one). so I guess like, my answer is a whacky combination of Graces for the Wii, Destiny and Vesperia. maybe if Hearts hadn't killed my mans off then it could've had it all. 😔

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Uh oh it’s Unsolicited OJV Time again! (The wife is to blame) And you know what I wanna get into?! Why is it orange juice specifically?

So if you’re a regular in PCE Hell, you know the KMBS, the Kyle Mathew Broflovski Special of oj with seven ice cubes and a pinch of salt in a huge terrance and phillip cup, is the reason for which the series is named. But why did I pick that iconic (to me) beverage? Lemme tell ya!

(Under the cut bc of eating issue mention)

I’ve said before that the OrangeJuiceVerse wasn’t written in chronological order, and it will not be, bc I’m like “oh I have an idea for 30 yr old Stan!” and then “college main5 oneshot idea!” “Mid 20s style fic!” SMH I have put the fics in chronological order despite writing them all over the place, for the sake of a crumb of organization, but lord ok what I’m getting at here

So the first idea that wound up being the cornerstone of that au, the one that sat in my notes for so long, was Broken Bottles From Apartment 2. It’s a later ojverse timeline story (11th chronologically I think) but I posted it third. The first fic in that universe, A Fall In The Springtime (I hate that name btw I was trying to make a pun and it sucked rip), wasn’t even the first OJV story to curse ao3. I had written like the first half of the basketball game in ch 1 and I switched gears.

(Unsolicited PCE Lore time)

So during the era I was thinkin abt AFITS and BBFA2, I was also working as the prop master on a film. And I was really, really fucking stressed. I couldn’t eat or sleep and the only thing of any slight nutritional value that I could keep down was orange juice.

And ofc I was like you know who would absolutely have the same problem? Getting so stressed out that they can’t eat? Or won’t? Wendy Testaburger and Kyle Broflovski. So before the stories that were already in the notes for a hot minute got completed? Borrowed Hoodies And Orange Juice hit the shelves. And that detail of Stan keeping oj on standby in his backpack in case Kyle needs it, that felt right. And I carried that into the rest of AFITS.

That got posted a while before OJV was even solidified as the same universe in my mind, and imma be honest, I didn’t initially plan to have an aspect of it being Kyle as a former ed sufferer, but the more I developed him in bbfa2, the more it made sense for his character. So that stayed, even if it wasn’t even mentioned in that fic.

And the biggest kicker? The KMBS has been a staple for Kyle his whole life. His immune system is garbage. He gets sick a lot. Sheila always gave him orange juice with a little salt (for electrolytes) and at some point as he gets older and starts finding comfort in consistency (not this man and his borderline obsessive compulsive tendencies out here 8 years old delirious with the flu and paranoid as hell that if the juice isn’t in that t&p cup with EXACTLY seven ice cubes something bad will happen) BUT this breaks my heart bc when he’s in the trenches of his yeeting disorder he will not touch any liquid that isn’t water or black coffee. And on the rare occasion that he does have a lil juice bc he’s low and his whole life that’s his first instinct to get his blood sugar up? It has to be out of a prepackaged bottle. Not poured from a big carton into The Cup; he needs to see. And people in his life notice, and he’s like “yeah guess I grew out of it haha” oh my god that poor boy so the moment when Stan finds out about the ed, Stan Marsh, who has kept a bottle of minutemaid oj in his backpack since he knew what his best friend being diabetic meant, is with him in the locker room like okay Kyle gets low sometimes but he keeps an eye on his shit pretty well something’s wrong here and then Kyle’s looking at the goddamn nutrition info, still shaking, on the back of the bottle and it hits Stan like a brick to the face and THATS how he figured it out. For like fifteen years, long after Kyle recovered, that backpack bottle has the calorie count (Food Lore as Stan calls it) scribbled out. Just in case.

And it actually does take a while for Kyle to get to be okay with his favorite drink again. He associates it strongly with a chaotic carefree childhood and the ed developed with control as the root cause and anything associated with a time before that gives him a momentary panic. But only a few months out of restriction hell, you start to think “wait why did I think like that that’s fucking stupid” and he starts to have the default of laughing at the irrationality of it all pretty quickly. Stan doesn’t find it funny, Ike doesn’t find it funny, Sheila is on his ass about his eating habits until he’s 50, but Cartman roasts him for being a “stupid little rexie asshole” and Kyle takes comfort in at least one person not being overbearing about it. Stan doesn’t find that funny either.

So in the second ojv, Kyle proves to be really really awesome at comforting Wendy when she breaks down, because he’s been there. Kyle’s just good at comforting people in general, and that carries into his adult life and his career too. OJV Kyle is a middle school counselor. He’s helped a lot of students with a lot of different problems, but in particular, if a teacher notices a kid repeatedly avoiding lunch period and sends them his way, he has the experience tools to help them talk it out. And the minifridge under his desk? Guess what’s in there. ;)

*PastorCraigEnjoyer crawls back into her Cell to be the Comfort Dealer*

[mebiselfandi]

i hope this is not gonna annoy you but i was reading your rant about your writing and i was like😔 because goddd i adore them so much the way you write them characters, dialogues or try to explain how they feel in such situations always make me😞 even when you write smut bc dang do you know how much i reread strawberries and cream (it should be illegal) it just the way you always portray them so beautifully it's crazy (like how did u make c*m eating so sweet i cried and horny everytime i remembered that) also i sent this ask bc i just remember your newest neymessi fic and I'm devastated thinking at the possibility of you deleting that work bc goddd i remember the first time i read it i was crying so hard literally need to weep the tears out so i can read the next paragraph and then after I'm done i was pacinf around my room thinking about the next chapter bc u tagged it as it will be sweeter and how i was just so excited to read that bc if i have to live with the possibility of them just ending like that and not talk it out and have a heavy makeout session after just throw me to the ponds full off crocodiles in florida it would hurts less, you make me so attached to these characters that the possibility of neymar hurting bc leo leaving him after the heart wrenching love confession makes me☹️☹️☹️

i hope you'll find your joy and to not feel pressured to writing again because you have such a talent and i will always be happy to read every works you put, finally just wanted to say so glad to have such a talented writer in this fandom🫶🏼

Hi nonnie👋💕

When I got your ask I was like hm what’s this? Only to be hit straight in the feels with a truckload of bricks. ‘Annoy’ me you say. Something like this could never annoy me. This was legit me reading your ask holding back tears:

Tbh I was in a massive writing slump since like end of April. Idk what happened. I got a lil sad, then sick, then even more sad, then my birthday came up, then I got burnt out, next thing I knew it was June and my writing skills just switched off. Nothing all of May(except that one fic I barely remember writing while sick and fueled purely by spite). So when I wrote the last Neymessi fic, I was like not doing great at all. But idk I felt like I had to write something and the idea had been swimming in my head. But writing too sad fics when you’re already sad just = feeling shit about your work. Plus I felt so bad about writing, I thought it would be my last fic ever.

But I mean now I’m no longer feeling weird about writing and I can see the fic from an objective pov. I made a ton of typos and used the same words like twice in one sentence and just cringe phrasings. I could’ve done it better. However, I managed to write 4000 words when I thought I couldn’t. So I won’t delete it cause I can be at least proud of that fact. Also I’m not a quitter, if I delete the fic, the knowledge will haunt me forever. But I will be writing the second chap and I have ideas.

Now I feel kinda bad about it cause I know I said chap 2 will be sweeter buuuut I think it might still be sad. But only because I wanna write a 3rd chapter which will be sweeter. However keyword is sweeter…not sweet. Uh it’ll be a bittersweet ending cause either way Leo’s still leaving but I could never bring my heart to be entirely miserable like that. So don’t worry, it’ll end wellness 😌 but chap 2 is mostly just gonna be Leo’s pov and thoughts then chap 3 will be them finally talking after we hear what Leo’s thinking.

Also…about strawberries and cream though I logged into my ao3 for the first time a couple weeks yesterday and I was so shocked? Last I checked it was at 400 now it’s almost doubled😭😭 I’m so shook. But I’m glad you liked strawberries and cream. It’s one of my fave fics I wrote too.

You’re so sweet anon🥹🥹 like not to be like annoying about comments or wtv. But it always helps to know there is someone who likes your story and you aren’t just writing to the air. And to know I made you react so strongly to it is insane to me. But seriously, thank you so much for this, I’m legit gonna think of this message whenever I feel like I can’t write🫶

[blondiest]

hiii 🌿+🍭+💌 for the fic writer asks !! stay strong, meeting will be over at some point <33

hello my beloved 🥰 thank you for these!! ❣️

🌿how does creating make you feel?

when i first thought about this i was kind of shrug emoji but as i was driving home i realized that it really has been very meaningful to me to have an outlet of some kind for creativity. i drew and painted a lot when i was younger but through college and for a few years after i just did nothing creative at all. it was only studying & working & studying & working. i think writing has been good for me in that it's given me something to do as a real hobby. writing & sharing my writing & talking to other people about their writing brings me a lot of joy!

🍭why did you start writing?

i am not going to mention the actual fandom bc it's wildly embarrassing but i got very invested in A Ship from A Game (whatever you're thinking, it's stupider than that) but all the fics for it had elements that i found very unpleasant (just really, really heavy, even heavier than canon???) so i wrote a little <1k thing where they just made out and that was it. i wrote two prequels for that fic, then switched over to writing stuff i never ended up posting anywhere, then hellcheer hit me in the face like a brick and i fell headfirst into that, and then, in a moment of enormous hubris, decided to re watch death note with my brother last september and somehow thought it wasn't going to make me insane. and here we are now. no regrets you're all literally so great

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

no idea when i will actually have things ready to share from this, but a WIP i haven't posted about here & which i am quite fond of is love chained, in which Mello is in Barcelona for work and is trying to get himself to sleep with someone other than Near (who he's in a so-called casual relationship with. except it's really not very casual at all.) excerpt below,,

“I said I was thinking of leaving for the night, if you are interested in joining me,” Mateo says. “My apartment is not far from here.”

Mello's mouth goes dry. He parts his lips, wills himself to say yes— it doesn't really matter, after all, if the idea of cuddling with Mateo nauseates him, because he doesn’t have to do that. If he follows Mateo back to his apartment, Mello is by definition able to bail whenever— he wouldn’t even have to grapple with being the asshole who kicks their one-night stand out right after sex.

Yes.

Sure.

Yeah.

Let's go.

Mello thinks of all these responses, yet when he opens his mouth what comes out is— “Sorry, I'm— I've— I kind of, uh. Have someone.”

Mateo looks sort of dismayed. “Ah, I’m— my apologies, I would not have— if I had known you have a boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Mello blurts before he can think better of it.

The man’s face shifts from distress to pity, which Mello hates even more. “Ah. Unrequited. That makes sense.”

[stellawolfearts]

I have a question, what do you do when you get stuck with a chapter? I mean you already know what the chapter will be about but you don't know how to express the idea?

(I love your work! Keep up the good work)

Thank you, im so glad you like my stuff!! :DDDDDD

-------------------------------------

maaaaaan

see this is a BIG problem for me.

hell im stuck rn. for multiple reasons and with multiple fics lol. i just havent been able to write in a while for a buttload of reasons i wont get into.

but because this is a big problem for me ive got some advice for u buddy. there are a few things you can do, some is general advice and others is methods i use. note that everyone is different and some methods work well for some and wont work for others.

REST

thats my first piece of advice. dont stress about it. dont beat yourself up bc ur not writing. sometimes inspiration will come and sudddenly your hands will end up moving on thier own. but sometimes you just need the rest. its okay if you spend a day not writing. hell its okay if you spend a WEEK not writing. if your writing something something for you your supposed to enjoy it. this brings me to my next point.

WRITE IT FOR YOU

write it for yourself, especially if its a published work on ao3/wattpad/whatever...

i know it happened to me and tends to happen quite a bit even with my other content. you get too wrapped up in "comments, views, kudos, likes whatever..." your best work comes when you are enjoying what you're making and sometimes when you get too into that mindset suddenly its not fun anymore.

make it for you.

DISCIPLINE

sometimes you rest for too long, sometimes inspiration doesnt come. sometimes youve gotta sit your butt down and make yourself write. do you think its bad? doesnt matter.

whatever you end up writing down on that paper is progress. its a first draft and you can always come back to it later and make it even better then it was.

i know its hard and i really need to expercise this more.

i havent updated on ao3 in a while bc i keep going back to my drafts and think "man.....this is shit" or theres just this feeling like im hitting my head against a wall of bricks expecting it to crumblr for me but nothings happening.

so you really just gotta force youself to write sometimes. and there are some methods i use to help me.

REWRITE THE CHAPTER

yeah. its rough. but sometimes you gotta. what you have isnt working. so you just need to redo everything to get back into the groove. the flow.

i gotta do this with a new chapter im trying to write for longing for more. i already wrote like three thousand words but its not right at all so im redoing the whole thing when i have time.

SKIP THAT BIT

this has actually helped me ALOT.

so bassically if your stuck on a specific part of a chapter.....skip it. just skip it.

when i was writing longing for more the chapter where Mk talks to the lady bone demon in the dining room is one that i usedthis method for.

i wrote the first two paragraphs and then did a little "(they talk blah blah add something about this and then that and dont forget the thing)

and then i wrote the scene where mk escapes and the chase. i wrote that whole scene before i wrote the conversation they have because i had NO idea what to add in that scene. i was stuck. so i just skipped it and when i wrote something i had alot of ideas for i could come back and write that scene later.

and it worked. im really proud of how that scene turned out.

so if you need to just skip it and replace it with a little note (in these things i always forget what they're called) to remind yourself what goes there

MUSIC

Music is my greatest tool to help me write. idk how to explain it cause sometimes what im listening to while writing a scene doesnt make sense.

i think it wasssssss.

i dont remember which scene it was but i remember writing something REALLY sad to "vending machine of love". like gut wrenching sad.

funny stuff.

but yeah, music helps me get in the mood and visualize whats going on.

----------------------

the most important thing here though is enjoy what your doing. dont pressure yourself or just be too hard on yourself in general. cause then its no fun anymore and makes EVERYTHING so much harder.

so have fun, dont worry about other people, dont be hard on yourself. enjoy it.

[linklethehistorian]

I posted 117 times in 2022

67 posts created (57%)

50 posts reblogged (43%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@linklethehistorian

@ikiyou

@linkles-art-blog

@asachuu

@popopretty

I tagged 116 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#linklethehistorian - 114 posts

#thoughts - 101 posts

#my thoughts - 100 posts

#bsd - 69 posts

#bungou stray dogs - 69 posts

#bsd novels - 43 posts

#fifteen - 37 posts

#storm bringer - 35 posts

#stormbringer - 35 posts

#cherish - 32 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#but genuinely one of the things i’m most looking forward to at this point is just when it’s all over and done with and i can finally just

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Hey, um…BSD manga? Yeah, hi…can we talk a minute?

What the fuck is this?

No, seriously. What in the everloving fuck is this?

Is this….a Fifteen anime reference I see? Are you, the canon manga, which exists alongside and works in tandem with the canon light novels, truly acknowledging the events of an anime adaption that utterly butchers one of said canon light novels, and at one of the very worst moments of butchering in it, no less?

Hast thou lost thine mind?

57 notes - Posted May 2, 2022

#4

Giving Paul a normal mouth bc fuck that weird ass turtle mouth shit.

@bsdsocials If you ever wanted to see Bones style Paul but without that mouth lmao

My edit hhhh, if you want to see the original official art click here:

https://linklethehistorian.tumblr.com/post/680260718243823616/signal-boooooost-for-official-anime-style

57 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

#3

“There’s still some of it left in you — the hope that you’ll live.”

“Hope?” Verlaine said, looking back at Dazai with a broken smile, “In me?” He laughed bitterly to himself, half-crying, before heading down the steps into the basement once more. “Have a good evening.”

— Storm Bringer Stage Play, End Scene (written out by me to read like a part of the novel)

63 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

#2

See the full post

106 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

“The Storm” — A BSD Manga Chapter 95 Theory

Alright, so…this little meta article is probably going to be a lot less professional and more ramble-y than my standard fair, because I’m doing this off-the-cuff and not writing it and re-writing over a matter of days or weeks or months, as I usually do, but nevertheless, I want to talk about it because, although some might find it unlikely, I personally feel there is more than enough merit to the idea to put it out there, even if it later turns out to be wrong.

The rest of this will be under the cut due to spoilers for the manga up to Chapter 95 (and maybe a few chapters after that, just to be safe?) of the BSD manga, along with spoilers for the light novels Fifteen and its sequel, Storm Bringer (and maybe a small bit of 55 Minutes), so yes, bare that in mind before you proceed. 

Since I have no idea where else to start with this, let’s take a little trip back in time; it’s October 10, 2021, Chapter 95 just recently released, and I’m experiencing it pretty much for the first time with @truedge, posting the scans 3 pages at a time in our private Discord server and chatting about it as we read along.  It’s all fun, laughs, and games until the pages talking about the protective ability placed around One Order come up, and he cracks a simple joke:

At first, I laughed, and then —

All at once, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I — the one who should have been the first to recognize his ability in an instant — embarrassingly did not have this click in my head for a solid three minutes until the joke was made. Holy crap, he was right.

I stopped, looked back over the pages, scanned the manga for any information I could, and the evidence kept building and building, and pretty soon I had a solid, bonafide theory on my hands, worthy of showing to the world.

And so, I present to you my theory — a theory which ties the end of Storm Bringer and the main BSD manga together at last: what I like to call “The Storm.”

“But Linkle! Arthur is dead by current time! There’s no way his ability can be involved with guarding One Order!”  …Just…hear me out.

Physical Appearance

First of all, please take a good look at the ability guarding One Order, which we are shown in Chapter 95, and compare it with the canonical light novel interpretation of Arthur’s very unique ability, Illuminations, as shown in Fifteen and Storm Bringer.

Here is the ability guarding One Order:

See the full post

110 notes - Posted July 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[the-omoriverse]

is it odd that i consider myself semi owning this au?

(REMINDER IK U OWN THIS AU. IM NOT TRYING TO STEAL IT FROM U AT ALL. I AM JUST GETTING MY THOUGHTS OUT BC IF I DONT ILL EXPLODE)

lemme explain.

back a few months ago i was thinking about omori and utmv and decided to mash em together. the idea didnt go anywhere, but i did have a general idea of who was who

then i saw ur post and was hit with inspiration brick.

sorry if its rude, i just have had this idea for quite a bit. im glad ur doing something with it tho. more than i ever could.

anyways ive drawn several pieces of art just for this au and im like. mentally im treating it as my own??? when its urs???

anyways *penis write voice* TAKE THIS

Haha not at all! After all, you madee the first post which provoked me to make it into a proper AU, so i think you do derserve some credit!

And funnily enough, i was thinking of an Omori crossover AU, but only with the orginal Undertale (and maybe Deltarune? Idk it isnt totally developed) instead of AUs , but when this project came along i deicided to get with this instead!

Plus, you've drawn so much fanart - including the one here (which is amazing btw thank you) - you may have contributed to this more than i have XD

[meismalis]

*reposting old prose/poetry/writings that were originally posted on my old blogs, so that I have them posted and tagged here*

2013 - this one is funny, I’ve since accepted the thought of death and the probable lack of afterlife or anything close to it. staring your own mortality in the face can have those effects. what used to be fear of the unknown and absolute nothingness (which in turn helped me not try and kill myself 100 times lol bc I was depressed as hell but the fear of uncertainty after death is what kept me alive- if I believed in an afterlife, I’d be LONG GONE) has turned into comfort. I now take comfort in the dark, the idea of nothing. Pure nothingness. It’s other things that are keeping me alive now.

In Ernest Becker’s “The denial of death”, Becker argues most human action is taken to ignore or avoid the inevitability of death. The terror of absolute annihilation creates such a profound—albeit subconscious—anxiety in people that they spend their lives attempting to make sense of it. This is closely related to the terror management theory which is a psychological conflict that results from having a desire to live but realizing that death is inevitable. This conflict produces fear of death and anxiety for the inevitable unknown. I have spent the past 5 years trying to explain just how terrified I am of death and how I truly believe it is my number one cause of anxiety. I have never in my life been able to explain this to people in a manner that I would be taken seriously. I cannot express how grateful I am that I came across the theory of terror management, for I can somewhat find a piece of mind knowing that my fear and feelings have been established in a professional manner. I feel slightly less psychotic and torn away from society. The first panic attack I ever had, (which occurred after drug use) I was not aware of the definition of a panic attack and I have never experienced one in my life. I then proceeded to believe I was dying and it hit me like a ton if bricks. “Wait, I could actually die!” I have never in my life thought of death before that moment. I knew it happened but I never thought it would happen to me, I was healthy, had absolutely no worries in the world and never thought of death. EVER. Then it just came along and dragged me to my feet. Holy shit, I thought. What is death? Where do we go? What’s going to happen? I don’t want to die! I knew somewhere deep down that nothing happens when we die, well, nothing compared to what I was taught my entire life. I don’t know how I knew but I did. Deep in my subconscious I knew that death not only meant my body but my mind. And my mind being my most prized and used thing in my body I was not ready to give it up and I never will be. I will be lying on my death bed and still be in denial until the my last breath is exhaled. and that Terrifies me more than anything in this world. Though, I guess my absolute fear of death can also be my saving grace, for I long to live and make meaning, more than anyone I have yet to meet.

[muertawrites]

Tequila Sunrise (Eddie Munson x Reader) [18+]

Summary: You get drunk with your best friend after his gig, and the only evidence you have of anything that happened after you blacked out is a stack of Polaroids you find in his dresser the next morning.

Warnings: tequila, naked Eddie, explicit descriptions of s*xual acts, anxiety, scrambled eggs (sorry vegans)

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: inspired by / accompaniment to this photo edit by @eddieonfilm. it's an unofficial collab but a beautiful one. this might be my favorite fic i've posted. characters are aged up bc i am also aged up. also whenever i censor s*x in my descriptions i always imagine myself saying it like miranda hart. just. very awkward and tall and british. trying to be decent for bbc standards and practices.

(edit by eddieonfilm. original by @zerlinity )

The first thing that hits you is the pain. It's achy, throbbing, like a sinus infection conjured up by the devil himself. You roll over, groaning at the way your head feels like it's filled with bricks.

Something heavy shifts around your waist - a grip you don't notice until it tightens. Someone else's skin against yours.

Your eyes shoot open. You're not asleep on the pull out couch in Eddie's living room like you remember agreeing to last night. You're in his bed. And you think you might be naked.

Panic overrides your growing hangover and you sit straight up, trying to remember something, anything, from the previous evening. It was late when the gig ended, and Eddie didn't like the idea of you taking the long train ride back to your apartment alone - he offered to let you stay at his instead, which you did. You got slices of pizza from the place downstairs; came up and ate them with a couple beers. You were both already tipsy, and Eddie kept teasing you about what a lightweight you are.

And of course you opened your big stupid mouth and bet him you could drink him under the table.

That's when the tequila came out. That's where your memory ends.

To your relief, you look down and find your torso covered by a faded black t-shirt. You're horrified all over again when when you realize it's ridden up over your waist, everything south of it exposed. Your panties are on the floor beside the bed.

There's a sharp intake of breath beside you, followed by the rustling of sheets and a dip in the mattress. You look over and see that Eddie is also awake, shirtless, and now laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment he side eyes you, not moving his head but meeting his lovely brown irises with yours. Despite yourselves, you smirk at each other.

"You look like shit," Eddie comments.

"I feel like shit," you reply.

He chuckles, running his large palm down his face.

"Yeah... me too."

His hand finds your back, rubbing it gently as you lean over with your face in your palm, trying to ride a wave of pain that crashes at the inside of your skull. You wonder how he can be so calm. Casual about something so intimate.

"... Did we fuck?" he wonders.

You let out a heavy sigh, the question making your headache that much worse.

"If we did you weren't very good at it," you remark. "I'm not sore at all."

The pillow he'd been laying on smacks against the side of your head. You shriek, and Eddie grins despite the grimace that pinches his brows.

"Not so loud," he groans. "I feel like I've got a knife between my eyes."

"Shoulda thought of that before you brought out the tequila."

"I'm not the instigator here, tuts."

He sits up and nestles his chin into the crook of your neck, giving you an impish smile.

"I think you lost your little drinking game."

You plant your hand over his face and shove him off you. He chuckles as he flops back down onto the mattress.

Tugging your t-shirt (which you now realize is actually Eddie's) down so you don't reveal anything more than you want him to see with sober eyes, you crawl off the mattress, intent on finding anything with caffeine you possibly can in his kitchen. You pause when something on his dresser catches your eye.

A Polaroid.

A Polaroid of your tits.

You snatch it up, staring at it in horror. What's even worse is that there's more of them, scattered across the cigarette-burned wood and stained carpet below. You sift through them, thankful at least for the fact that they aren't just of you. Many of them are of Eddie - holding a lighter to the cig between his lips, head flung back as he takes a shot, tongue hanging out and middle fingers up, mid-laugh.

His bare torso spread out on his sheets as he smirks up at you.

His hand gripping the small of your back while he tugs at the waistband of your panties with his teeth.

His head between your legs, lips pressed to the inside of your thigh.

You jolt when Eddie's arms curl around your middle, a gesture much more involved than what your relationship (or at least your relationship before the night previous) entails. He plucks one of the photos out of your hand, letting out a little cackle.

"Damn, looks like we did fuck last night," he muses.

His expression suddenly drops, going from amused to grim in less than a second. You catch the change in the mirror and whip around to face him.

"What?"

He swallows heavily, like his throat is full of sand.

"I, uh... We didn't... I... I don't have condoms."

You blink.

"... What?"

You smack at his chest, focusing on the slap of his skin against your palms so you don't faint.

"You're in a band!" you shout. "Why don't you have fucking condoms, Eddie?!"

"You've met my band!" he yells back at you. "We're fucking dorks! You really think we're all getting pussy 24/7? Women terrify me! And I don't want a fucking STD!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE CONDOMS!"

You slump back against the dresser, any bit of humor you could possibly find in having been drunkenly railed by your best friend completely vaporized. You're not on birth control, and as far as you know, your reproductive bits work exactly as they're supposed to - possibly even better than they're supposed to, since you've been ovulating for the past week and, subsequently, hornier than usual. Unless Eddie got a vasectomy he hasn't mentioned, there's no way you're not harboring a little stowaway.

"Hey."

The warmth of Eddie's palms settling against your cheeks snaps you out of your downward spiral. He gently tilts your head up so you meet his eye, his panicked demeanor replaced by the soft, calm side of him you've only seen a handful of times. It's enough to send the tears stinging your waterline spilling over onto your cheeks.

"No way in hell I'm letting you have a kid, least of all my fucking kid. There's a pharmacy on the corner. We'll walk down together, get you some Plan B - that I'll pay for - and have breakfast at the diner next block over. Yeah?"

You nod, sniffling and wiping at your now blotchy, tear-stained face.

"Yeah," you agree. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Yeah."

The journey to the pharmacy is silent, but not uncomfortable. Eddie walks with his arm linked in yours, keeping you pressed to his side as if trying to shield you from prying eyes; he doesn't leave you alone, either, a hand always at the small of your back or locked around your shoulders.

As you make your way out of the contraceptive aisle, he tosses a few pregnancy tests and boxes of condoms into your basket, "just as a precaution". The woman who rings you up takes one look at the scandalous haul and tsks, fixing you with a shaming, disdainful glare.

"Something wrong?" Eddie quips. He wraps an arm around you, tucking you behind him ever so slightly so you're out of the woman's eyeline.

"No," she responds through tight lips. "Sixty-two eighty, please."

At the diner, Eddie asks for a booth in the corner, away from the counter and the front door. You unwrap the medication and take it as instructed, swallowing it down with a cup of weak, slightly burnt coffee. The heavy, greasy plate of hash browns and eggs you're served stills your spinning headache, grounding you along with the feel of Eddie's hand on your thigh.

"How you feeling?" he asks once you return to his apartment.

You nod, too shy to meet his gaze.

"Better," you tell him. "... Thank you."

Eddie lets out a heavy sigh, taking the few steps forward he needs to reach you and wrapping you in a tight, tender hug. You don't hesitate to return it, your hands gripping at the thin fabric covering his back.

"I got you," he murmurs into your hair. "It's gonna be okay."

You can't bring yourself to leave him, so you spend the rest of the day on his couch, watching reruns of The Mary Tyler Moore Show and listening to him strum nervously at his guitar. Around dinner time, he offers to pick you up a pizza to share, which you say you'll pay for to thank him. He doesn't let you.

While he's gone, you take a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night's debauchery. You step out of the bathroom to find him reclined on the sofa, legs kicked up on the coffee table, cigarette dangling between his lips as he sorts through the Polaroids that were left on his dresser. A box of fresh pizza lays open on the kitchen counter; three slices are missing, and there's a paper plate and napkin waiting for you (you're not sure Eddie even owns any actual dishes).

"You should quit smoking if you're gonna be a dad," you tease him in a deadpan, joining him on the couch with dinner in hand.

He chuckles, tossing a photo of your tongue licking at the head of his cock onto the table. You hate that the sight is so... appealing to you. That you're a little disappointed you don't remember doing it. That you kind of want to do it again.

"Maybe if I'm lucky it'll stop my balls from working," he mumbles.

His hands stop shuffling as he looks at the photo currently in them. He removes the cig from his mouth, exhaling long and slow; contemplative. You lean over to see what's caught his attention.

To your surprise, it's a picture of your face. You're pressed into the pillow on the right side of his bed, eyes lidded, lips curled into a blissful smile, hair knotted with traces of his fingers having run through them and yanked at your scalp. You're clearly fucked out. But you're also... gazing at him. Seeing him. Giving him the kind of heart eyes you only ever do when you're sure he's not looking.

"I remember why I took this one," Eddie says. "I thought... I thought you looked really pretty. My heart felt like it was gonna... fuckin' explode or something. I was wicked happy I finally had you in my bed and that you were gonna fall asleep next to me and... I wanted to keep that moment."

"... Finally?"

His eyes snap up, clearly shocked that he said that exact word out loud. For a moment he says nothing. For a moment you're unsure what the hell there is to say.

But then you're throwing yourself onto him, latching your arms around his neck and trapping his waist between your thighs, holding him like he's the last thing you're ever going to touch. He hugs you back, burying his face in your shoulder, his hands reaching up under your shirt to stroke loving patterns along your back.

"I love you, Eddie Munson," you whisper into his neck.

"I love you," he breathes. "God... I fucking love you. So fucking much."

BONUS:

you and eddie lean over the sink in his apartment, staring at the overturned pregnancy test inside it.

"ready?" you ask.

he nods.

you flip it over.

one pink line.

eddie shrieks - literally shrieks - with relief and lifts you into his arms, spinning you until you're dizzy.

"oh thank god," he gasps, repeatedly kissing your cheek. "ohhhhhh thank god thank god thank god. i'm gonna celebrate by fucking you dumb."

🌹💀get your eddie fix💀🌹